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D'Var Torah - Sukkos - 5764
By Rabbi Baruch Lederman
When we sit in the Succah - a temporary structure with an open roof - it
reminds us that it is not the building that protects us, but, it is Hashem
(G-d) Who is protecting us. The more and more mitzvos that we do, the more
and more Divine protection we merit often in the most unexpected ways, as the
following true story illustrates:
In the late 1800s, there lived a Rebbi in a small city in Poland. Reb Zevulun
as he was affectionately known, was one of the best and most beloved Torah
teachers in the local Yeshiva. He was known for his erudition, dedication and
gentle warmth. He and his Rebbetzin never merited having children, and indeed
he treated his talmidim (students) as if they were his own children.
The years rolled on, and eventually Reb Zevulun could no longer handle the
physical demands of teaching, so he retired from a long and illustrious
career. His beloved Rebbetzin passed on, and he lived alone in a one-room
apartment. As his health deteriorated, he could no longer handle the chores
of cooking and cleaning for himself. For the most part he was home bound.
One of the women of the community, Mrs. Tzirel Roznik, heard of the aging Rebbi's
plight. It broke her heart, Reb Zevulun had taught her own children. Indeed,
he was the best Rebbi they ever had. She took it upon herself to prepare
meals, which she would send over with one of her children. Each week one of
her children would show up with a week's worth of meals, and would stay to
clean and straighten up the apartment and do the laundry.
This practice went on for the remainder of Reb Zevulun's life. Upon his
passing, the whole Jewish community was in mourning. The Roznik family was so
broken up, it was as if they themselves were sitting shiva.
The Jewish community of this town remained vibrant and populous all the way
up until the invasion of the Nazi beasts. The once proud Jewish community was
in turmoil trying to flee from the Nazi hoards, but there was no way out. The
Nazis methodically surrounded the city and all of the Jews were being herded
into the town square.
Mr. and Mrs. Max Frankel managed to slip out the back of their home with
their family. They were hiding in an alley not sure what to do. Suddenly they
saw a Jewish friend of theirs running through. He told them two hiding places
in town where Jews were holding up. One was to the right, one was to the
left, he dashed off to the left. The Frankel's quickly decided to go to the
one on the left. It was closer to them and easier to get to.
Suddenly Mrs. Frankel halted in her tracks. She insisted that they switch to
the other hiding place. Her husband didn't understand, proceeding to the
other place presented more peril. Mrs. Frankel didn't understand either. She
simply had this powerful feeling that this was the right way to go and she
was adamant.
They safely found their way to the other place and managed to hide there with
some other families, amongst them, Mrs. Frankel's first cousin and his
family. They remained there till the "storm" passed, and were eventually able
to get out of Nazi Europe. They later learned that the hiding place on the
left was actually a Gestapo trap and all who hid there were deported to the
death camps. The inexplicable sense that caused Mrs. Frankel to turn around
actually saved their lives.
It turns out that Mrs. Frankel and her cousins are grandchildren of Mrs.
Roznik, and the room they hid in - the chamber that shielded them from the
Nazi tempest - was the very apartment lived in by Reb Zevulun - the man whom
their grandmother fed and cared for, in his old age.
[The foregoing true story is documented by Rabbi Paysach Krohn in the
Maggid Series. The names have been changed.]
D'Var Torah - Sukkos
By Rabbi Baruch Lederman
On Succos we leave our comfortable house and go out to the Succah -
a booth that does not have a solid roof. This demonstrates our belief that it is
not brick and mortar that protects us; rather it is Hashem [G-d].
Rabbi Moshe Turk of The Jewish Heritage Center of Queens and Long
Island, thanked Hashem as he told the following incredible story concerning his
own family: Rabbi Turk's wife used to always take her baby to a certain park
near their home in Kew Gardens for some nice fresh air. Usually the baby would
fall asleep in the stroller and Mrs. Turk could relax on the park bench for the
better part of an hour, possibly with a good book. One day, after sitting there
for only ten minutes, the baby suddenly woke up and started crying. This was
very unusual for this particular child. Mrs. Turk tried to rock the stroller so
that the baby would fall back to sleep; but, it was to no avail, in fact, as she
rocked, the baby shrieked more and more loudly and urgently. Seeing that she
wasn't getting anywhere she took the hysterical baby out of the stroller and
to hold in her arms. Just at that point a bike rider lost control and his bike
rammed into the now empty stroller sending it flying. Had the baby
not uncharacteristically started screeching, we shudder to think what would have
happened.
DVAR TORAH: Succos
On Succos, on the eve of the
rainy season, we sit in an open booth and demonstrate our trust in Hashem
(G-d) to protect and provide.
