by Rabbi Mordechai Rhine
Golus is difficult. Literally translated, Golus means exile. But the connotation is far deeper. Golus is a state of being in which things aren’t as they are supposed to be. It is a state of distance and lack of clarity between us and Hashem.
The Jewish people are in Golus today. Whether we live in the diaspora or in the Land of Israel, we struggle. Dealing with crisis, with threats, with vulnerabilities, we forge forward daily and simply try to do the best we can.
The Golus in Mitzrayim was also difficult. Yakov and his family left their homeland and entered exile and were there for generations. But there is a dramatic difference between that exile and ours. In Mitzrayim they had leaders who were prophets. Moshe, for example, was able to inform the people that redemption was imminent. Moshe was able to contradict the naysayers who thought that we should remain in Golus forever. Moshe was able to share with the people the promise that following redemption there would be Sinai and a Land of Israel.
The prophets in the time of the Beis Hamikdash anticipated our Golus, a Golus without prophecy. In the final words of the prophets— in the book of Malachi—we find the prophets’ parting message, “Remember the Torah.” As the Malbim explains, “This is the final prophecy until the times of Moshiach. From this point on we cannot turn to Hashem expecting guidance in the form of prophecy. Instead, we are advised: Stay close to Torah. That will uplift you.”
I once heard a story shared by Rav Kook (d. 1935), the Chief Rabbi of what would become the State of Israel, while it was in formation under the British Mandate. Rav Kook recounted how in his childhood, he lived in a town that was a bit distant from the school. To get to school the boys had to walk through a hilly forest which was quite beautiful during the spring and summer months. But in the winter, there were times that things got snowy and icy, and it was quite challenging for the boys to get to school. Some children arrived bruised, from numerous falls. Others took a much longer route and came to school late and exhausted.
One year, Rav Kook and a friend decided to try a different approach. Before the first snow, they ran a rope through the forest from the residential part of town to the area in which the school was located. On the first snow day they tested their strategy. It performed astonishingly well. By holding tightly to the rope, the boys were able to travel straight through the forest without falling even once.
Rav Kook recounted this incident years later in his adult life as a Moshol (parable) for the Jew in Golus. There are many situations that could easily fell us or exhaust us. But if we hold on tightly to Torah which is anchored well in the past and in the future, then we can travel through the snowy, hilly forest, without faltering.
I was reminded of Rav Kook’s story this week as I considered the many complex situations which we – in Golus– face today.
In the State of Israel, for example, a movement of Giyur (conversion) reform is underway. This reform is to change the standards from the sacred requirements regarding a person who wishes to enter the covenant of the Jewish people. If past experiences worldwide are any indication, the goal is to create a situation in which anyone who professes a desire to be called Jewish will be allowed to do so, regardless of their commitment to Mitzvos, to Halacha, or to the basic beliefs of the Jewish people. David Ben Gurion, the founding Prime Minister of the State of Israel, foresaw this problem. In a letter dated June 19, 1947, he declared that the official position of the State would be to endorse Shabbat and Kashrut, and that standards of Geirut must be such that we avoid splitting the Jewish people into two.
In another Golus topic, our communities have been hit particularly hard by the COVID situation. We are a very communal people, and the ongoing lack of resolution, and yet a new wave of illness (for some, even after two vaccines and a booster), creates a particularly disconcerting situation. Many people are less connected than ever before, and many have drifted from the connections that have traditionally comforted us and kept us strong. It would be so nice to have the guidance and clarity which a prophet could provide.
Yet another hard hit, was the information that a well-known, talented writer and therapist had been acting improperly with clients for years. His suicide following exposure leaves many in shock and leaves a legacy of abuse and serious emotional scars for so many.
It is in the difficult times of Golus that we dearly crave prophetic guidance. We wish there was a Moshe to rebuff the Doson and Avirams of the world. We wish there was a prophet who could tell us the message of COVID and how to protect ourselves and our loved ones. We wish there was a definitive leader who could guide all people to righteousness in both public and private, and demand of people that they get professional help when it is called for.
