Good Shabbos Emails

Read emails from:

Braishis
Noach
Lech Lecha
Vayeira
Chayei Sarah
Toldos
Vayetze
Vayishlach
Miketz
Vayigash
Vayeshi

Braishis.

Sibling rivalries

It was brought to my attention last week that my soon-to-be three-year-old son, Zalman, was behaving inappropriately towards his six-week-old sister. I summoned Zalman to my study to try and get to the bottom of the issue.

I asked Zalman if my reports were accurate. Yes, it was confirmed that Zalman had misbehaved towards his baby sister. My next question was: Why did you do this to her?

“Because I don't like her,” was the answer.

I was trying to imagine what the infant could have possibly done to her older brother in the short six weeks she has been living on this world. Obviously, I couldn't fathom a reason. So, I further inquired of Zalman the big question: Why don't you like her?

“Because.”

“Why because?” “Because.”

After going through this fruitless exercise ten times, I finally told Zalman that he couldn't answer “because” anymore. “I don't know what else to say,” said Zalman.

I looked at the boy, almost three years-old, who was the youngest of all his siblings until a few weeks prior to this incident. He was the focus of everyone's attention all his young life and his cheeky smile, interesting quips and sometimes daring antics haven't done anything to divert attention from him.

And then, through no fault of his own, comes this new kid on the block and she is stealing all “his” thunder!

It reminded me of the time we brought our second child home for the first time. His older sister, all of one-and-a-half, spent a few minutes patting and feeling him and then said, in Yiddish, “Are we going to put him into the garbage now?”...

Ah, sibling rivalry… Fueled, as usual, by feelings of jealousy. Anyone who has a sibling, anyone who is a sibling and anyone who has the ability to observe siblings, knows exactly what I mean.

It seems that jealousy-sparked rivalry has been with us since the beginning of time, at least since the first siblings Kayin (Cain) and Hevel (Abel), recorded in this week's Torah portion of Bereshis, the first portion of the Torah.

The story is probably familiar to all. The brothers present an offering to Hashem, but Kayin's was inferior. Hevel's offering was accepted; Kayin's was rejected. Kayin feels rejected and G-d tells him: “Why are you annoyed and why are you dejected? If you improve yourself you will be forgiven. If you do not improve yourself then the sin crouches at your entrance. [The evil] inclination is longing [to entice you]. But you can rule over it.”

But Kayin's feeling of jealousy gets the better of him. Kayin assaults his brother and murders him. Fratricide had been introduced to the world.

It's fascinating to contemplate the details of the story between the two brothers and the G-dly exchanges involved.

The siblings were engaged in worldly activity: Hevel was a shepherd, which requires patience, gentleness and sensitivity. Kayin was in agriculture, which requires aggressiveness, tenacity and cunning. They both were successful in their worldly endeavors and wanted to show their appreciation to the Master of the world. So they offered some of their own possessions. Kayin's offering, though, was inferior. But when the Torah tells the story it records that G-d didn't turn to “Kayin and to his offering.” Kayin, it seems, brought the tendencies of his work “home” with him. It wasn't just the offering which was rejected, but the person as well.

Being rejected together with his inferior offering made Kayin mad – at his brother. And it was his brother's fault, of course. Not his.

Unfortunately, these rivalries are not exclusive to siblings. Haven't we all seen this type of story unfold so many times? This one is blessed with more – money, cars, wealth, children, looks, possessions, brains, guts, leadership – and why? “He doesn't know what to do with it!” “She doesn't deserve it!” “Why them and not me?” “Why is my employee so popular and successful?” “Why is my boss so wealthy?”

Instead of coveting what the other one has, attention must be paid to oneself: Be satisfied with what is given, count one's own blessings and also entreat the Almighty if something is really lacking.

When Kayin is distressed, despondent and angry, he is told that he needed to pay attention to himself and make improvements.

Jealousy is not necessarily a negative trait if it drives people to want to achieve more, become better and be more useful to society. When Pepsi challenges Coke, it forces improvements. When an inferior baseball team wins the World Series it forces the so-to-speak better team, or teams, to take stock and improve themselves!

At the same time Kayin is warned that if he continues to harbor jealousy, he is playing into the hands of the evil inclination allowing it to rule over him rather than vice versa.

One of the greatest plagues of society is people looking at what others have and deciding that they “need” that as well. And it all begins in childhood. On a very young scale, it's one sibling “infringing” on the other's “territory.” A little later in life, it's the child in the toy store pleading and crying for a toy which, eventually, he or she may play with just once or twice. A little later it involves possessions, women, men, cars, houses, boats, and basically, there is no end.

In one of its earliest stories – and most important instructions – the Torah teaches the evils of jealousy and the pitfalls to which this feeling can lead. It's imperative for all of us to use the feelings of jealousy solely and exclusively to turn inward and see what can be done to make ourselves better.

And the rest of the feelings of jealousy must be nipped in the bud. As did good old Zalman. He promised to kiss and make-up and gave his unknowing baby sister a juicy wet one…

Ah, what Nachas!

Noach

SMASHING CONTROL

Another Simchas Torah came and went, and another twenty-four hours of joy, celebration and happiness were experienced in many synagogues. At our Chabad synagogue, the celebration was, as always, intense. As appropriate for the only holiday with the word “Simcha” – joy – in its title, and as a Chabad synagogue with a constant and distinct emphasis on serving G-d with joy, much joy was indeed abounding.

Dozens of present and former students of mine, including many who are not members of our synagogue, joined the adults, comprised of members and lots of non-members, for the evening and daytime festivities. During last week and this week following the holiday, I heard from some of the students. They seemed to have enjoyed the festivities, and some even commented on “the show.”

“The show” is meant to portray the excessive, unadulterated Simcha, fueled by the deep feelings of joy for the occasion, and helped by a few “Lechayims” (wishing people well over some alcoholic drink.)

For some reason, people erroneously surmise that the alcohol content inside the people of the dancing crowds is the prime factor responsible for the joy. After all, people think, the joy and dancing is different than anything usually seen even in those “happy” synagogues!

In reality though, nothing can be further from the truth. Abusing alcohol to the point of intoxication, drunkenness and inebriation is loathed and is considered vulgar, indecent and unbecoming in the Torah, especially in this week's portion of Noach.

Noach, the man, should be considered an amazing hero. Thanks to him there are people, animals, birds and insects in the world today. He had to build the ark, gather the animals and prepare the food for a whole year. He had to direct all the creatures to their quarters in the ark. For a whole year, Noach had to feed the animals – at all times of the day and night – gather trash, and maintain cleanliness amid a stench that surely was unbelievable. All the while, living on a floating ship, trying to find peace and quiet amid what must have been a racket, bedlam, and a constant loud noise from the cacophony of sonds coming from all the creatures.

So, thanks to Noach and his great efforts, we're here together with the rest of the world the way we know it.

However, the way the Torah finishes with Noach in its final mention of him is a far cry from his being the brave, laudable and great hero. Noach, the dedicated curator of all living beings (besides fish) is remembered for his drunkenness. And remembered he is in disgrace and shame.

