Parshas Vayeira - 5765
by Rabbi Baruch Lederman
Avraham was a model of chesed
(kindness) and rachamim (mercy). His tent had a door on each side so
that he could invite geusts wherever they might come from. These
beautiful traits have been hallmarks of the Jewish people, handed down
from generation to generation ever since, as the following account
written by a young Jewish woman illustrates:
I was a student at Stern College of Yeshiva University in
Manhattan. For the two-and-a-half years that I was there, I encountered
many homeless people who sat on street corners and asked for money.
Although I tried to help all of these people as much
as I could, there was a man named Kenny who I went out my way to help.
The unique thing about Kenny was that although he was probably paranoid
and schizophrenic, he always had a smile; his face always radiated
sunshine. Even if I did not have money for him when I saw him, I always
tried to say just a quick hello to him every day to let him know that I
cared.
As soon as I finished my studies at Stern College, I
left for Israel. Shortly after I arrived in Israel, my parents told me
that they wanted me to fly back to New York to go to the graduation
ceremony. Although I wanted to see my parents, I did not think it was
worth us all of us going to New York (my parents are from Georgia) just
for my graduation. But my parents said it would be a highlight of their
life to see me at graduation, so I agreed to go with them.
After my graduation, when my dad, sister, and I were
walking around Manhattan, I spotted Kenny. I had not seen him in about a
year but we recognized each other.
Kenny jumped up when he saw us and said to my dad,
"Sir, your daughter was always so nice to me and would give me money or
just say hello to me whenever she saw me. She made me realize that
people care and she would make my day when I saw her."
After we walked away, my dad turned to me and said,
"Wow, hearing what Kenny said was one of the happiest moments of my
life. It meant much more to me than your graduation, because seeing
Kenny and hearing what he said made me feel like a success. I then
realized that I did something right in the way I raised your sister and
you." [The foregoing true story is
documented in Tradition Of Kindness by Shmuel Greenbaum]
Parshas Vayeira - 5764
by Rabbi Baruch Lederman
Avraham sat outside his tent in the
heat, a mere three days after his bris milah (circumcision). The pain was
incredible, the heat was unbearable; yet there he stationed himself, waiting
in readiness for the opportunity to perform the mitzvah of hachnosas orchim
(inviting guests).
Rabbi Nosson Tzvi Finkel, who was known throughout Europe,
Israel and America as the Alter of Slabodka, commented that to Avraham,
hachnosas orchim was such a part of him - of the very fabric of his
being - that to not do hachnosas orchim was more painful and
distressing to him than the pain of the operation and the heat of the
blazing sun.
Kindness and charity can and should change our very
consciousness, as the following true story, recorded in the Talmud,
illustrates:
Rav Pappa was climbing a ladder when he suddenly began to slip.
He grappled for a moment, then caught himself before falling. He was
gripped with trepidation because he understood this as a sign from
heaven that he had done something that was deemed worthy of death
penalty. Rav Chiya suggested that perhaps Rav Pappa had failed to give
tzedaka (charity) to a poor person. The Talmud teaches, "One who hides
his eyes from tzedaka is considered as one who serves idols." Idol
worship is punishable by death. The Maharsha (Baba Basra 10A) says that
Rav Chiya was hinting to the following incident:
Once a poor person came to Rav Pappa, who was in charge of the
communal charity fund, for a donation from the fund. Rav Pappa denied
him because this man was also going from door to door for donations and
the law stated, "When a poor person collects from door to door, he is
not given a gift from the communal fund." Rav Samma rebuked him saying,
"If you don't give him, than others will not give and he will die."
Rav Pappa responded, "What can I do? The law states 'When a poor
person collects from door to door, he is not given a gift from the
communal fund.' " Rav Samma retorted, "He is not given a large gift,
but he is given small token gift."
Rabbi Moshe Dov Harris explained that Rav Pappa could not be
considered as one who "hides his eyes from tzedaka" just because he did
not know a law. Rather, Rav Pappa failed to deduce the law because he
lacked empathy towards the plight of the poor person. In addition to
transferring funds, the mitzvah of tzedaka requires that one be
sensitive to the plight of the poor person and feel his pain. Had Rav
Pappa put himself in the poor man's shoes, he would have realized that
'no gift' could not be an option and therefore a small token gift must
be in order. Rav Pappa's failing was in the essential mitzvah of tzedaka
and thus is tantamount to Idol worship.
How important it is for us to be constantly and acutely tuned in
to the feelings of others.
Parshas Vayeira - 5763
by
Rabbi Baruch Lederman
Maaseh avos siman l'vanim - The deeds of the forefathers are a sign to the
children. Avraham was the paradigm of chesed - compassionate loving kindness.
Even while recovering from a painful operation, he stood on a super hot
day, at the door of his tent, on the lookout for wanderers and wayfarers whom
he could invite in to enjoy some shade and be his honored guest for a meal.
This midah (quality): chesed - even under strenuous circumstances - has
become ingrained in the fabric of the Jewish people as the following true
stories illustrate:
One of the great Rabbinic scholars and leaders of the past century
was Rabbi Chaim Soleveitchik, Ztz"l, known widely as Reb Chaim Brisker. Just
as he was a giant in Torah study, so was he a giant in the performance of chesed.
While he was still living in Volozhin, a fire broke out in the Jewish
quarter of the city. Reb Chaim did all he could to help extinguish the
fire. Then, he began running to and fro, gathering up children, two, three,
or four at a time, to reunite them with their parents, who, he realized, were
frantic with worry for their safety.
At one point, Reb Chaim disappeared for a few minutes, and there was great
concern for his safety. It was not very long, however, before he emerged from
a burning building with two small children, one under each arm. He had heard
their screams, and heedless of his own safety, he rushed into the burning
building to rescue them.
In 1895, after he was already living in Brisk, a great fire broke out
in the Jewish section of Brisk. A large portion of the town went up in
flames. Many, many families were left homeless.
During the weeks following the great fire, Reb Chaim gave of himself
tirelessly, by day and night, to help resettle the homeless families. He did
everything in his power to find homes for the homeless, and he was
indefatigable in his efforts to establish a semblance of normalcy for the
forlorn families. It was said that he who did not witness Reb Chaim's
tireless efforts and his display of limitless compassion during the aftermath
of the "Great Fire" of Brisk, never saw true compassion in his life.
During the entire period following the great fire, Reb Chaim
manifested remarkable empathy with the homeless families. He slept on the
floor of the shul in Brisk, where the displaced families were housed
temporarily. While his family protested vigorously, Reb Chaim refused to heed
their entreaties that he return home. "How can I sleep on my bed at home," he
replied, "when so many Jews have no roof over their heads!"
The foregoing true stories are documented in "From Dusk to
Dawn" by Rabbi Zechariah Fendel.