Yet, in Golus we do not have prophecy. Instead, we have the directive of the prophets that keeps us strong, connected, and unfaltering throughout the ages: “Remember the Torah.”
What does it mean to remember the Torah? It means that in the face of shock, sadness, and fear, we should lean in towards Torah, and not allow ourselves to drift. The values of Torah, like Tzedaka and chesed (kindness), should be increased. Involvement and support for Torah education and shul participation should be increased. Just as great Jews after the Holocaust leaned in, they held on tighter and rebuilt, so we must lean into Torah and hold on tightly.
The Talmud (Megilla 24b) tells of a blind man who raises a torch of fire in the night so that others can see and help him stay clear of obstacles. The Jew in Golus is a bit blind. It is hard to see well, and we do not have the benefit of prophecy. We must lean in and hold tightly to the rope of traditional Torah spanning generations. We can forge forward with clarity even in uncertain times. We can raise the torch of Torah and together we can provide light for a bright future for the entire Jewish people.
© 2022 by Rabbi Rhine and TEACH613™
by Rabbi Mordechai Rhine
If I were to ask you, “What was the most inspirational religious experience you have ever had?” you might respond with recollections of Kol Nidrei, or the Pesach Seder of your youth. Perhaps you would recall the experience of prayer you had in an emotionally laden moment, or the feeling you had being close to G-d when you visited the Kotel for the first time. For me, one of the most inspirational experiences is being a part of a person’s conversion to Judaism.
You see, many years ago, in a place called Sinai, the Jewish family gathered to become a nation. Until that point the Jewish family shared a biological connection, as well as many ideals, wisdom, and a culture. But at that moment, when they accepted the Torah, the Jewish people became more than a family. They became a nation.
Jewish tradition teaches that G-d offered the Torah to all the nations of the world, but they declined. Each nation found that the laws of the Torah didn’t match the lifestyle that they wished to live. Some did not like the rules against theft, others did not like the laws of Kosher, Shabbat, morality, or murder. What enabled the Jewish family to accept the Torah? They understood that the Torah would impose and make demands on them. They understood that Torah would demand greatness. They understood that Torah would require that they do things that they did not want to do and refrain from things that they wished they could do. Out of love for G-d, out of a desire for truth, and out of a desire to become spiritually great and in touch with their souls, they accepted the Torah, and, as one, they became a nation.
Jewish tradition teaches that although the nations of the world, as a whole, declined to accept the Torah, there were individuals of the nations whose souls yearned to say “Yes.” Perhaps they even answered “Yes” when G-d offered the Torah, but their response was drowned out by the collective response of their respective nations. These individual souls would be given the opportunity during the course of time to join the Jewish nation by choice. This is the essence of Jewish conversion.
The Rambam (Maimonides) writes, “Just as the Jews became a nation in Biblical times…so it is for generations. When a non-Jew wants to become Jewish and accepts the Mitzvos… in front of the Beis Din…” he or she becomes part of the Jewish nation.
Jewish conversion is a reenactment of the Sinai experience. Through this process of conversion, we can usher into the Jewish nation those who come by choice to accept the Torah.
Jewish conversion is momentous. It is often the culmination of years of searching and studying. Like Avraham, the first “Jew,” it often comes after quite a bit of experimenting with different religious options. When a person reaches this point in their personal journey it is just plain awesome.
On a practical level, a Beis Din in our time will strive to act responsibly both to the candidate and to the Jewish nation which the candidate wishes to join. The Beis Din will require that the candidate has a sponsoring Rabbinic couple who can mentor the candidate and model what Judaism is in real life experience. Likewise, we typically require that the candidate be part of a Jewish community and has integrated well, so that the prognosis is that of success. We will often be quite cautious regarding candidates who are in a particular emotional swing or have not settled down. Likewise, we will be quite cautious regarding a candidate who has much book knowledge but has not yet integrated into a Jewish community. The weight of Jewish conversion rests upon all those involved that the decision to become Jewish is authentic and is a decision that is indeed responsible and lasting.
