“Nelson Mandela, Joseph and the Power of Reconciliation”

Over the last two days, I have been watching with great interest the near universal expressions of praise and admiration for Nelson Mandela. I say “near universal admiration” because in some quarters of the Jewish press, there has been some criticism of Mandela for his complicated relationship with Israel. There was of course the time when he publicly hugged Yasser Arafat and a number of critical statements of Israel regarding the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict. Because of this controversy, I was at first hesitant to speak about Mandela from the pulpit. But then I read the laudatory words of Benjamin Netanyahu about Mandela. I don’t think anyone here will accuse Bibi Netanyahu of being Anti-Israel! And I don’t think anyone here will accuse Bibi of being a lover of Yasser Arafat so I think I can follow his lead!

Here is what Bibi said yesterday in an official statement upon the death of Mandela:

"Nelson Mandela was one of the outstanding figures of our time. He was the father of his nation, a man of vision, a fighter for freedom who avoided violence. He was a humble man who provided a personal example for his nation during the long years he spent in prison. He worked to heal the rifts in South African society and succeeded, through the power of his character, in preventing racial hatred. He will be remembered as the father of the new South Africa and a moral leader of the highest order."

So I will follow Bibi’s lead and share a lesson based on Mandela’s personal example and life and the amazing thing is that it is right there in our parshah - Parshat Vayigash.

I am going to focus on perhaps the most dramatic moment in Tanach. It is the moment when after so many years of imprisonment, abandonment and pain, Yosef finally reveals himself to his brothers, his brothers who sold him into slavery in the first place.

אני יוסף העוד אבי חי.

“I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?”

I will analyze these words in a few minutes but first, I want to put all of the emotions on the table. What do you think the brother’s were feeling at that moment? Name the emotions:

From the audience: “Shame, Fear, Embarrassment” “anger at each other”

Great. This is all there. Rashi says they were feeling בושה - shame. Other commentaries talk of fear. Now that Yosef has the power (he is the Viceroy of Egypt), he might take revenge.

I also often think of Benjamin. What was he thinking at this moment? For his entire life, he had been taught the family myth. His older brother was killed by a wild animal. I am sure that from time to time, he would ask his older brothers whom he respected so much “tell me what happened on that day.” And they would get all emotional and lie about how they found their brother’s bloodied coat of many colors.

Now, in this one moment, his entire world turns upside down. On the one hand, he finds out that one brother Joseph is still alive. But at the same time, he finds out that his other brothers are capable of such evil. The family secret is revealed. Imagine the anger, The betrayal. I cannot think of a moment in biblical narrative that is as emotionally complex.

And I am sure that many of these emotions were felt by Afrikaners who were perpetrators of Apartheid. In the 1990’s when things started changing, I am sure they felt shame, embarrassment and fear.

Now let us analyze Joseph’s statement: “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?”

This question is perhaps the most famous in the Bible but it also makes no sense.

Joseph must have known that his father Jacob was still alive. Just 5 verses ago, Judah begged Joseph to allow Benjamin to go home lest his father die from the shock and pain. Furthermore, the brothers never explicitly answer the question, “is my father still alive” yet a few verses later, Joseph tells the brothers to go home and tell father of the glory he has achieved in Egypt.

So how do we explain the question?

I believe we can explain it with a very powerful midrash.

ר' אלעזר כי מטי להאי קרא בכי (בראשית מה, ג) ולא יכלו אחיו לענות אתו כי נבהלו מפניו ומה תוכחה של בשר ודם כך תוכחה של הקדוש ברוך הוא על אחת כמה וכמה

The Midrash says that whenever Rabbi Elazer reached this verse, he would cry. The brothers were speechless (after the Yosef’s question). Now if the rebuke of a man (Yosef) was so painful, how much more so the rebuke of G-d.

Many commentaries ask the following: What rebuke does Yosef offer his brothers? On the contrary, he seems to be very forgiving.

The Torah Temimah offers a beautiful insight. He says that when Yosef asks, “is father still alive” he of course knew the answer and the brothers knew that Yosef knew the answer. It was rhetorical. “It is shocking that father is still alive after all that you put him through.” In other words, despite whatever complaints you had against me (I was a tattle tale), how could you hurt father so much?” This was the rebuke.

I would take this one step further. Have you ever hurt someone sometimes even inadvertently? You do everything you can to not see or run into that person because you are ashamed. The mere presence of the victim, even if he or she says nothing, is a rebuke. This is what the brothers felt when they saw him. Shame and fear and Yosef did not even have to say a word.

