Rebbetzen Tziporah

 Dear Friends,

The story I am going to tell you speaks for itself. The scenario opened about 35 years ago in Maalot Dafna. In those days I read a lot of parenting books, and one of the recurrent themes was to communicate clearly. Taking the advice of the author, (it was only much later that I found out that he had only two children, one of whom committed suicide, but at the time, his word was filed under ‘What the Experts Tell You’)

“Moishe,” I said, clearly, looking him straight in the eye, and with no expectation of defeat, “Please take out the garbage.” No movement. Not him, and not the large black plastic bag. “MOISHE PLEASE TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE” I repeated in my sweet dulcet tone. Okay, maybe not. NO change. I tried to look as authoritative as I could, and said, “Moishe! THIS IS THE THIRD TIME I AM TELLING YOU TO TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE”. As he looked up, I anticipated a hands-down victory until I heard him say, “Mommy, I’m not Moishe.”

I was never good with names.

I heard a story about someone who was or wasn’t good at names – I don’t know whether that was his strength. He was, however, good at knowing who he was talking to, and I want to share it with you because it’s an important story.

The stories about Rav Gershon Edelstein began to flow almost immediately after his passing. Rav Gershon lived to be 100. This story took place this year in Adar, just a few months ago. He lectured to 360 young men who were divided into two groups of 180. When one group finished the series, the other group was admitted. A new group had just begun to attend his shiur.  One day he called over one of the instructors in charge of the group, and said, “The young man in the end of the fourth row has not come a couple of days. He doesn’t participate – never asks questions or proposes answers. He also doesn’t seem to speak to any of the other bachurim. I would like you to call his home, and find out how he is doing, and perhaps ask some of the other bachurim to call also. His mother must be very distressed that he is so alone here.”

He made this request without necessarily knowing the name, but knowing much more. At the age of 100, not knowing a name is definitely par for the course. Being able to step into someone else’s shoes is an entirely different art.  What moved me the most about this story (Which was told by Rav Shlomo Levenstein, who is careful not to “invent” stories) is that he not only understood the bachur, but he also understood the boy’s mother.

The prophet Michah tells the people to ask what Hashem really wants of them. We tend to draw a blank when confronted with that question. Not only don’t we really understand other people, we don’t really always understand ourselves. He tells us to do justice, which means to live on the Torah’s terms, which are not always intuitive. Justice means balance. Only Hashem knows how to achieve that end. In contemporary liberal society, one of the many dubious conclusions that they have reached is that there should be no rich or poor. The poor are always victims, and the rich are always perpetrators. Wealth should be spread evenly. This means shoplifting should be decriminalized as should looting and various other means of forcing economic balance upon the favored ones who are doing well and for that reason want to maintain the status quo. The possibility that the people who have money should give charity, and in ways that equalize the status between rich and poor by either giving anonymously or helping someone become self-supporting is one side of the scale. The other is that the poor person would accept that this is Hashem’s will for them at this time, and to adjust to simplicity and austere living in the way a good student adjusts to a demanding teacher. G-d is forcing them to move beyond ego and beyond materialism and even beyond security in order to place their hope in Him.

These demands aren’t easy. Hashem provided us with Moshe, who was of the tribe of Levi, the tribe whose very nature moved them towards doing things on Hashem’s terms. He also provided us with Aharon.

The second thing Michah told the Jews of his time was to love chessed. Not just to do it, but to love it. During the time we were in the desert, Hashem brought Aharon to the public eye on more than one occasion. He loved them enough to fall into the trap of participating in making the golden calf in order to prevent them from murdering him (as they had done to Chur who tried to stop the craziness). He loved peace, meaning he saw that each individual was part of the whole, and valued that enough to be the one who Hashem selected to be involved in the rituals that were done for them to attain atonement. The animal offerings had an inner dimension, which was being a means through which the animal self could be moved away from its inherent selfishness and impulsivity and move towards its root –Hashem’s will for it to be used in ways that join it with the part of you that is in Hashem’s image. Both parts of you share the same body. For there to be peace, the soul has to lead and the body follow. The soul needs the body. Without a body to do the job means the soul is stuck living in an ivory tower. This is not the world’s purpose. Aharon, who saw each contribution and each person as meaningful, was the master of bringing everything in this world back to its root.

There was a final instruction.

Walk modestly with Hashem, your G-d.

Huh?

Modesty isn’t about what you do. It’s about who you are as you do it. Are you playing for the crowd? Are Everybody and her sister Nobody the audience? (Everybody has a few outfits that are soft and floral. Nobody is still in black. Just a while ago it was the opposite... Go to a guy‘s hat store and find out that Nobody wears a flat brim, and Everybody wants a 4.5 width…) It gets worse when you talk about ideological conformism, where you erase people who are not hanging out with Everybody, or social snobbism where you teach yourself not to walk with the Nobodies.

Rav Gershon was a master of all three. May his memory inspire us to know ourselves and each other and to walk only with Hashem.

Love,

Tziporah