The actual conversion takes place at a Mikva where the candidate is dressed in a particular type of robe, made of material that is not clingy, and will allow the Mikva water to make contact with the body. After exchanging pleasantries, the head of the Beis Din will begin asking the questions that define the acceptance of Mitzvos. The candidates’ affirmative responses are the modern-day equivalent of that great “Yes” that we responded as a nation as we stood at Sinai so many years ago.
Sometimes, the candidate will get choked up with emotion, or find themselves crying tears of joy and success, having been able to reach this noble and authentic milestone. They may be responding to the Beis Din’s questions, but at the same time they are communicating with G-d, accepting the Torah as the Jewish people did many years ago.
The story is told of a woman who crafted a beautiful cover for a Torah scroll. She brought it to the synagogue and was hoping to be greeted with great fanfare. She was greeted pleasantly, and the cover she crafted with such dedication and good will was tried. But it didn’t fit the Torah scroll. Unfortunately, the cover she made was just a bit too small. As the story goes, the woman in her disappointment exclaimed, “Then cut the Torah a bit and it will fit.”
To the awesome credit of the candidate there were times along the journey that the Beis Din gave feedback advising them to work more on certain areas to attain appropriate knowledge and proficiency, and they listened. He or she took the guidance to heart, studied, and practiced, until they were ready for another meeting.
When a candidate does reach the “finish line” it is like the expression we use by a wedding: “This is not an end; this is just a beginning.” For a man who has converted, he will often ask to be directed to the nearest synagogue so that he can put on Teffilin for the first time. For a woman who has converted, she will often be embraced by her friends and mentors with the joy appropriate for a Kallah. Joyous cries of “Mazal Tov!” emanate from all, as she follows in the footsteps of Rus, matriarch of royalty.
Experiencing a Jewish conversion may be the closest I can get to experiencing Sinai in my lifetime. It is the wondrous moment when a human being expresses infinite trust in G-d and the system of Judaism, to join without conditions and without rewriting the script. It is a moment of infinite joy in heaven and on earth. It is an honor and a trust to be a part of. It is truly a religiously inspirational moment.
With best wishes for a wonderful Shabbos!
Rabbi Mordechai Rhine is a certified mediator and coach with Rabbinic experience of over 20 years. Based in Maryland, he provides services internationally via Zoom. He is the Director of TEACH613: Building Torah Communities, One Family at a Time, and the founder of CARE Mediation, a family mediation practice focused on marriage, divorce, parenting, and personal coaching.
Rabbi Rhine can be reached through his websites at www.care-mediation.com and www.teach613.org or by email at RMRhine@gmail.com
© 2021 by TEACH613TM
by Rabbi Mordechai Rhine
As the Jews approached the Land of Israel, they sent spies to find out more about the land. Forty days later, the spies returned. “The inhabitants are so strong that we cannot possibly conquer them,” the spies reported. The Jews believed that assessment and were punished. It would be forty years before they would finally enter the Land of Israel.
What is behind the story of the spies? Why did a nation that had seen so many miracles in Egypt and in the desert feel that they could not conquer the land?
The commentaries explain that the transition into the Land of Israel was a difficult one. The Jewish existence in the desert was miraculous. They were miraculously provided with food; they were protected from their enemies. Upon entering the Land, they would begin normal, natural living. Thus, the spies reported back, “According to the laws of nature, we cannot win.”
Still, the spies and the people are faulted. Although it is true that the Jews could not expect overt miracles once they left the Desert Era, but G-d would still influence the world through miracles hidden in nature.
As the Jews entered the Land of Israel, a new approach was being implemented. They needed to send spies because that is what normal people do before waging war. Reporting back that the people were very strong was also proper. But, when they concluded that they would lose the war, they were overstepping their bounds. They thought they were now limited by the laws of nature. But, the Jews were entering a new era: the era of natural miracles. G-d would still perform miracles, but the miracles would occur within the framework of natural events.
Often in life, we encounter challenges that are bigger than we are. The lesson of the spies is that nature and logistics should be assessed. But, G-d’s “natural miracles” have to be factored into the equation. The phenomenal growth of observant Jewry against logical odds is an example of this. Had we “believed” the laws of nature, we would have given up and failed. Similarly, the existence of the State of Israel, as well as the survival of the people of Israel, are examples of miracles within the framework of nature.