I think the same is true when Mandela was released from prison in 1990. Mandela did not even have to say a word. His very presence, the vicitm standing before all to see is a source of shame and fear for the perpetrators.

And How does Yosef respond. The power is in his hands. He can now pay back from a life lost. Years in jail. Dreams squashed. What does he say?

"Now, do not be anguished, and do not reproach yourselves that you have sold me here, for it is to be a source of life that God has sent me ahead of you." (Breishit 45:4).

He is completely forgiving. He would prefer to look forward. To reunite with his family and work for a brighter future. The past is important. But he is not going to allow rehashing over everything that happened to get in the way of a brighter future.

And how does Mandela respond in a similar situation. Let me read to you from his autobiography, “Long Walk to Freedom.” Mandela is discussing his first press conference after being released from prison in 1990.

“I was asked as well about the fears of whites. I knew that people expected me to harbor anger toward whites. But I had none. In prison, my anger toward whites decreased, but my hatred for the system grew. I wanted South Africa to see that I loved even my enemies while I hated the system that turned us against one

another...Whites are fellow South Africans….we want them to feel safe and to know that we appreciate the contribution that they have made towards the development of this country. Any man or woman who abandons apartheid will be embraced in our struggle for a democratic, non-racial South Africa; we must do everything we could to persuade our white compatriots that a new, non-racial South Africa would be a better place for all.” (Long Walk to Freedom,  page 559)

Like Yosef, Mandela is more interested in a bright future than to be fettered to the past. He harbors no hatred to those who caused him so much pain.

One more example perhaps more relevant to the Jewish Community: Percy Yutar, a respected member of an Orthodox shul in Johannesburg, was a government prosecutor in the Rivonia Trial in 1964 at which Mandela was sentenced to life imprisonment. True to his generous spirit, however, Mandela invited Yutar to lunch just months after being inaugurated as the South African president, and made a point of publicly shaking his hand, thus sending a message that the bitter past must not be allowed to prevent a better future (Jewish Week).

Let me conclude with another section from his book. In 1978, Mandela’s daughter Zeni married Prince Thumbeumuzi, son of the Swazi king. Mandela discusses their first visit after they had a baby.

 “There was a tremendous advantage in Zeni becoming a member of the Swazi royal family: She was immediately granted diplomatic privileges and could visit me virtually at will. That winter after she and Thumbeumuzi were married, they came to see me, along with their newborn baby daughter.

“Because of the prince’s status we were allowed to meet one another in the consulting room, not the normal visiting area where one is separated from one’s family by thick walls and glass. I waited for them with some nervousness.

It was a truly wondrous moment when they came into the room. I stood up, and when Zeni saw me, she practically tossed her tiny baby to her husband and ran across the room to embrace me. I had not held my now grown-up daughter since she was about her own daughter’s age. It was a dizzying experience, as though time had sped forward in a science fiction novel, suddenly to hug one’s fully grown child.

“I then embraced my new son and he handed me my tiny granddaughter, whom I did not let go of for the entire visit. To hold a newborn baby so vulnerable and soft in my rough hands, hands that for too long had held only picks and shovels, was a profound joy. I do not think a man was ever happier to hold a baby than I was that day.”

And now here is the part of the story which brings home the point of the sermon:

The visit had a more official purpose and that was for me to choose a name for the child. It is a custom for the grandfather to select a name, and the one I had chosen was Zaziwe—which means “Hope.”

The name had special meaning for me, for during all my years in prison hope never left me—and now it never would. I was convinced that this child would be a part of a new generation of South Africans for whom apartheid would be a distant memory—that was my dream. (Long Walk to Freedom,  page 482)

That word, hope, also has special meaning for us, Hatikva. Yosef and Mandela teach us that we should live with hope and not fear. This lesson is true not only on the National and Political level. It is just profound and important in our personal lives. How often do siblings or friends not talk to each other because instead of creating a brighter future, they are fettered to the past? If Joseph can forgive his brothers for selling him into slavery and Mandela can forgive his jailers and prosecutors for stealing 27 years of his life, I am sure we can be a little more forgiving as well. We do this not only to forgive, but to create a brighter future.

I will conclude with the eloquent words of Rabbi Warren Goldstein, the current chief Rabbi of South Africa:

“The greatest tribute we can pay is to live like Mandela, in accordance with the values he practiced and taught - values of human dignity, forgiveness, kindness, courage, tenacity, strength, honesty and integrity.Let us all resolve to follow President Mandela’s inspiring moral legacy and let us commit to living in accordance with the values he taught us in the most eloquent and powerful sermon of all - his life.”