Perhaps Noach can be excused for his drinking. He must have had a tough time of it on the ark. But Noach didn't just drink the wine of the vineyard he planted; he lost himself to it. Noach was so drunk that he couldn't prevent his small son, Cham, from behaving inappropriately towards him. In the Torah, there's no room for using alcohol to drown out troubles; losing control of oneself is completely abhorred.

Let's examine another example – the only other clear story in the Torah about someone losing himself to wine. Lot, the nephew of Avraham, had just been saved from the burning city of Sodom . His two daughters, thinking that there's no one left in the world, became pregnant from him. And, yes, it was after they gave him wine to drink, so therefore “he was unaware when” his daughters “lay with him or arose from him.”

We don't hear another word about Lot after this dishonorable and reprehensible story caused by indulging in excess drink.

We should not be confused and treat the drinking of wine as a sin – as do other religions. To the contrary, the Torah describes in next week's portion how after a tough war, Avraham was served “bread and wine” by non-other than Shem, the righteous son of Noach. Later we learn about the famous blessings imparted to our father Jacob by his father Isaac. There, too, the blessings were said after “he brought him wine and he drank.” In fact, the actual blessing includes “an abundance of grain and wine !”

In my research for the purpose of this Good Shabbos Email, I discovered that the Torah relates just the four mentioned instances which clearly specify that people drank wine. The first two stories are of the two who drank their wine excessively to the point of intoxication, causing them to be involved in shameful behavior and afflicting major damage to their reputation and respect. The other two stories are of those who had a clear goal, and used their wine to achieve this goal.

Wine was used every single day as an offering in the Beis Hamikdash, the Holy Temple . And we all know that wine is used to this very day for Kiddush, Havdalah, at a Bris, a wedding and at the Passover Seder.

Some would say that wine and alcoholic beverages should be enjoyed in moderation – as in any substance like wine. While it's true that everything should be enjoyed in moderation, I humbly disagree that using alcohol is just a moderation issue. I believe that wine is not the issue. It's the focus and intention of the person drinking the wine. The criteria ought to be what was on the mind of the person when he or she began partaking of the wine and alcohol and what the goal to be achieved from this drink is. Alcoholic drinks must never be the ends; they are a means to an end. Excessive drinking is certainly never to be glorified as an “accomplishment”

On Simchas Torah, the goal is to loosen the inhibitions, break some boundaries and allow the inner soul of joy to burst forth. If it takes a few extra drinks to accomplish that goal, then so be it. On the other hand, should the person who drank say or do something which would, G-d forbid, be unbecoming and improper, that person should very carefully examine their abilities of self-control under the influence of alcohol before they venture to even touch another drop of it again.

A few months ago, my cell phone rang at about 12:30 a.m. It was a former student with whom I hadn't talked in years. He was calling from a bar at his university and was clearly drunk. He had just heard that I was on campus earlier that day, and was expressing his dismay at missing the opportunity of spending a few minutes together. That he chose to express himself like this at such an outrageous hour indicated how he obviously had no idea about the time. He probably also had no clue as to how much he worried me by calling so late. He then said, with an unmistakable slur in his speech, “Rabbi Lew, I love you!”

How sweet.

I wondered what motivated this student to drink. I couldn't possibly think of any goal to which he was aspiring with his drinking other than to get “plastered,” “wasted” and “smashed.” While quite flattered to hear such sweet words from him, I could almost smell the alcohol on his breath through the phone. I said: Hey! Why don't you call me back tomorrow when you're sober and THEN tell me the same thing!

I am still waiting to talk to my dear and beloved student who, I suppose, loves me…

The patriarchs are remembered for their righteousness and controlled concentration on our Father in heaven. Noach and Lot are remembered for their lack of control. They all drank wine, but while the forefathers used wine for better focus on their mission in life, Noach and Lot used wine as their whole focus. No one quite knows how their mission in life could have been fully realized, for we don't hear of them again.

What a waste of wine – and of potential. And what a shame.

May we all experience joy and happiness, in the right and appropriate way.

Lech Lecha.

Painfully good journeys

“Hey! Where are you going?” It was a question called-out by young Zalman earlier this week to two of his siblings and to me, as we were transporting suitcases into the car. He knew and he felt that this was no routine trip. But it sounded more like complaint than a question. It actually felt like a demand, a petition and a plea.

To me, it felt like a ton of bricks.

You see, I was transporting two of my children in my car on their way to study at schools in New York . They had been home for close to a month, not just to enjoy the majority of the holidays together with the whole family, but also to attend our family Simcha, the joyful event of Zalman's first haircutting, celebrated this past Sunday.

And now it was time to break-up the family again and send-off the “out-of-towners.” Zalman, his changed appearance due to his first haircut being featured quite prominently, was immensely enjoying his special day and all the attention. In an instant, though, he was quite bothered by the imminent departure of two attention-giving siblings.

For whatever reason, Zalman's complaint jarred me awake. As a parent, as one of those entrusted by the Holy One, blessed be He, to look after these children, sending them away from our own home and direct supervision is done with extreme seriousness and great trepidation.

And with a heavy, very heavy, heart.

I swallowed hard as I slid into the driver's seat, brushing away a tear. That lump, however, wasn't going away so fast.

Why, for heaven's sake, does the English language refer to leave-taking as GOOD bye; what's so “good” about saying “bye”?

This week I was at the airport twice. Both times I was there to bid farewell to my children. There will be a third time on Sunday. Is there a place of more tears than the airport – in both the departure terminal and the arrival's area?

Okay, there are times when the “good” of the “bye” is really good; more like good riddance. So many times, however, the parting of ways, especially between family and friends, leaves an emptiness that's hard to fill.

Not to mention that lump.

The two times I was at the airport this week, and the one more time next week, parallel and mirror the times the Torah discusses three painful journeys from home, twice in this week's Torah portion of Lech Lecha, and once in next week's portion.

The first of the journeys happened with Avraham Avinu, the patriarch Abraham. At the age of seventy-five, he is instructed by G-d “to go.” The man is told to leave behind his family, his friends and his neighbors, and to take his family with him. But he's not told where he was supposed to go. He couldn't even leave behind an address, a telephone number or an email address (so to speak). He was literally going to the unknown, and was instructed to wait for instructions while en route.

Avraham and his family didn't leave without concern about his old father and family, as the sages point out, but he was assured by our Father in heaven that this move would be best for him, and many blessings would follow him.

But it didn't seem that way. Soon after he arrived at his destination, which turned-out to be the Holy Land , he had to continue moving as a result of a famine. It surely didn't feel like a blessing, and certainly didn't come across as the best thing for him.

Only later was it revealed that this move was, indeed, the best thing for Avraham, his family and his descendents.

Later in the Torah portion we discover that Sarah is barren. She strongly encourages her husband to marry her maid, Hagar. Sure enough, Hagar becomes pregnant. Hagar takes advantage of her elevated status and wrongs Sarah. Eventually, Hagar is driven away from the house, causing difficulty and distress to Abraham.

Hagar later returned to avraham and Sarah's house upon instructions from a Heavenly angel. There's no further mention of domestic problems with her. Obviously, the short hiatus from the home was beneficial for all parties involved.

