?It’s amazing how
easily luxuries can become necessities. When that happens, we start taking
those luxuries for granted. I was fortunate to have grown up in a home where
nothing was taken for granted. My mom and dad appreciated whatever they had and
were grateful for it. As a result, it was natural for them to express immediate
appreciation for even the most simple gift or kind gesture. These days,
expressing appreciation and saying thank you seems to have fallen on hard
times.
Showing hakaras hatov (gratitude)
to Hashem for His blessings is challenging for those who don’t naturally
express thanks to others. It seems that too many people are self-absorbed
almost to the point of narcissism. I’m wondering if there is a direct
correlation between the volume of one’s material possessions (i.e: “stuff”) and
the dramatic decrease in the measure of gratitude one demonstrates.
There is a poignant story told about
several well-to-do Jews who, after World War I, decided that New York needed a chief
rabbi. These well meaning gentlemen felt that only the most prominent Torah
scholar would be suitable. They therefore journeyed all the way to Radin,
Poland (now Belarus), to persuade Rabbi Yisroel Meir Kagan, zt”l, known as the Chofetz Chaim, to
accept the position. Coming from the cosmopolitan metropolis of New York City,
where they lived in opulence, they were shocked by the poverty and deprivation in
Radin, and especially by the very spartan, almost ramshackle home of the great
Chofetz Chaim. When the impeccably dressed men entered the great rabbi’s home
they wore their distress on their faces. The rebbetzin graciously offered them
tea from mismatched cups and saucers, as the visitors sat on rickety chairs.
After the men introduced themselves
the Chofetz Chaim (speaking in Yiddish) said, “You look uncomfortable, is
everything alright?” One of the men said, “Rebbe, how is it possible that one
of the greatest sages lives in such poverty?” The Chofetz Chaim said, “Tell me,
how do you live?” One of the men started describing his home in such detail
that even his associates were a bit embarrassed. The Chofetz Chaim then said, “Show
me these wonderful furnishings and works of art that you describe.” The man was
taken aback by the question and replied, “Rebbe, those things are all back in
New York. I’m just traveling and visiting here for a short time, I can’t bring
all of those things with me.” To which the Gaon replied, “Well, I’m like you;
we are both ‘just’ travelers and visiting here for a short time. Therefore we
both make due with what we need on our journeys.”
My grandfather Yehuda Leib (Leon)
was born in a shtetl (village) on the
Polish-Russian border, in what is now (left of) Ukraine. Pesach in Grandpa’s
Baltimore home conjures up many fond memories. One unusual memory stands out:
We never had red wine on Pesach! Mind you that in those days, the range of
kosher wines was limited to heavy and extremely sweet, to extremely heavy and
sickeningly sweet. Seventy percent of the commercial kosher wine market of that
era belonged to Manischewitz. A number of Jews made wine in their basements. It
wasn’t uncommon for “basement wine” to possess a “bouquet” smelling of heating
oil. Finding white wine wasn’t so simple. Nevertheless Grandpa found it year
after year. It actually tasted sweeter than red wine; as a kid I liked sweet.
Now, not so much.
These days, wine has become one of
those luxuries that most of us take for granted –red, white, sweet, semi-sweet,
dry, semi-dry – literally thousands of choices of top quality kosher wines from
around the world. Many kosher wines are sought after by non-Jews not because they are kosher but because
they are top quality products. On recent trips to Lakewood and Monsey, I
visited kosher wine supermarkets. Row after row, floor to ceiling, with every
imaginable wine permutation. Hidden on a bottom shelf somewhere, almost out of
sight, were a few bottles of the heavy malaga wines from my childhood.
Interestingly, I’ve even found numerous kosher wine choices in places where no
Jews reside.
So why did my Grandpa insist on
white wine when everyone else had only red wine on Pesach? The year before my bar
mitzvah I asked him. This is what he said: “You know that you are named after
my father Yitzchok Tzvi Hersh.” (That’s right, at my bris I wasn’t named Ivan!) My grandfather continued, “My father was
the rav of a shtetl in Ukraine. There were often pogroms against the Jews, which
is why my father sent my sister and me to America. At Pesach time, the pogroms
were the worst. Over two centuries before my father became a rav, there was a great rabbi who was in
fact the chief rabbi presiding over the area that included the part of the
Ukraine where I was born. His name was Rabbi Segal. He made a ruling in the 17th
century forbidding Jews under his jurisdiction to use red wine on Pesach
because the Christians claimed that the Jews used the blood of Christian
children to make wine and matzah.”
(Until the current woke generation,
I always wondered who, in their right mind, would believe something so
outrageous. But now, thanks to the current warped woke, we see that every
fantasy can become reality among conspiring ignorant fools.)