Singing, Holiness and the Boston Marathon Bombing

I have to admit that the start of this shabbat was one of the most difficult that I can remember. When we lit shabbat candles, the second Boston Marathon Bombing suspect was still at large. The entire Boston was afraid to leave their homes and shuls in Boston had to cancel Friday Night davening for the first time in recent memory. So how could we go into Shabbat as if nothing was wrong? How could we sing “Mizmor shir leyom Ha’shabbat” (The song of Shabbat) when fear and terror was on everyone’s mind? The dissonance was especially felt here at Beth Sholom as we celebrate our second annual shir-on-shabbat, a shabbat full of music and joy. How can we sing in the wake of this past week’s events in Boston?

To answer this question I turned to the second verse of parshat Kedoshim (the second parshah from this morning). G-d tells Moshe to speak to the Children of Israel and tell them two very important words. “Kedoshim Tihiyu” (You shall be holy). Beautiful idea! The only problem is that the Torah does not define Holiness. How do we achieve it? What do we do and How does it help us respond to the events of this past week?

So I first turned to Rashi. Rashi says something profound. Rashi says:

קדושים תהיו - הוו פרושים מן העריות ומן העבירה, שכל מקום שאתה מוצא גדר ערוה אתה מוצא קדושה

According to Rashi, “holiness is separating oneself from immorality and sin. Any place that is free of sin, is holy.”

This is a negative definition of holiness. To create holiness we must prevent sin. While this is profound, it did not help me emotionally respond to Boston. I was searching for a more positive definition of holiness. Something that I could actively do to respond and bring holiness into the world after such profanity.

I therefore turned to an important Chassidic text from Rav Nachman of Breslov (18th - 19th century Chassidic Master from Ukraine) which talks about singing, holiness and will hopefully give us a way to begin processing the events of last week.

The text is found in Likutei Moharan 282 and is called “Azamra” (I will sing).

Rav Nachman has three main points that build one on the other.

Point 1 -

דע, כי צריך לדון את כל אדם לכף זכות , ואפילו מי שהוא רשע גמור, צריך לחפש ולמצא בו איזה מעט טוב, שבאותו המעט אינו רשע, ועל ידי זה שמוצא בו מעט טוב, ודן אותו לכף זכות, על-ידי-זה מעלה אותו באמת לכף זכות, ויוכל להשיבו בתשובה

“Know that you must judge everyone favorably. Even if someone is completely evil, we must search and find a little good, a small part of him that has not been touched by evil. And through finding that little good and judging him favorably (i.e. focusing on that small part), you can raise him in truth to the good side and assist him in doing repentance.”

This first point might be difficult when thinking about the kind of evil that we saw this week. But think about someone in your life who you struggle with. You immediately think about the bad (and there might be a lot of bad). Now try to search and come up with something good about them. Focus on it for a second. Remind yourself that they have that good quality. Rav Nachman is teaching us that if we did that more often for more people, we could try bring them to teshuva and perhaps change the world. That is point #1.

Point 2:

כמו כן הוא אצל האדם בעצמו, שצריך לדון את עצמו לכף זכות, ולמצא בעצמו איזה נקדה טובה עדין, כדי לחזק את עצמו שלא יפול לגמרי, חס ושלום, רק אדרבא יחיה את עצמו, וישמח את נפשו במעט הטוב שמוצא בעצמו, דהינו מה שזכה לעשות מימיו איזה מצוה או איזה דבר טוב

Similarly, a person must judge himself favorably. One must find something good about himself in order to strengthen himself not to fall [in depression]. but be happy with the good...

Rav Nachman’s second point is that sometimes we get down on ourselves. We think that nothing is going right, we are not succeeding and there is no point. When this happens, Rav Nachman reminds us that must immediately search and find something that we are good at and focus on it. Meditate on it. Allow us to feel good about ourselves and this will truly allow us to regain our joy and then in turn be better people. This is point #2.

And then Rav Nachman, with point three, ties this to song and holiness and hopefully it will bring us back to Boston.

Point 3:

וכן יחפש וילקט עוד הנקודות טובות, ועל-ידי-זה נעשין נגונים...והכלל כי נגינה דקדושה היא גבוה מאד מאד כידוע, ועקר הנגון נעשה, על-ידי ברור הטוב מן הרע, שעל-ידי שמבררין ומלקטין הנקדות טובות מתוך הרע, על-ידי-זה נעשים נגונים וזמירות, עיין שם היטב].

When one gathers these good “points,” one makes song... The general principle is that holy song is very lofty. Song is created through separating out the good from the bad. Through separating and collecting the good from the bad, song is created.