In next week's Torah portion Hagar's son, Yishmael, misbehaves towards his half brother, Yitzchack, who eventually became the patriarch Isaac. Sarah, Isaac's mother, is incensed and wants the other boy out. Abraham is terribly distressed, and Hashem is consulted. The Heavenly advice is dispensed: Whatever Sara says to you – listen to her voice. The boy and his mother are dispatched.

As a result of Yishmael's departure, though, both children grow up as great people, and their descendants are still around in the form of the Jewish people and their Arab cousins.

I believe the message is clear. In life we face times that are blissful, fun and sweet. We also all have our share of trouble, distress and sadness. And there are plenty of “byes” along the way.

In most instances, though, it turns out that the “byes” are actually “good” – at least on some level and in some way. We just don't always have the ability to see the good of the bye. So we brush away a tear, swallow hard, put on a good face, and try our best to fill the gap in the heart.

In the journey of life, we encounter many sub-journeys. We just can't always see the destinations of all the journeys, but that doesn't mean it's going to the wrong station. We must never get discouraged, heaven forbid, from continuing on the journey of life, as difficult as it may sometimes seem to be.

I am confident that the steps we're taking for our children are the best for them, which is, of course, best for us. It's just hard, at this stage of life, to always see it. Zalman certainly doesn't know it or feel it. I think he put it best, when he ran towards my departing car at the bottom of the driveway and yelled on top of his lungs to his older siblings: “I'm going to miss you!”

I smiled, and then had to swallow hard yet again…

Vayeira.

OF CRICKETS AND WICKETS AND A SLICE OF PIE

A slice of “humble pie” is not something ordinarily ordered in a restaurant or a bakery. In fact, it's not something people tend to seek-out anywhere. It seems to find us, though, every once in a while.

This past Sunday it felt like I had sampled quite a large share of the “pie.”

It all began with an invitation to join some of the Shul members in a game of cricket. Having spent most of my youth in England , playing this enigmatic game as a child was pretty common for me. It seems as though many grown men were attempting to rediscover their fountain of youth this past Sunday, and I was invited to join them on the search as well.

The women and children, many of whom were in the cheering section and the barbecue section, did their part to encourage the guys to get closer to that youth fountain. I don't believe anyone of the male players got anywhere near that fountain, but they all managed to have fun, some of it at my expense.

Cricket is a strange game. To those who know very little about this old game, it has many ridiculous and strange elements. Truth be told, not only can this game take a few days to be completed, some of the rules are arcane and just plain weird. The basic premise is that a batter who faces a “bowler” must defend his “wicket.” Should he hit the ball, he may run to the wicket on the other end.

The fielders are there to catch the hard, flying ball with their bare hands on the fly or field it if it's bouncing. As they say in cricket, “real men don't wear gloves.” Having not played this game in many decades, the closest I've come to catching a ball with my bare hands was the foul ball that dropped into them at a professional baseball game. I had forgotten what it means to catch a screaming drive on the fly.

It didn't take me long to remember. My still red and blue right hand won't let me forget it either. It's almost as colorful as that piece of humble pie usually is.

Our team did win the game, and I have a trophy to prove it. But I think the most important memory, for me at least, is the realization that to play the game – any game – properly, one must have competent knowledge, much ability and potential, plus plenty of experience. If any of these elements are lacking, humbleness will find you. Maybe even a whole pie of it…

Life isn't a game, we are told. It's the “reality.” There are times, though, that elements of a game come in to “play” as we experience life. When a person demonstrates deficiency in any of the above three elements – knowledge, ability and experience – it is hard to imagine him or her being part of the winning team.

Avraham Avinu, the patriarch Abraham, seems to convey the message of humility in his bold and brazen conversation he has with the Almighty, as recorded in this week's Torah portion of Vayera. Avraham, ever motivated by kindness and love, is disturbed by the news he is told by Hashem regarding the evil cities of Sodom and her three neighboring cities. These cities are about to be obliterated due to their utter malicious and loathsome behavior.

Impelled and spurred by a sense of justice and morality, Avraham unloads a litany of pleas and petitions in the attempt to save the heinously iniquitous cities. “What if there are ten righteous people in each city,” cries Avraham, “could you still justify destroying these cities?”

His morally-inspired cries notwithstanding, Avraham is told that, alas, there are not ten “good guys” in any of the cities.

It seems as though his tone changes in a big hurry, for as Avraham continues his pleading, he says, “I'd like to (again) speak with Hashem, and I would be dust and ashes (if it were not for You).”

“Dust and ashes” are basically non-entities. All of a sudden, quite humble words from Avraham.

Our father Abraham was the epitome of kindness and love. His loving compassion motivated him to put everything on the line for his fellow man, even someone from the hideous region of Sodom . His kindness, though, was not fueled by a conceited ego. He was rather inspired by what he could do for his fellow human being. For this reason, as he realizes that he's talking to the Ultimate Know-it-all, who possesses all experience and ability, Avraham offers humble words following his earlier relatively strong words. In the presence of the best “Player,” humble pie is on the menu.

In life, not even someone as special as Avraham is privy to the whole picture. Our lack of experience and knowledge motivates us to ask, to probe and to query when something seems incomprehensible. Our delving into the unknown, though, must be with a sense of humility, realizing that it's due to our lacking of the complete picture and the proper “skills” that we're not the best “players” on the “field” of life.

Once we've played the game right and accumulated sufficient experience, we can begin to make the great plays. However, we must be aware that despite the well-deserved congratulations, the next play can quickly bring back that humble pie. So, don't let those accolades get to your head. Just protect your wicket, whack that ball, and run, run, run!

And don't stop playing. Remember, the game can sometimes take a long time to be completed.

Chayei Sarah.

LEAVING LEAVES

The temperature in Atlanta has turned quite cool over the past few days. The cold conditions, the short days, the heavy rains which fell the other day and the blowing winds have all contributed to basically rip the listless and drab leaves off the many trees around town.

Having leaves all over the place leads people to some interesting behaviors. The most fascinating behavior, for me at least, is the obsession that people have to step on an inviting, curled leaf. To feel the crinkle; hear the crunch; experience the crush – Ah, What a great feeling! A few days ago I observed a grown man going back a step in order to catch a “missed” leaf. I'm sure we've all seen the amusing sight of someone taking a step back just in order to “really” finish the job of that wayward leaf.

The fact is, many of us tend to do that!

What's it about crunching leaves that seems so addictive?

Okay, I hear people saying that crunchy things make the world go around. By this, I mean chips, pretzels, nuts, crunchy peanut-butter, cereal which hasn't yet become soggy, salad toppings – you surely catch my drift. And, while we're at it, let's not forget about those bubbles which people like to pop with their fingers.

But leaves are different. What we do with leaves has many more important consequences than simply satisfying an obsession or a crazy compulsion.