It is said that a King once asked a philosopher, “If you really believe in miracles, show me one.”
The philosopher responded, “The Jews, your majesty. The Jews.”
As the Jews entered the Land of Israel, they were entering a world of nature tempered by the miraculous. Jewish survival isn’t about blind faith. Neither is it about sheer optimism. The Jewish agenda is set with an awareness that the tasks are greater than we are. With G-d’s miraculous help, we will succeed.
With best wishes for a wonderful Shabbos.
© 2018 by TEACH613™
by Rabbi Mordechai Rhine
Following the exodus from Egypt, the Jews were provided for in the desert in a most remarkable way. Food was provided daily in the form of the Manna; drink was provided from a special fountain. Their clothes miraculously grew with them and were perpetually cleaned by the Clouds of Glory which surrounded them. On the spiritual front as well, there were plenty of mitzvah opportunities. The Jews lived in a virtual utopia. One would have expected that there would be no cause for complaint.
But complain they did.
The Torah tells us of a group that complained about a few select foods whose tastes were unavailable to them in the desert. Likewise, we are told that there was a group that approached Moshe with the complaint that they were excluded from the mitzvah of the Korban Pesach. As part of the sacred burial society they were considered ritually impure and were excluded from bringing the special Pesach sacrifice.
Why is it that, even in a virtual utopia, people find the need to complain? And, how does the same environment produce two very different type of complainers: A group that complains about some missing gastronomical delights, in contrast to a group that complains that they were “unfairly” excluded from performing a beloved mitzvah?
Rabbi A. J. Twerski records an insightful story about a certain town in which a great Chasidic Master passed away and was buried in the local cemetery. Soon after the funeral, a disagreement developed between the loyal servant of the Master and the local Rabbi. Each claimed that he was entitled to the one remaining burial plot next to the great Master. The disagreement brought out the passions of many townspeople. Some argued that the town Rabbi was entitled to the distinction of being buried next to the great Master, while others argued that the loyal servant deserved to remain in close proximity to his illustrious mentor.
The question was posed to the Jewish court of a neighboring town.
The ruling was that whoever would die first would be entitled to the coveted burial spot.
As a result, whenever the Master’s servant would get sick, the town Rabbi would do whatever he could to make him well. He would have special prayers recited on his behalf and would obtain the best medical care for him. Likewise, whenever the town Rabbi would get sick, the Master’s servant would ensure that he got well quickly. The argument between them brought out the best in kindness and generosity for each other.
Rabbi Twerski concludes: It seems that jealousy is a fact of the human condition. The mark of greatness is to be jealous in a good and positive way.
I would suggest that the same is true of the tendency to notice that which is missing. Even in a virtual utopia, there will be complainers. That is human nature. But depending on one’s focus, those complaints and cravings can either be the source of blessing, or the cause of destruction.
For those who craved additional mitzvos, their complaints resulted in G-d giving an additional mitzvah, a second chance to observe the Korban Pesach. But, for those who craved and complained about a few missing tastes — despite all of G-d’s blessings — the result was G-d’s great displeasure and disappointment with their complaints, was punishment.
It is widely understood that the blessings of life are intended as a test. Whether a person is wealthy, smart, or strong, the test of life is to see how he will handle those blessings. What this week’s Torah portion introduces is that the need to crave is also a test. No matter how perfect things are, there will always be imperfections. The test of life is to choose from among those things which are missing and decide what it is that is worth craving.
Picture for a moment a young couple taking a tour of a home that they are considering buying. As they tour the house, they count the bedrooms and bathrooms, analyze the dining room, and critique the kitchen. Undoubtedly there will be flaws. But, for a young Jewish couple, the areas of true concern are fairly predictable. “Does the yard have a place for a succah?” “How far away is the local shul or yeshiva?”
All of life, even “utopia,” has flaws. This is G-d’s way of testing our values. What is it that we will notice? What is it that gives us cause for complaint?