I think that Rav Nachman is trying to figure out, what is the difference between noise and music? We hear so much noise and most of it is negative. The screeching of cars in traffic, noise pollution, people yelling at each other and making noise and commotion. However, there are also beautiful sounds and when we can collect the few beautiful sounds and arrange them in a pleasant way, we have made music. We have transformed the noise and cacophony of life into a melodious music that inspires and uplifts.

This past week, we heard many sounds. We heard a lot of noise and it was mostly negative. We heard sounds of explosions, screams of pain, gunshots and hateful words. But we also heard some beautiful and loving sounds. We heard the sounds of footsteps of marathoners who had just run 26 miles and then ran back to the explosion to help out. We heard the sounds of the EMT’s and first responders and they rushed to help. We heard beautiful sounds of interfaith prayer and song as people in Boston try to come back together on Thursday. We heard sounds of many parents who tucked their small children at night, hugged them a little tighter and then sung them lullabies or the shema. We heard the sounds of cheering the police after they literally were up for more than 24 hours searching for the second suspect, and then found him on Friday night.

And for us, it is hard to remember that this past week was Yom Haatzmaut. On Tuesday morning, I got to hear the sweet innocent sounds of our nursery school children marching on their Yom Ha’atzmaut parade and singing the Hatikvah, declaring that we have hope in our world despite tragedies that seem to happen way too often.

Yes, when we look at our world and listen it seems to be full of negative noises. The negative ones seem to be very loud and overwhelming. But Rav Nachman teaches us that we have a choice. We can search and find those beautiful sounds which are usually more subtle and not as loud. If we find them and collect them and arrange them into a melody, we have just created music. This is how we must respond to last week and this is how we must live our lives.

In a few moments we are going to say Kedusha. We sing the songs that the angels sing:

קדוש קדוש קדוש ד' צב-אות

Holy, Holy, Holy Master of Legions.

Why say Kadosh (“Holy”) three times. To me it is saying, even though the world sometimes seems so profane, if we take a second look and dig a little deeper we will find a little holiness in that corner. And then a little more holiness over there and then more holiness under there. And if we go around and collect all of those holy sparks, then

מלא כל הארץ כבודו.

We will realize that the entire world is full of G-d’s glory. The entire world is full of holiness. The entire world is a Holy Song. Kedoshim Tihiyu. You shall be holy by collecting sparks of holiness and creating song.

After a difficult week, we must sing “Mizmor Shir L’yom Ha’Shabbat” (The song of shabbat). We must look at others and find the good. We must look at ourselves and focus on the positve. And we must find all of the beautiful sounds in the world and out of the cacophony of life, we must make music.

May Hashem grant all of those injured a Refuah Shlaimah (Both Refuas Haguf (healing of the body) and refuas hanefesh (healing of the soul) May the city of Boston have the courage to rise up again and may all of us listen very carefully and gather the sparks of holiness and create beautiful music.

Sermon Parshat Yitro - "The Letter from G-d"

I want to tell you about a meeting I had a few weeks ago in my office (I will change some of the details to obscure the identity of the man I met with). The individual came into my office and after exchanging a few pleasantries, I asked him why he wanted to meet with me. He told me that on September 22, 2004 at exactly 7:32 PM he was sitting in his living room and he heard a rustle out in the backyard. He opened his back door to see what it was and there was this bright light, the likes of which he had never seen before. And then the light started talking. It introduced itself as G-d. G-d explained all of the  mysteries of creation and history and then G-d said that all previous Law was no longer binding and instead there would only be two laws. G-d then said that this man had to go convince the world to follow the laws.

As I am sitting there (trying not to look shocked!), I was thinking, “my rabbinical school certainly did not train me for this one!

The man then asked me a question. “I know that people will think I am crazy for claiming to see G-d but how different am I than Moses at the Burning Bush?” How different am I than all of the Jews who received the Torah at Har Sinai? How different am I from Ezekiel, Isaiah and Jeremiah? Why is it that if you had a vision of G-d thousands of years ago in the Sinai Desert you are a Prophet but if you have a vision of G-d today in Potomac, people think you should be in the Psych Ward?
I am not going to answer that question, that is your homework?

But then he asked me a second question which is even more significant.
He asked me, “Did G-d ever talk to you?” This is such an important question on Parshat Yitro. There was a revelation at Sinai, G-d spoke directly to the people. This is the foundation of our religion. But the problem is that we never experienced it so what is our religion based on. Does G-d ever talk to us?