Leaves are grown by trees in order for the tree to capture the maximum amount of nutrients from the outside elements. Trees, in fact, are the only living organisms which produce their own food, through their leaves. This process is called “photosynthesis,” which translated means "putting together with light." The more light there is, the more nutrients there are for the trees. As winter nears, less sunlight and less of the other elements essential to the process of photosynthesis will be available to trees. The tree's photosynthesis "factory" will shut down and the tree will rest until spring when the light and the other elements reawaken the process.

Each individual leaf, therefore, plays a critical role in the life of its tree. Through its connection to the tree, the particular leaf is really an emissary of sorts, participating in the collective mission: keeping the tree existing and flourishing.

And it doesn't end with winter. On the ground, fallen leaves are not wasted. They decompose and are broken down by bacteria, fungi, earthworms and other organisms. And yes, by the eager human foot. The decomposed leaves restock the soil with nutrients and become part of the spongy humus layer on the ground under the tree that absorbs and holds rainfall. The rich layer of decomposing leaves may also protect the roots of other plants.

Perhaps the Divine Creator intended for us to enjoy stepping on crunchy leaves. When someone crunches a dead leaf, that person may focus on the sensation he or she feels. The action, however, helps the leaf in its quest to decompose and continue providing for its tree or for other trees.

Being an “emissary” is no simple task. In one of its more unusual stories, the Torah, in this week's portion of “Chayai Sarah,” spends almost its entire space describing a mission of an emissary. The mission is to find a wife for Yitzchack Avinu, the patriarch Issac. The sponsor of the mission is Yitzchack's father, Avraham.

Three interesting points emerge from the general story: 1) Avraham didn't participate in the seeking of his son's mate; he sent an emissary instead. 2) The Torah does not disclose the name of the emissary in this week's portion even once. The Torah continuously refers to him as “the servant,” or “the man.” 3) The story of this mission is presented with unusual minutiae and is, uncharacteristically, repeated with almost all its details.

Finding a wife for the first-born Jew was no small task. The intended groom was a sanctified man, educated by his father, Avraham, and showed a willingness to sacrifice his life to G-d at the “binding of Isaac.” The intended bride, Rivkah, was born into a family of moral corruption in an area known more for trouble than anything else. The girl herself, however, was “like rose among the thorns” who needed to be “plucked” from her depraved and decadent environment. Because this mission was so crucial, Avraham assigns the best person for job: Someone more familiar with the difficult territory to accomplish this mission of uniting two extremes.

For the emissary to be successful in his mission, though, he had to be focused upon his sender and not on his own, lesser identity. The emissary was supplied by the sender with all the funds, materials and blessings necessary for the mission's success, marking the total mission with the signs of the sender. There is, therefore, no need to mention the emissary's name. He assumed the identity of the sender so the mission could enjoy the greatest success.

The tree provides its “emissary” – the leaf – with all it needs to be successful in its mission to amass sunlight. The tree itself, though, couldn't participate in this exercise. In the case of the leaf, part of its mission is to dedicate itself to the tree to such an extent that it actually gives itself up completely, decomposing and losing not just its identity but its actual self back into the tree.

Each human being is another “leaf” in the “tree of life.” We all have a mission to accomplish. Like the leaf, and like the servant, our own identities are usually irrelevant to the mission. Unlike the leaf, though, our mission does not usually ask of us to completely give ourselves up. And unlike the leaf, our mission is not of amassing light, but of spreading light and energy. The Divine Sender expects us to be a shining and G-dly example of goodness and kindness.

The mission of Jewish human beings is to spread the light and energy of Torah and its commandments. Each Mitzvah, every Divine commandment, is a “marriage” of extremes, synthesizing between the spiritual and G-dly energy and the mundane worldliness. A Jew is the chosen Shliach, the emissary, to ensure the success of the Mission of this marriage. Just as in the case of the first Jew, whose father chose an emissary to ensure the success of the mission (the marriage), the Jew is chosen by G-d as an emissary to complete the “marriage” of the physical and spiritual.

* * *

I send these words from Brooklyn New York . This weekend, close to 3,000 of my colleagues called “Shluchim,” emissaries, have assembled for the annual International Conference of Shluchim. I have come here for the privilege of joining them. These people have dedicated their lives to act as emissaries of our leader, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of righteous and blessed memory, to reveal the light of Judaism to the whole world.

The Rebbe, as a firm and solid “tree-trunk,” trained his “leaves” to project “light” to the entire world.

In truth, everyone is a “leaf on the tree.” The Rebbe's mission was to see that every single person on his team be dedicated to the health of the entire Divine “tree of life.” In practical terms, the Rebbe wanted his emissaries to reveal to the people of the world how they, too, are “leaves of the Divine tree,” emissaries to make this world a more G-dly and better place.

This is the winning team of Judaism. Find your local tree and climb aboard, and you will see how much light you already have.

And if things are a little crunchy, don't worry. It's all for benefit of the collective tree.

Besides, someone else is probably enjoying the crunch. Making someone else happy is also a “mission.”…

Toldos

CELEBRATING WITH THANKS

Returning from New York earlier this week, I began the task of tending to my suspended work accumulated during the time spent away from Atlanta . As you may know, I was in New York to attend the International Conference of ‘Shluchim' – Chabad emissaries – who get together each year at the same weekend on the Hebrew calendar.

Thursday was also the holiday of Thanksgiving in the United States . The entire weekend was thus a “holiday weekend.” The plane ride was a pleasure, as the plane was only half full on Thursday evening.

Opening one of the many emails in my “inbox,” I was grateful to find one from a long-time friend. The email expressed that person's gratitude for the article about the message we can learn from the leaves (“Leaving leaves on a mission”). My friend then added, “I was wondering why you omitted wishing your dear readers a Happy Thanksgiving?”

Good question.

I consider myself a patriotic American. This country, the country of my birth and of all my children, is a great country which deserves, and receives, my support. I must also say that I personally love the holiday of Thanksgiving. It's wonderful to see an entire country get together with their families and follow all the traditions ("with all the trimmings"), whether eating turkey, hanging out, and any other general customs families have adopted from feeding the homeless to watching football. It's an amazing tribute to the people of the United States that the busiest travel day in America and in the whole world is the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is unique to the special country and people of the United States , and is really, really beautiful.

I live in a community where many are immigrants to this country. The families and individuals who've moved here were obviously inspired by the prospective of a better life, materially and spiritually, than the one they had in their country of origin.

In other words, so many members of the community in which I live, including the Lew family, have much to be thankful for to Hashem and to the great country of the United States . As Jews, we all owe a debt of gratitude for the kindness this country has continuously shown to our homeland of Israel , sometimes at personal expense.

As far as celebrating Thanksgiving in the strict Jewish law, there's absolutely nothing wrong with it, and one is permitted to participate in it as long as the turkey and its preparation is Kosher. Those who sell kosher turkey make a handsome profit during this season.