Rabbi Segal felt that not using red
wine on Pesach might help to protect the Jews and mitigate some of the actions
of the anti-Semitic Ukrainians, Poles, and Russians looking for any reason to
initiate a pogrom.
A few years later I learned that
Rabbi Segal was Harav Hagaon Dovid Halevi Segal, zt”l (1586-1667) known by the acronym TAZ, based upon his brilliant
work entitled Turai Zahav on Shulchan Aruch Yoreh Deah. Every yeshiva
student is familiar with the TAZ.
* * *
In the last issue of Where What When, I wrote an article
entitled, “Escape from Odessa.” I shared information about the Tikvah Orphanage
(and Community) in Ukraine, and my friends there, Rabbis Kruskal and Posen.
When that article was published, the children, together with their rabbis and
teachers were still hiding out in Ukraine, but at least they were away from
immediate danger. Chasdei Hashem (with
G-d’s grace), and with enormous support from many special people, and some
highly skilled Israeli “operatives,” the entire Tikvah Community is now in
Romania. Over 1300 people (children and staff) from the Tikvah schools, yeshivas,
and orphanages are now being housed in summer hotels on the Black Sea, which
are normally closed until June. Although the hotels aren’t winterized, the
Tikvah group is extremely grateful to be together, even if they need to wear
their coats and mittens inside. With enormous financial support from major
donors, those hotels were opened in February to house Ukrainian Jewish
refugees. In addition, kosher food, clothing, and medical supplies have been
shipped in. A British medical doctor has set up a clinic and staffed a field
hospital on site. Although the future is uncertain, at least for now, 1300 Jews,
including hundreds of orphans, are out of harm’s way. Baruch Hashem! Nissim venifla’ot (miracles and wonders)!
As Pesach approaches, I am reminded
of the past centuries of pogroms and persecutions that tens of thousands of
Ukrainian Jews like my Grandpa had to endure. In the Second World War, the
Ukraine hosted mass killings of Jews. Most of my grandfather’s family were
murdered in those killing fields. As we decide on which red wine to serve at our Pesach Seder – Cabernet, Merlot, Syrah,
Pinot Noir, Malbec, or sparkling – this might be a good time to pause and be
grateful for Hashem’s many gifts and blessings. When Grandpa said the shecheyanu bracha he fully appreciated what it meant to be thankful and
grateful to G-d for “keeping us alive, sustaining us, and bringing us to this
season.”
When I was 15 years old I said, “Grandpa,
we’re in America now; you can use red wine.” His response was simply, “We need
to remember so that we don’t forget.” I don’t think I appreciated that reply
then, but I do now.
As we observe the senseless and
indiscriminate slaughter of thousands of Ukrainians, among whom are many Jews,
I’m at a loss to even begin to comprehend the meaning of it all. Why are we
Jews always in the crossfire? Nevertheless, I am seeing a fractured world
starting to come together in “common cause,” disgusted by the face of evil.
Such disgust is long overdue. I’m also observing all kinds of Jews uniting
to do whatever they can to help other Jews in need. This, too, is long overdue.
In the past month the righteousness I’ve witnessed is awesome and remarkable.
A few months ago I wrote about a
very special balabus in London who
quietly supports many causes. This gentleman has spent a staggering sum to
underwrite rescue missions (especially for Tikvah) in Ukraine. On a recent Zoom
meeting with some capable but hesitant donors, one fellow said to the British balabus, “There is a limit to how much
even you can fund. The lifeboats are full, the costs are rapidly escalating,
and you are still paying almost $30,000 per person to get people out?! How much
more can you do?”
The righteous balabus said, “I have no idea how I’m going to continue to give at
this pace, but one thing I am certain of: When I leave this world and stand
before my Creator, I don’t want to find out that the Jew who wasn’t rescued
might have become the redeemer of Israel.” I was speechless in the presence of
such a truly righteous soul.
Finally, the photos and videos which
Rabbi Kruskal has sent me from the Romanian refugee hotels are humbling and
poignant. Children and adults are grateful to be together, to be able to share
food, toys, and clothing. The older children help the younger ones. On Purim,
everyone crowded together for a huge seudah.
They were not there because of the food, and certainly not because of the wine
(there was only grape juice), but because it was a true seudas hoda’ah (a thanksgiving meal). The volume of “stuff” was
limited, but the amount of gratitude was immense. Receiving a hamantash and a chocolate bar was a
luxurious Purim treat – and greatly appreciated.
This Pesach, may we say the shechechyanu bracha to our Creator with kavana
(feeling). May we be grateful for all that we have – and may we remember to
express our gratitude to those around us for their kindnesses, too. Let this
Pesach be one of gratitude and thanksgiving. May we be blessed for what we have
and what we don’t have!
Chag
kasher vesamayach