I will get back to this question in a few minutes but first, I would like to share a gemara with you that begins to answer the question.
The gemara quotes the posuk from Amos.

הנה ימים באים נאם אדני יהוה והשלחתי רעב בארץ לא רעב ללחם ולא צמא למים כי אם לשמע את דברי יהוה

Days are coming when there will be a famine. But what kind of famine. Not a famine for bread nor thirst for water but a famine from hearing the words of Hashem
And the posuk continues:

ונעו מים עד ים ומצפון ועד מזרח ישוטטו לבקש את דבר יהוה ולא ימצאו

They will go from sea to sea and from North to East to seek out the word of Hashem, but they will not find it.

The Gemara in shabbat asks, what is this Dvar Hashem (Word of G-d) that they are trying to find but cannot find? Three answers.
One answer is דבר ד’ זו קץ. they are trying to figure out then end of times. when will Moshiach come?
A second answer is דבר ד’ זו נבואה. They are going all over the world to find a prophet, a guru. Someone who can give them the direct word of G-d with certainty. They travel to India, they travel to the Far East, but they cannot find what they are looking for.
And then there is third answer which the gemara seems to adopt. דבר ד’ זו הלכה. the word of Hahsem is the Halacha. It is torah. We dont have to go around the world to hear the voice of Hashem. All we have to do is go to the bookshelf and open a Chumash, open a Talmud. Everytime we study a Posuk or a passage from the Talmud it is a letter from G-d (or an email or a tweet!) giving us a message that is relevant for us at that moment.

So now let me return to the fellow who set up the meeting with me. He asked me, “Does G-d ever speak to you?” I told him, “Yes. Every day.” I pointed to my bookshelf full of sefarim (jewish texts) and I said, “Everytime I open up any of these books, it is a letter from G-d.” G-d is talking to me! G-d is telling me what I need to know at that moment. The message is not always crystal clear. Sometimes, I have to really think about it. Turn the text over and over until it becomes clear. And sometimes, I am still not sure at the end, but I am sure that G-d talks to me all the time.

Allow me to quote a beautiful passage from Rabbi Chaim Volozhin (from Nefesh Hachaim Shaar Daled).
He quotes the beautiful posuk from Tehillim which everyone should meditate on every day.

טוב לי תורת פיך מאלפי זהב וכסף

Hashem - The Torah from your mouth is better than thousands of gold and silver coins.
What does it mean when it says the Torah of your mouth. Reb Chaim explains that every time I utter a word of Torah, it is, literally, right now coming out of the mouth of Hashem. Everytime we learn, G-d is talking to us. It is a letter from G-d.

This is why Torah is so valuable. It is the most important thing. More important than wealth. More important than our houses and cars.

Here is the difficult question. Do we really believe this truth? Do we live this truth?
We say in the Blessing on Torah study, והערב נא, Hashem please make the torah sweet for us and for our children and grandchildren. Do our children and grandchildren know how how sweet it is to us? How important it is to us? Do we demonstrate (in word and deed) that Torah is more important than our houses, Than our cars, than our poker nights and favorite TV shows. Do we let them know that Torah study is more important than their secular educations and professional degrees (Uh Oh. I am going to get in trouble for that one!).
Lets let them know that Torah is more important because Torah is a letter from G-d. Hashem talks to us every time we study Torah.

Let me conclude with a story. When I was in the 4th or 5th grade I went to the Telshe Yeshiva in Cleveland Ohio for a shabbat to celebrate the Siyyum Hamishnayot (completion of mishnah study). We were a group of about 200 4th - 6th grades boys. The highlight of shabbat was when Rabbi Mordechai Gifter (one of the greatest Torah sages of the last century) came to talk to us. I will never forget what he said.
“Boys, I want you to remember something for the rest of your lives. Every time you open the gemara and it says, ‘amar abaye, amar rava’ (Abaye Says or Rava Says) it is really answering the following question. “vas zakt der Ribbono shel olam” What does G-d have to say? Everytime we read a posuk, we should think, “what does G-d have to say to me right now.” G-d has a message for me to help me with whatever I am going through. Whether I am suffering and I need some comfort. Or I am struggling with a dilemma and I need a direction or I am feeling uninspired and looking for a spiritual infusion all I have to do is open the Torah and its a letter from G-d talking to me, encouraging me, comforting me and challenging me.

On this week as we read Parshat Yitro, the parshah of revelation, let us remember that revelation was not only an historical event that happened thousands of years ago. It happens each and every day. Every time, we study Torah, it is a letter from G-d. G-d is talking to us. All we have to do is listen.