At the same time, though, whilst we appreciate the country in which we live and participate in its lifestyle, as Jewish Americans or as American Jews, we have some commitments, including, and perhaps especially, as they pertain to giving thanks. Just to mention two commitments in the thanksgiving realm one connected to prayer and one related to holidays: 1) Jewish people are encouraged to begin the day with the Hebrew words “Modeh Ani,” I offer thanks to You. Every weekday we recite Psalm 100, the Psalm of thanksgiving, at the beginning of the prayers. In the Amidah prayer, recited no less than three times a day, we say “Modim Anachnu”, we thankfully acknowledge You. 2) There are designated Jewish holidays which emphasize the importance of thanks, such as Sukkos, which is a time to offer thanks for the abundance of material blessing; Chanukah, giving thanks for liberation from Greek spiritual oppression; Purim, giving thanks for being saved from annihilation.

Many Jewish people tend to celebrate the American holiday of Thanksgiving with great enthusiasm and emphatic bluster. Some of those same Jews, however, don't seem as diligent in observance of the various Jewish thanksgiving opportunities.

This past July Fourth was a Monday. The Friday prior, I sent my Good Shabbos Email (“Piercing energy”), and I didn't wish my dear readers “Happy Independence Day.” I sincerely don't believe that anyone was concerned about my patriotism. If they were, they certainly didn't bring it to my attention. When it comes to Thanksgiving, though, Jewish people seem to more desperate to emphasize it.

Maybe it has something to do with trying to fit in. It seems to me that American Jews continue to work hard at trying to integrate and assimilate into American culture. I frequently hear from parents regarding their children attending Jewish high schools or other learning facilities that their children need to know how to function in the “real world.” Perhaps it is this amalgamation and adaptation into the general society which pushes the Jewish American to react with added exhilaration and fervor around Thanksgiving and New Year's Eve. Between those two American holidays comes a very un-Jewish December holiday. A Jewish person knows that between Thanksgiving and January first, he or she will be forced to be different than the general society. Thanksgiving, prior to December, and New Year's, following December, would seem to be opportunities for a Jewish person to show how he or she is equal with everyone else.

When the Torah introduces the opening words of this week's portion, Toldos, it says: “These are the descendents of Yitzchack – the patriarch Isaac – the son of Avraham; Avraham fathered Yitzchack.”

If Yitzchack was the son of Avraham then Avraham obviously fathered Yitzchack!

The Torah seems to be implying a most fundamental lesson from the first born Jew, about to embark on his own in his journey through life. Yitzchack, the son of Avraham, can only be the next Jew and the second patriarch of the nation when he focuses upon who he is, where he came from and where he must go. The illustrious lineage of his is not just a family name, an identification, or a page in some book. It is his personality, his charge and his whole identity. Yitzchack is the son of Avraham – and that's a fact; Avraham fathered Yitzchack – and that's who he aspired to be.

We need to give thanks for ALL we have, especially all the many wonderful Jewish opportunities. We need to remember to go to a Shul on Friday night following Thanksgiving to give thanks for Shabbos in addition to celebrating on Thursday night. We need to remember to utilize every aspect of our lives and every moment we have to give a great load of thanks to G-d.

Because I feel the need to emphasize my identity, I prefer not to be "observant" of Thanksgiving like an "orthodox" American. I celebrate this holiday by eating with my family, talking about Thanksgiving, and enjoying the day as well. Just not with all the "traditions" and "customs". I prefer to celebrate the Jewish holidays fully and properly - like a so-called Orthodox and observant Jew. And at this stage of my life, I prefer to celebrate the American holidays more like, let's say, a "reform" American...

I hope, though, you all did have a happy Thanksgiving, and followed it up with a very happy Shabbos!

Vayetze

KISS CAN TELL

They say it comes with the territory. A Rabbi's job is to attend and participate in the pleasant and happy times of life, such as a Bris, Bar-Mitzvah, a wedding, etc. The Rabbi is also found at the unfortunate and unpleasant times of life, such as visiting the infirm, helping to deal with life's difficulties, and being there for the mourning and bereaved following a death.

And so it was recently that I found myself in the hospital visiting a friend who was undergoing some serious surgery. It turns out that my visit happened to be while family and friends were sitting in the reception area waiting for the doctor to deliver what we hoped would be great news about the outcome of the serious operation.

The doctor did, indeed, deliver good news, thank G-d. A look of relief came over us all, especially the patient's wife. The doctor then gave permission for the wife to visit her husband as he was emerging from the surgery and anesthetic. I was flattered to be asked to accompany the wife into the recovery room of the Intensive Care Unit.

The patient was quite groggy and sleepy. It was going to take a few more hours for him to fully egress from the deep slumber. But you couldn't tell that from the wife's reaction. Observing a wife seeing her husband for the first time after the significant ordeal of a serious procedure was nothing less than an inspiration. The wife was looking at her husband, talking to him and tending to him as though he had just returned from a trip.

I was moved by the obvious close relationship between the two. When one person loves another person, expressions of endearment, kinship and closeness can be felt. Although I was pretty sure that the husband was mostly unaware of his wife's tender sentiments and devoted solicitude, the wife still expressed herself with all her heart. After a few minutes, and with a kiss to his forehead, the wife took leave of her husband.

It was that kiss to the forehead which was most tender and most inspiring.

Of all the expressions of love, nothing is used more often to communicate it than the kiss. It's a natural thing to observe a parent kissing their young child. We have all seen people kissing loved ones in airports – in sadness about their departure and in happiness about their arrival.

But what, exactly, does the kiss signify? Can the kiss be defined?

There is no Torah portion which contains more mention of kissing than this week's portion of Vayetze. Early in the portion we read how Yaakov, the patriarch Jacob, met his cousin Rachel for the first time. With his prophetic vision, Yaakov knew this girl would one day become his wife. Yaakov kissed her. The Torah doesn't say “they kissed,” just he kissed her. This kiss hardly sounds like a “shared” romantic kiss, as others erroneously assume.

Later, Rachel's father, Lavan, ran towards his nephew, Yaakov, upon learning of his arrival. He hugged and kissed him. Here again, though, our sages point to Lavan's curious enthusiasm in his running. The run of Lavan indicates his ulterior motive: He anticipated expensive gifts from his wealthy sister. So he hugged Yaakov, thereby frisking him for “the goods.” In the absence of any gifts, he kissed him in feigned love, as in “kiss and tell.” Hardly any love is shared here with this kiss.

At the end of the portion an angry Lavan claims that Yaakov snuck away from his house with his whole family. Lavan, the chronic cheating swindler, is upset that “you didn't allow me to kiss my sons and daughters!” The poor thing… The Torah, though, records Lavan's own daughter's claim about their father, “We're considered strangers to him.” Despite Lavan's complaint, there seems to be very little love for him to kiss with.

Finally, at the very end of the portion, and realizing that he's lost his final battle with Yaakov and he may never see his children again, Lavan “Kisses his sons and daughters.” There is some love expressed after all.

A kiss can have many meanings. Elsewhere in the Torah, Yosef kisses his brothers when he reveals his identity to them after a 22 year hiatus, and Yaakov kisses his grandchildren. Moshe and his brother Aharon meet and kiss, as does Moshe and his father-in-law, Yitro. We all kiss the Torah on its way in and out of the ark. When you kiss a baby, it turns its head towards the kiss presumably because it feels like it's feeding time. Last week I moved my infant baby who was in my arms away from another child trying to kiss her. While the baby seemed to continue happily with her life, the would-be kisser was frustrated having been unable to express her one-way love to the baby. I have kissed assorted “booboos” on the limbs of my older children and the pain has miraculously subsided.