Once, in the
1600s, there was a serious drought in Jerusalem. One by one the winter
months came and went, yet the skies remained as clear and pure blue as on a
pleasant summer day. The earth was dry and cracked in the unyielding gardens
and fields, and the water level of the cisterns was dropping at an alarming
rate.
More days passed. Already the winter season was drawing to an end, but
still, no rain. Even the elders of the city couldn't recall such a rainless
year as this.
Jews, Moslems and Christians alike became increasingly worried. The dread
specter of famine now loomed in addition to the immediate problem of water
shortage. The cisterns had almost completely dried up. It was so close to
springtime and the end of the rain season that many Jerusalemites were
already girding themselves for a difficult, perhaps life threatening, period
of famine and water shortage.
All the worries generated a stream of rumors, and the rumors in turn led to
increased tension between the different ethnic groups in the holy city. The
Arabs started to blame the Jews for the lack of rain.
The
instigation against the Jews eventually reached the palace of the pasha, the
governor, of the Jerusalem district of the Ottoman empire. Soon thereafter,
the pasha summoned the famed scholar R. Moshe Galante, who had moved from
Tsfat to Jerusalem around 1655, to appear before him. The pasha said, "I
know that it is solely because of you Jews that G-d has not let it rain in
Jerusalem. You people like to glorify yourselves that you are his chosen
people; you call Him 'Father' and refer to yourselves as 'His children.'
Therefore you are totally to blame.
"So I am warning you. If it doesn't rain by the end of three days, it will
be clear that it is all the fault of the Jews; I shall expel every single
one of you from Jerusalem."
As soon as Rabbi Galante left the palace, he called an emergency meeting in
the main synagogue, emphasizing that all the Jewish residents of Jerusalem
should attend.
Everybody came. Their faces reflected their worry over the situation. The
whole population knew that Rabbi Galante had been summoned to the governor.
Rabbi Galante declared a three-day fast, with the time to be spent in prayer
and pleading before the Al-mighty, in the hope of abolishing the evil
decree.
A spirit of gloom descended upon the Jews of Jerusalem. With broken hearts
and flowing tears they crowded together in the shuls to recite Psalms and
pray for mercy from Above.
One day passed, and a second. On the third day the skies were as blue and
cloudless as ever. Dread descended into their hearts. The sun marched
inexorably across the sky, and now stood in the western sector of the sky.
The final hours of the afternoon were slowly dwindling.
Rabbi Galante announced that everyone should proceed together
outside the city walls to the tomb of Shimon HaTzaddik, the great sage and
high priest from the early years of the Second Temple, and there to pray one
last time for rain. He also made another demand that startled all that were
present. What he had said was that everyone should put on their galoshes or
boots, wear raincoats, and have umbrellas in hand! Why? Lest they get
drenched in the expected downpour!
Everyone complied faithfully. They left the city dressed in their boots and
raincoats, and carrying umbrellas. When the police officer in charge of the
area saw this strange parade, he burst into laughter. But then, when he
heard they were doing this only because their rabbi had ordered them and
promised them a heavy rainstorm, he became furious. He caught up to the
rabbi, slapped him severely in the face, and screamed: "The people of the
city are suffering so much, and you dare to waste their time and strength in
such foolishness!"
Rabbi Galante kept walking. When they arrived at the gravesite, the rabbi
prostrated himself on the tombstone and remained there, immersed in profound
concentration. All the other people cried out in prayer from the depths of
their hearts.
Suddenly, they realized that a breeze was blowing-a soft, gentle breeze, but
still...a breeze! Then, rather quickly, the breeze became a real wind, which
began to blow furiously. A few raindrops were felt. Then it began to
drizzle, and soon after that to pour. The Jews opened their umbrellas. In no
time at all, they were in the mist of a torrential shower.
Peering through the deluge, they saw a man running as fast as he could in
the rain towards them. It was the police officer! By the time he reached
them, he was so thoroughly soaked he seemed to be made more of water than of
solid flesh. He made straight for Rabbi Galante and threw himself down in
the mud before his feet. "Forgive me, please, for how I insulted you," he
begged. "I didn't realize you were such a great, holy person."
In order to display his sincerity and make amends, he lifted the rabbi onto
his shoulders, marched with him at the head of the Jewish procession back to
town, and carried him all the way to the door of his house.
The rainstorm continued all the night. By dawn, all the cisterns were filled
to overflowing. Later in the morning, the pasha himself came and apologized
for threatening to expel the Jews. He proffered more words of appeasement
and then stated emotionally, "Now I know that your L-rd is the true G-d, and
that you Jews really are his treasured people."
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