Sermon - Beshalach - "Taking the Long-Cut"

“Taking the Long-cut”

I love a great shortcut! I love my gps, I love google maps and I am always trying to figure out the quickest way to get from point A to point B. A few weeks ago, someone posted on the Potomac Listserve, a shortcut to the Hebrew Academy (the school my daughter attends) from Potomac. I was so excited. The next time I drove carpool, I timed it. I shaved a minute and a half off my time! I was mamash bsimcha (literally in a state of joy) all day just because I saved a minute and a half!
We all love shortcuts. All of technology is built around creating shortcuts. Think about remote controls, computers, apps; these are all shortcuts. “Progress” can really be defined as doing the same things more quickly.

It was therefore surprising to read the first posuk from this morning’s parshah. The Jewish people have just left Egypt and now they are on their way to Israel. What is the shortest way to get from Egypt to Israel? Straight up the coast towards current day Gaza (in hebrew, “derech eretz plishtim).
What way do the Jews go? Southeast.
Why? If they would have just gone straight up the coast they wouldn't have had to cross the Red Sea and they would have been in Israel in a matter of days.
The posuk gives an answer.

ולא נחם אלקים דרך ארץ פלשתים כי קרוב הוא.

G-d did not take them up the coast (the shortcut) because it was a shortcut!
This makes no sense. If it was the shortcut, why didn't they take it.
It is because of this problem that most commentators say that the word כי which normally means “because” in this case means “despite the fact.” Despite the fact that it was a shortcut, Hashem did not take them on that route because they might see an opposing army and turn around.

Rashi and Ibn Ezra, however, say something amazing. “Ki” means because. Hashem did not take them on the shortcut, because it was a shortcut. Sometimes a shortcut is not the best idea. If it is so easy to get there, it is also easy to go back. If something is easily attained, it is also easy to give up. Hashem therefore wanted them to take the longcut. If something is hard to get, you will keep it forever.

I often think about the history of Aliyah to Israel. In the 1700’s, it was extremely difficult to make Aliyah. The Ohr Hachaim Hakadosh’s (Rabbi Chaim ben Attar) life’s goal was to make aliyah. First he made the long trip from Morocco to Italy (Livorno). He then was not able to continue. There was disease, financial struggles and more. Finally, a few years later, he went on to Acre and a few years after that he finally made it to Yerushalayim. It took him more than 5 years to make Aliyah! When he arrived, he faced a lot of difficulty, but he did not turn around. When you invest 5 years in getting somewhere, you don’t just turn around.

Think about Aliyah today. It is still extremely difficult but compared to the 18th century, it is much more manageable. The flight is only 12 hours, we can still skype with family and friends and many people are able to still work for their American Employers and telecommute. I have talked to people who have made aliyah and then come back to America. They faced real challenges and I know it is painful for them to leave. But it was easier for them to make aliyah, so it is easier to return.

This idea is true on many levels. I just read a fascinating book, “Outliers” by Malcolm Gladwell.
The book is answering the following question. Why is it that some people become Outliers? Why do some people become masters in their art or field. Think about Mozart, the Beatles, Bill Gates (I was going to say Lance Armstrong but that doesn't work any more!).
Gladwell proves that while these people had tremendous talent, that is not why they became the best. There were others with the same talent. Gladwell comes up with what he calls the Ten thousand hour rule. In order to become great at something you need to spend 10,000 hours practicing. The Beatles were excellent individual musicians. But the only reason they became outliers was because they practiced more than 10 thousand hours.
There is no shortcut to excellence. To really accomplish something, we must take the longcut.

I am always amazed that often times when I am thinking about something, I find a message from the day’s daf yomi (page of talmud studied every day). In today’s page (shabbat 115b), we read something shocking.

ספרים שכתובים בכל לשון...לא נתנו לקרות בהם

It is forbidden to read translations of sacred texts. The gemara says (according to one opinion), if your house is burning down on shabbat and inside the house you have an artscroll translation of the Torah and the only way to rescue the english torah is by carrying it without an eruv, you must let the English Torah burn. Let me say that again. You must let the english torah burn.
Translated Torahs cannot be read, they are left to burn, one of the reasons we fast on the tenth of Teves is because in the third century B.C.E, the Torah was translated into Greek.
Why fast? Shouldn't translation be wonderful. It makes the Torah accessible to so many.

But when you think about it, translations are really shortcuts. They make it easy. If you want to take the long cut, you do it in the original. You break your teeth, you try to put one word next to another, it takes a lot of time, but when you get it, when you understand it, you will never lose it. If you read the translation, it is easy to get, but also very easy to lose.
This is why even though translations are important, we always have to remember that there is a certain “tragedy of translation.” It is a shortcut.