The above cases – infants, children, siblings and relatives and even close friends – share the same thing in common regarding the kiss: The kiss is an expression and a symbol of a previously shared love between the participants of the kiss. In such cases, therefore, the recipient of the kiss may be cognizant of the kiss and its implication, or may think it's feeding time. Depending on the circumstances, this kiss can be a greeting, a good-bye, an expression of sympathy to someone in pain, an expression of reconciliation (kiss and make up), an act of aggression (if the kiss is unwanted), or even an act of betrayal. It can also be a sign of subservience as in kissing feet. It can be between friends or between family members.

Then there's a different kind of kiss, one that, in and of itself, is an expression of love, not some kind of sign of love. It's the type of kiss that can express something words cannot express. This type of kiss is an act of intimacy, and is only possible when the two people are completely in sync and deeply aware of each other. It's usually found in the spousal relationship.

It's interesting to note, though, that this form of the kiss – the type which expresses the deep, verbally inexpressible love – is basically not mentioned in the Torah. The Torah certainly never alludes to the kiss as it pertains to the relationship of spouses. And for good reason: Intimacy is special and, well, intimate, precisely because it is unique and personal between those sharing this intimacy. What is shared between two people privately can only be considered intimate if it, indeed, remains private.

When the man I was visiting in the hospital was emerging from his anesthesia as someone on the mend and improved, it unleashed the great connection and love between his spouse and him. It didn't matter how dazed and woozy he was. This union was deeper than that. And it's very rare to have the fortune of observing and glimpsing special moments like this.

Witnessing an expression of the reconnection between the two spouses was one of the more rewarding moments I have ever had as a Rabbi.

VAYISHLACH

HEROIC OUTSIDERS

“How come the Torah doesn't have any Jewish female heroes?”

This familiar question was presented to me once again earlier this week, in a class of teenage girls I was leading. Just one of the students asked the question. The silence of the rest of the class, though, led me to confront this issue alone despite my discussing one of the Torah's female heroes, Sarah, a few weeks ago.

The question brought a smile to my face. No, not to, heaven forbid, belittle the question or questioner. I was just glad the question was asked at this time of the year when so many Jewish women are heroically featured in the Torah portions.

The majority of the girls in the class have had minimal exposure to the stories of the Torah. I was hoping to engage these students in a meaningful dialogue and exchange, more than just simply answer the question.

And so I began to extol the virtues of the matriarchs, Rachel and Leah, who were selfless, giving, and humble – as discussed in the Torah portions of these weeks.

It wasn't enough. Yes, the students knew some of the story; yes, they were pleased to hear more the story; yes, they were glad to realize that female heroes were also presented. But, as they said: These are stories about women who were strongly devoted to their husbands and families. What about a Jewish female hero who didn't have a family, like us, who are still teenagers?

It didn't help when I tried to reason with them. In my words, “you will all be there one day yourselves, with G-d's help, with your own families.” They wanted to know about a hero for now.

So, I turned to this week's Torah portion, “Vayishlach.” The Torah tells of a young girl, daughter of the matriarch Leah and of the patriarch Jacob. Her name was Dinah. This girl, emphasizes the Torah, “went out to see the girls of the land.” A repugnant man called “Shechem,” whom the Torah identifies as a “prince of the land,” saw her, took her, and violated her.

The commentaries link the Torah's description of Dinah's “going out” to the Torah's description of her mother's “going out.” The Torah relates that Leah went out to greet her husband as he was returning from work in order to ascertain that he spend the night in her tent. Leah's “going out” was obviously a positive and honorable thing. Since Dinah's “going out” is linked with her mother's, it must, therefore, also be seen as something positive.

In other words, Dinah was not simply drifting in the streets, meandering and sauntering around “looking for action.” Rather, she had a plan and a mission, “to see the girls of the land” in the hopes of affecting them, making a difference and having an impact on them as the daughter of Yaakov Avinu, the patriarch Jacob.

Circumstances took a terrible turn, as a brutal, barbaric monster, who was “cruising the streets” took advantage of seeing her. The problem suffered by Dinah, however, had nothing to do with her correct and just behavior.

Dinah was, indeed, a wonderful role-model and hero. She had a talent and a knack of being able to positively influence the people around her. Aware of this quality, Dinah took to the people outside of her own home and environment to impress and to influence them in the right way. Had Dinah preferred to stay at home, locked away and protected from the “outside” influences, she may have saved herself from the disgrace at the hands of Shechem. The girls whom she could have impacted, though, would have been left out completely.

The Torah requires of the Jewish people to behave modestly. This requirement is particularly important for the women, as they are a greater target for the straying heart. The woman is also crowned with the distinction of being the “Akeres Habyis”, the main pillar of the home. Yet, it doesn't mean that the woman must be confined to her home. As we see from the Torah in this week's portion, if a woman possesses a G-d-given talent of influence and persuasion, that talent must be used, modestly and to the best of her ability, and not wasted.

I recently had a long talk with a young lady about marriage. The girl, who's at or near marriageable age, shared that she is looking for a man who makes enough money to support her, allowing her the freedom to remain at home.

A woman who chooses to remain at home is usually not doing “nothing.” There's plenty of hard and tedious work to be done at home, especially a home with children. But there's also a big world out there, which can use, and thrives, upon the work, care and volunteering of the woman. Staying at home and doing nothing, not fully utilizing one's talents, is a shame and a waste.

When a woman is able to appropriately and modestly use her talents outside of her home as well, she is like Dinah, the daughter of Yaakov. And a hero.

MIKETZ:

COMMUNICATING THE SOUND OF SILENCE

As the age of the internet became a force to reckon with some ten years ago, people were getting “hooked up” online. Being a Judaics studies teacher at the time, the students in my classes, one after the next, would proclaim how their families have become connected to the internet. After acquainting myself with this phenomenon, and after contemplating the benefits of this medium as a teacher and a Rabbi, it was pretty easy to conclude that electronic media would not just be the future, but would be the next thing to revolutionize the world.

The Lew family chose to be connected to the internet through “America Online,” since, at that time, almost all of the students were also connected to AOL. Finding creative ways to utilize the services available, the students would join me in a chat room (only available on AOL) a couple of nights prior to a test. Our rendezvous would include reviewing all the material for the upcoming test, answering questions and allowing the students to be, well, students in their own element. In all the years since, students always know, and have been encouraged, to chat with me through “Instant Message.” Sitting behind a computer gives a person, especially a young, teenage student, a certain filter of safety. People usually feel more secure when they don't have to actually look at someone.

Until this very day, I am in touch with dozens of present and former students online. Indeed, the internet has brought a revolution in communication, among the many other benefits.

Something new happens in this technology business every so often. Some of these innovations tend to leave us amazed. This week was one of those weeks. On Sunday, an instant message flashed on my screen. It was a former student wishing me a happy Chanukah. The student then calmly stated that she was typing her message to me while sitting next to her father and mother on a plane, traveling to Israel . And no, not on the ground, but an hour after take-off, into the flight!