It is said that a great Jew who lived in Jerusalem in the early 1900s fell deathly ill. The attending doctor identified a serious infection that he claimed originated in the patient’s teeth. As part of the treatment he directed that all of the teeth be pulled from the then unconscious patient. Miraculously, the treatment succeeded, and when this great man regained consciousness and realized that his teeth were gone, he cried out, “But, if so, how will I chew the matzoh at the Pesach seder?”
The fact is that even utopia has imperfections. But which imperfections bother a person — for example, the loss of an opportunity to perform a mitzvah — is an indicator of their degree of personal greatness.
As such, when we notice an imperfection in our lives we might remind ourselves that the word “imperfect” can remind us, “I am perfect,” meaning, “The situation that I find myself in is the perfect one, tailor made, for me.”
With best wishes for a wonderful Shabbos!
© 2018 by TEACH613™
by Rabbi Mordechai Rhine
The Kohein had been asked to do the unthinkable. He looked up with shock at his mentor who had given him the directive. “To erase G-d’s holy name into the water.” The Kohein waited for some clarification. Perhaps he had heard wrong or misunderstood. But, no. His mentor nodded firmly in the affirmative. This was the mitzvah. “Erase G-d’s holy name into the water.” And so the Kohein dutifully obeyed.
The Kohein of our little story is not alone is his surprise. The Talmud too wonders why G-d would have his name erased, an act that would normally be considered a forbidden act of disgrace. The Talmud explains that it is a unique mitzva for the case of Sotah, the woman who compromised her reputation by going privately with a man, after her husband warned her not to be alone with that man. Now her marriage was in jeopardy. Hashem says, “Erase my holy name into the water to try to restore peace between husband and wife.”
Reading the story of the Sotah one might get the idea that the name of G-d is erased to give the water its potency. When the woman suspected of immoral conduct will drink it, if she is guilty, it will affect her like a poison, and she will die. But the Talmud doesn’t see the mitzva to erase G-d’s name as needed for retribution. Hashem can have the water do its work even without the erasing of His name. The tradition is clear. The erasing is to restore peace between husband and wife. The erasing is being done for the woman who is innocent, the woman who will live even after drinking the water. It will prove her innocence and restore peace in the home.
One might have expected a more passive position be taken regarding this couple. Their marriage is a bit rocky. He forbade her; she disobeyed. Why not let them wallow in their own mess? Yet, at this very juncture G-d steps in and says, “I value their marriage. I would like to restore peace. This is so important to Me that I am willing to undergo disgrace to try.” Perhaps when this couple sees how committed G-d is to try to restore peace, they too might become a little more giving and willing to swallow a perceived insult or indiscretion.
The lesson of the Sotah is not really about the sinful woman. The lesson of Sotah is about how much Hashem values even a rocky marriage. Hashem takes a vested interest in restoring peace, and so should we.
Interestingly, the Talmud doesn’t wait for dramatic cases of Sotah to implement this lesson. The Talmud (Eiruvin 63) writes that, “It is prohibited to hang out where a husband and wife are trying to get some quiet time together, even if she is a Niddah.” The phrase, “Even if she is a Niddah,” indicates that this has nothing to do with infringing on private time. It is referring simply to the chit-chat of husband and wife, a conversation that probably goes something like this:
“So, Shprintza, how was your day?”
“Oh, pretty good. But the pea soup burned.”
He listens as she talks, and he talks and she listens. They have a conversation. And the Talmud prohibits us from infringing, because that conversation increases their emotional closeness with each other. It promotes marital peace, and is therefore sacred.
So, we see that G-d has a special interest in restoring peace in a marriage. “It is worth it – to promote a marriage- even if it means to suffer a disgrace.” And we see that the Talmud warns us not to infringe on the private time of a husband and wife, because that simple conversation bonds them and promotes their marriage. What is left is for us, in marriage, to take the lessons to heart. “It is worth it – to promote my own marriage- even if it means to suffer a disgrace.” And the friendly conversation that does not seem important at all, is actually most valuable. Because promoting peace in marriage- including your own- is important.
The 30 day Jewish Marriage Challenge is now available. Try it, at http://www.teach613.org/30-day-jewish-marriage-challenge/#more-‘
© 2018 by TEACH613™
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