This issue of taking the shortcut versus the longcut is something that we struggle with all of the time here at Beth Sholom. We are an outreach shul. As an outreach shul, we are making Judaism accessible to outsiders, we are making it inspiring, doable, unintimidating. This is all important. But sometimes I wonder if we make it too easy and accessible, if we “translate” it too much. If it is easy to attain, it will be easy to give up.
We shouldn't be looking for the shortcut. We should be looking for the longcut.

I have a friend who always says, “If we do X in the following way, it will be quick, simple and easy. This is his motto; Quick, Simple and Easy. I am thinking that I want my motto to be “Long, Complex and Hard!”
To quote John F. Kennedy “We don't do these things not because they are easy but because they are hard.”
I am sure you know the Yiddish Saying, “Shver Tz’zein a Yid.” It is hard to be a Jew. Lets not look for the shortcut. If it is quick simple and easy, it is also easy to give up. Lets choose the longcut.

Let me conclude by sharing an experience that I had just yesterday. I had what I thought would be a brief meeting with Rabbi Eli Reingold, Rosh Kollel of the Yeshiva of Greater Washington. The meeting went on for two hours. We started by discussing some interesting halakhic questions that he was dealing with. I was very impressed with his knowledge, insight and sensitivity. He had an amazing grasp of all areas of the Talmud and Halakha and many people come to him with very complex halakhic questions.
After about an hour, the conversation turned to personal matters. I asked him where he was from. He said, Cleveland. Wow! I am from cleveland so I asked him, where did you go to school (thinking that he went to the Hebrew Academy, the only orthodox school in town when he was growing up). He said, “I went to Shaker Heights High.” What! I did a double take. How did someone go from Shaker Heights High to being a master of Talmud. He explained that when he was a teenager, he got turned on to Judaism and he begged his parents to send him to Telz yeshiva. He arrived at Telz and stayed for 23 years! I am sure the first few years were extremely difficult. He told me he barely knew the Aleph bet. There were no artscroll talmuds. He worked and worked and worked. He probably put in 12 hours a day for 23 years (remember the 10 thousand hour rule) and he ended up being a tremendous master of Talmud and Halakha.
23 years! He took the longcut and it made all the difference. He is definitely someone I want to get to know better.

When I was in High School, I did not really study Poetry because I went to a very frum yeshiva. But when I was going out with Sarah in college, I took a poetry class to impress her because she is a Poet! So I am going to read the last few lines of a poem that you probably had to memorize in high school. It is from Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.”

Two Roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that had made all the difference.

Let us take the road less traveled. The longer road, the path that is more difficult, more complex - the longcut.
I promise you that if we take that road, it will make all the difference.

“Was Moshe Really the Prince of Egypt”

One of the highlights of my week is when I go into the preschool rooms and teach them the parshah. This past Thursday, I sat down with the the 4 year old class and said, “do you know that a long time ago, our great great grandparents were slaves in Egypt. A little boy named Moshe was born and his mommy tried to hide him. When she could no longer hide him, she put him in a basket in the river.” At this point, one of the 4 year olds raised her hand and said, “But Rabbi: I already saw this movie.”

For those of you who are older than 10, let me tell you that she was not referring to “The Ten Commandments” with Charlton Heston! She was talking about “The Prince of Egypt” which has actually become a favorite movie of my children and I have to confess, I also end up watching it with them!

The movie develops the theme that Moshe was the Prince of Egypt and there are Rabbinic Texts which talk about this as well. Moshe was adopted by the Daughter of Pharoah, he grew up with the education of Egyptian Nobility and he was a possible heir to the throne.

All of this begs the following question. Why did Hashem choose Moshe to take the Jews out of Egypt? Moshe, a prince, never went hungry in his life, he never experienced manual labor and he never felt the crack of the Egyptian Taskmaster’s whip on his back. How could he understand the Jewish Slaves? He was not one of them. Why was he chosen to take them out?

I would like to answer this question by focusing on just two words from this morning’s parshah. After Moshe grows up (some midrashim say he was 20, others say he was 40), we are told that he went out to his brothers (the Jewish Slaves) וירא בסבלתם - and he saw their affliction and pain.
The Midrash asks, מהו וירא? What does this mean that he saw? Is this the first time he saw the Jewish slaves? How is this possible? This would be like a man growing up in the American South during the 1840’s and not ever see slaves until he was 20! Impossible. Every farm, every construction site would have been full of slaves. Moshe probably had many personal slaves just taking care of his own needs.