The immediate thought which entered my mind was: Wait a minute, from a PLANE? Flying in the sky? Wow!

Then a second, more sobering thought came to me: Wait a minute, from a plane? Can we not keep away from the computer even for just a few hours? Can we never be “unavailable” anymore?

A while ago there was a discussion in the news regarding the use of cell phones in mid flight. Many hoped the ban on using cell phones would remain in place, causing people to control themselves from “having” to talk on the phone. The continued ban would also allow some peace for all the passengers on the flight. It seems that people have a tough time “switching off.”

Sir Frances Bacon, an English author and philosopher from the sixteenth century, once wrote: Silence is the virtue of fools.

The Jewish sages of the Talmud, however, had other ideas. The Mishnah section of Talmud says: “A fence for wisdom is silence.” Elsewhere, the Talmud says, “If a word is worth a whole coin, silence is worth two!” A wise person once put it this way: The most profound statements are often said in silence. President Abe Lincoln is quoted as saying, rather bitingly, “'Tis better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt.”

Of course, there are times when silence is a sin. If eople are potentially suffering, or are actually suffering, we must not be silent. The silence of so many during the Holocaust is a perfect example of the sin of silence. The patriarch Abraham, when told of the rightful impending destruction of the wicked region of Sodom , indignantly spoke-up to the “Judge of the entire Earth,” as he was unable to bear the thought of people suffering. Dr. Martin Luther King once said, “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

Overall, though, silence is the wisest statement a person can make. And it is a “loud” message imparted in this week's amazingly dramatic and emotional Torah portion, “Miketz.” The portion records how Yosef caused his brother's terrible anguish, worry and concern with his bizarre accusations against them. Yosef took a “hostage” – the brother Shimon. When they returned home to the land of Israel and to their father, the patriarch Yaakov (Jacob), they shared with him the baffling and alarming details of the unfolding mystery of their harsh treatment in Egypt . And there was a stipulation: In order for them to return to Egypt to gain the release of their brother Shimon, their youngest brother, Benjamin, had to accompany them. Their father refused to entertain that notion.

Later, when food was running low, Yaakov requested of his sons to purchase more rations from Egypt . The Torah shares that the brothers reminded their father of the condition to bring Benjamin with them.

At this stage, Yaakov calls out – and one can “hear” the pain in his voice: “Why have you harmed me by telling the man that you have another brother?” To which the brothers respond: The “man” was asking many questions. “Could we have known that he would say, ‘Bring your brother down'”?

Although a response is recorded, Yaakov's question of his sons rings loud and clear. What's the point or benefit of engaging in conversation with a stranger, sharing such personal details? Being “wise” includes the realization that words, and certainly idle prattle, can be damaging and harmful.

There are times in the day of a Jewish person when being quiet is the law. The “Amidah” section of the daily prayers, recited three times a day, must be said quietly or in an undertone. The second line of the central “Shema” prayer is also said quietly.

But there's a big difference between silence and quiet. Silence is the absence of sound, whereas quiet is making that sound small. In other words, a noise can never be completely “quiet”, since it is “noisy”. But it can be silent, if a person chooses withhold certain words or information.

Sharing words between people is a power only given to humans. We tend to sometimes underestimate the power of the spoken word. The wise person is not the one who knows how to talk; it's also not the one who is silent. It's the one who knows how to talk and when to still remain silent. Silent from divulging too much information. Silent from being insensitive to a fellow human being.

The internet is an amazing and powerful tool. Hey, I was able to hold a “conversation” with a friend who was a thousand miles away, 35,000 feet in the air, while traveling 500 miles an hour. The editors of the words you are currently reading are not in Atlanta now. Yet, they were both able to edit this Good Shabbos Email thanks to the Internet.

But all this “noise” must make us also seek the silence. It's just like the flames of the Chanukah Menorah, which burn quietly and silently – unlike the sound of the Shofar, the shaking of the four species on Sukkos, the crunch of the Matzah, the noise of the Megillah reading – and yet have such a powerful, positive and "illuminating" impact.

We, similarly, need make a time for the sound of silence.

VAYIGASH

MARCH OF THE LIVING: CLEARING THE “BLOCKAGE”

Wednesday evening has become quite an occupied night for me. It is the night designated to writing the “Good Shabbos Email.” The plan is usually very straight-forward: Write the email and finish it at a reasonable hour, then get it to the editors and send it to the email list. All efforts are therefore made to leave Wednesday nights clear of major distractions and projects which require too much attention and time.

Plans, however, don't always lead to their desired outcome. Writing requires thought and planning. Once the actual writing begins, one can expect various complications and dilemmas. At times, the writing doesn't quite “flow.” An idea may be slow to develop; a better descriptive word may be elusive. Sometimes sleep may get the better of me. The Good Shabbos Email may have to therefore wait till Thursday night to be completed (as it was, unfortunately, with this week's edition.)

A couple of weeks ago, though, an exception was made to the “Wednesday night rule.” It was after I received a call from Mrs. Eve Adler, the Atlanta coordinator for the “March Of The Living.” She said that copies of the professional DVD from our trip last spring to Poland and Israel had arrived, and I was invited to her home to join her family for the initial screening of this movie.

I jumped at the opportunity with great enthusiasm. The March Of The Living was a life-changing experience, as it journeyed into the gas chambers of Auschwitz, to the mounds of shoes in Majdanek, through the tombstones of Treblinka, directly past the Wall of Jerusalem and the Holy Land , straight into our hearts and souls. Good Shabbos Email or not, this DVD needed to be watched, and immediately.

The presentation was three and a half hours long. If the DVD would have lasted double that time, we would have gladly watched it for that long as well. It rekindled the feelings and the emotions like nothing else could. We both felt deeply stirred; moved to the core. The experience we had this past May seemed to be right there for us to recapture.

Mr. Adler, on the other hand, didn't seem to be that affected. Mrs. Lew hasn't even watched more than ten minutes of the DVD. The matter doesn't seem to be very urgent for them. It's certainly not so critical to impel them enough to drop everything else on their plate to watch this DVD.

Isn't it interesting: Four people, all of whom speak English perfectly, all whom can see very well, thank G-d, watching the same video. Two participants are moved so profoundly; the other two, well, not so much. Of course, when things are personal, the mind sees and comprehends and the emotions react. When it's not so personal, the emotions remain unaffected and mainly detached.

Whilst visiting Auschwitz this past May, one of the survivors was explaining the absence of living creatures, such as birds or stray animals, during the Holocaust period. He said, “Did you notice that odor in the gas chamber?” I sure did. When I smelled it for the first time, I was wondering if it's residual from the time of the Holocaust. It was from that time, the survivor said. “Imagine,” he said, “after 60 years and this place still carries that stench. You may possibly understand why no living thing would come close to here besides biting and hurtful insects.”

Not only did we see some of the sights where this terrible atrocity was occurred in the past, we actually inhaled it in the present.

When people experience something as real as we did on the March, the mind and the emotions – indeed, the entire person – are all in sync. It is personal. Watching the video just rekindled and rehashed those feelings.

Connecting the mind in the head to the emotions of the heart is actually part of the intellectual process. In Hebrew, it's known as “Daas,” or knowledge - in the biblical sense of the word. Metaphorically speaking, it's like the neck, which connects the mind and the heart. When there's a blockage between the two, the emotions remain unaffected and unmoved.

The neck is curiously featured in this week's Torah portion, Vayigash. The Torah relates how when Yosef introduced himself to his brothers, he “fell on [his brother] Benjamin's neck and he cried, and Benjamin cried on his neck.” The brothers cried, explain the sages, as they perceived, through prophetic vision, how the holy edifices of the Temples – erected in Yosef's and Benjamin's territory of Israel – will one day be destroyed through the sins of their descendants.

The neck is shaped like a conduit of sorts between the head and the rest of the body. Alternatively, the neck may also block the mind from the rest of the body. Each time someone who “knows better” doesn't act appropriately to his or her knowledge, there exists a division between the mind – knowledge – and the rest of the body.

The Holy Temples were both destroyed as a result of their descendants' misconduct and disobedience. Describing their reunion taking place at the neck is the Torah's way of emphasizing this “blockage” of the “neck” of their descendants; their behavior is contrary to what they know is the right way to behave.

Often people will do things although they know better. Sometimes those who misbehave wonder: “Whatever happened to me? I should know better!” The truth is that they actually do know better. But if knowledge isn't connected to the power of implementation as there is some kind of blockage, then the knowledge is quickly and conveniently lost.

This coming Tuesday is a public fast day. It marks the beginning of the siege of the holy city of Jerusalem by the Babylonians, which eventually led to its fall. It is also the designated “national Kaddish” day. On this day, Kaddish is recited for the Holocaust victims whose exact date of passing from this world is unknown.

Those who have visited the “scene of the crime” will have no problem allowing their “necks” to serve as a passageway to their emotions and feelings. For us, words like “holocaust,” “gas chamber,” “concentration camp” all mean now something personal and soul-related.

Let's hope that all of us manage to clear away the proverbial “blockage.” Our efforts will surely contribute to the time when all tears will be wiped away, as joy and happiness fills the world with the coming of Moshiach. The world will then be eradicated of suffering and bad news, and instead, be filled with gladness and elation. May it be so speedily in our days.

VAYECHI

Heavenly planes and plans

“Sorry, you've missed the flight. The plane has already left – without you.”

It's hard to imagine how hearing such words would produce anything less than a real sinking and disconcerted feeling. Not to mention confusion, frustration and worry.

And that's if you're a grown person, fully capable of fending for yourself. An adult, stuck in an airport will manage to find some (Kosher) food, something to do and will also be able to talk with the officials.

But this episode happened last week at Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport . And it happened to our 12-year old and 13-year old who were traveling back to New York after spending a few days home in Atlanta for the Chanukah break.

It's not that they got to the airport late. We actually arrived more than an hour before the scheduled flight, and almost two hours prior to the delayed time of the flight. The lines at the airport, however, were extremely long, and we arrived at the counter less than an hour before the scheduled flight time. Although it was well over an hour prior to the delayed time, we were advised to check-in with the manager. There was another line at the manager's counter.

The children were duly checked-in, and the manager said to them, “Follow me. Here, this way. Come on!”

That signaled my time to leave. With quick hugs and kisses, the kids were off and I was heading back home.

After returning home from the airport, I was preparing to leave my house to move on with my day. The phone rang; It was Chanah, calling from the airport. “We missed the plane,” she said. “But that's impossible,” I said. “I saw with my own eyes how you were checked-in, with plenty of time to spare before the plane left.”

As it turns out, the kids were erroneously placed on “stand-by.” This means that they had no seat assignments and were, therefore, expecting their names to be called by the airline crew, as were several other passengers. When the plane pulled back from the gate, they were told, just like that, that they had missed their flight.

And we had a major problem on our hands.

We tried to get the kids to talk to a different, more helpful, airline person, but to no avail. Mrs. Lew begged one of the kids to give the phone to one of the officials so she could talk to them. It wasn't happening.

I was already late for my morning commitments. Thoughts of returning to the airport to straighten this thing out were flashing before me, and these were not quite pleasant thoughts. I just didn't assume we would be able to get out of this problem without some serious action.

And then, as surprising to us as the problem originally was, something truly extraordinary and amazing happened. In all my years, amid various escapades and shenanigans in airports across the country and abroad, I have never seen or heard of such a thing happening.

The plane, which had departed about ten minutes before, suddenly returned to the gate! Apparently, a young girl had taken sick (nothing serious.) The mother and the airline felt it would be better if they took a later flight, giving the girl – and the plane – a chance to get cleaned up.

To our astonishment, we heard the airline representatives tell our children: “We're going to clean her seat. In a couple of minutes, you can take those two seats.”

I'm sorry that the girl had to take a later flight after her little accident. I am glad, though, that it wasn't anything serious. I am deeply thankful to the Almighty for orchestrating this improbable turn-of-events, to our benefit and, most importantly to the benefit of our children.

It's uncanny how problems seem to spring up so quickly, “just like that.” Solutions, however, appear to take much longer to unfold. Thank G-d, the solution “showed up” quickly in a most unexpected manner, without our needing to do anything.

Imagine the shock and surprise of the sons of Yaakov, the patriarch Jacob, when after a hiatus of twenty-two years, the man standing before them – who had been mercilessly menacing and threatening them – was none other than their own brother, Yosef. One minute they were pleading their case with him, the next minute, twenty-two lost years came tumbling out, as the Torah relates in last week's portion. In this case, as the problem intensified to what seemed to be a point no return, the solution to their problem was almost instantaneous.

For seventeen years, the family lived without incident in Egypt . When their father Yaakov passed on, however, the brothers were very worried, as this week's Torah portion, “Vayechi,” records. They felt that Yosef would now use their father's passing as an opportunity to get back at them for all the damage they had inflicted upon him. So they threw themselves at Yosef's feet, begging for his mercy.

Yosef was deeply disappointed. He actually cried for being wrongly accused of such an action. He reminded his brothers of how the saga had unfolded with them scheming to rid themselves of him, or perhaps even killing him. But those evil plans turned into something incredibly and improbably wonderful: Yosef became the viceroy of Egypt , stabilizing, feeding and leading the entire country. In an interesting ironic twist, Yosef's leadership of Egypt put him in the position to feed, to house, and to be of indispensable assistance to his own family – the very ones that conspired to dispense of him.

Yosef was saying that people make choices in life. Even if those choices are negative ones, G-d runs the world in His way and with His plans. For this reason, good and positive developments are possible despite human intentions. There's always a Divine plan in everything that happens,. In the case of Yosef, G-d intended that all should be for the good.

But it doesn't always seem good. It sometimes feels, in fact, very far from good. And yet, things can change suddenly and improbably. . We are simply not privy to the Divine plan. We just have to do everything in our power to make sure we do the right thing. The rest is up to our Father in Heaven.

Even when we want to take a plane to the heavens…