Elie Weisel has a beautiful insight in his book “Messengers of God” on this verse. וירא בסבלתם can have two meanings. It can either mean “He saw their affliction” or from the hebrew word “Savlanut” it can mean, “He saw their patience.” He saw that they were resigned to their fate. As a prince, Moshe was used to getting whatever he wanted by just snapping his fingers and here, his biological brothers were doing nothing. The Ibn Ezra similarly explains that Moshe needed to be a prince because the slaves could not take themselves out. They had a slave mentality and they needed someone from the outside to help.

The problem however with someone from the outside is that they do not really understand. Without personally experiencing the slavery, how could they lead the slaves to freedom. For this, we need to turn to a second definition of וירא בסבלתם - He saw their affliction. He didn’t see. He probably saw slavery thousands of times in his life. But this was the first time, her really saw. He saw and had empathy. The midrash says

מהו וירא שהיה רואה בסבלותם ובוכה ואומר חבל לי עליכם מי יתן מותי עליכם, שאין לך מלאכה קשה ממלאכת הטיט, והיה נותן כתיפיו ומסייע לכל אחד ואחד מהן

 Moshe saw their affliction and cried (he had empathy). He said, “I am in pain because of what is happening to you. If only I could die for you.” Moshe would then bend his shoulder and ease the burden of each one of them.

The cynic might ask: How is Moshe really helping? If he bends his shoulder, the Egyptians will give them more work. Did one jew go to freedom because Moshe bent his shoulder under the burden? The answer is that Moshe needed to do this in order to experience the slavery. As another midrash says, נשתתף בצרתם - He became a partner in their pain. In order help, he first had to feel the pain. וירא בסבלתם - He saw and he had empathy.

One might ask, how could one witness slavery and the beating of a Jewish slave and not have empathy. What was so great about Moshe’s behavior?
Well, Moshe could have acted in a different way. I am sure that the Egyptian education system drilled justifications for slavery into their students. “Slavery is necessary for our economy.” “It is better for the slaves.” “When an enemy comes, if the Jews have freedom, they will fight against us - Slavery is necessary for ‘national security.’”

Furthermore if Moshe sees a fellow Egyptian hitting a jew, any good Egyptian would have assumed that the Jew was at fault. Moshe could have seen and made judgements against the Jews. Instead he saw and had empathy.

Let me conclude with a story about Rabbi Aryeh Levin (which appeared in an Essay by Rabbi Yechezkel Yakobson, Rosh Hayeshiva of Shalavim). Rabbi Aryeh Levin was known as the “Tzadik of Yerushalayim.” He was also called the Rabbi of the Prisoners. Every shabbat morning, he would go to the prisons and help the leading the davening for those who nobody else thought were worthwhile.
Rabbi Levin also had a regular job as the principal of Etz Chayim Yeshiva for boys in Yerushalayim. Every morning as the boys came in from playing outside, Rabbi Levin would just stare at the boys for 5 minutes. One day, one of the other teachers asked Rabbi Levin, “what are you looking at for 5 minutes when the boys come in?” Rabbi Levin invited the other teacher to join him the next morning.

The next morning, they were standing side by side staring at the boys. After 5 minutes, Rabbi Levin asked the other teacher, “Nu, so what did you see.” The teacher said, “I saw Moshe straggling behind trying to do everything he could to come late to class. I saw Yitzchak’s Yarmulka fall off and he didnt bother to pick it up. I saw Shlomo’s tzitzis were not on correctly and I saw Dovid was fighting with the other boys.”
The teacher turns to Rabbi Levin and asks, “and what did you see?”
Rabbi Levin says, “Moshe, I noticed that he was looking a little thin. He must not be eating three meals a day so I made a mental note to send some money to his parents. I noticed Yitzchak’s shirt was ripped and it had not been replaced. And Dovid who was fighting, I wondered to myself “what kind of tension might there be in home if he is acting like that, I better pay the family a visit and see if I can be of help.”

Two people saw the same exact situation and reacted in two different ways. One saw and judged and the other saw and had empathy.
וירא בסלתם - Moshe saw the slavery and had 100 reasons to see and judge the jews. Instead he saw and had empathy.
Here is the difficult question for all of us. When we pull up to the red light and someone is begging for money (regardless of what we do), do we see and judge or do we see and have empathy.
When we see people who look different than the way we look, dress differently, behave in ways that we might not approve of, how do we react? Do we see and judge or do we see and have empathy. Let us all strive to be like Moshe. Let us see and have empathy.