Last week, in early September, I had an opportunity to attend an event in the House of Lords, in the Palace of Westminster, in London. The Palace serves as the British equivalent of our U.S. Capitol building, although it has a considerably longer history. Originally built in 1016, the Palace was partially rebuilt in 1840 due to a fire that started in the basement, underneath the House of Lords. The British Parliament and the High Courts of Justice have been based in the Palace since the 13^th century. The impressive building and its inner courtyards cover eight acres overlooking the Thames River.

?The Yomim Nora’im (High Holidays) are an emotional time. In addition to being serious days of judgment and an opportunity to examine ourselves and our behavior, for me it is also a time to remember my parents, grandparents, uncles, and aunts, who have moved on to the next world.

When I was a child, my family was fortunate to live in close proximity to each other, allowing us to conveniently gather together for chagim (holidays). Before Rosh Hashanah, my grandpa (my mom’s dad) used to buy two rows of men’s seats and one row of women’s to accommodate our family at Mishkan Israel (Rabbi Yechiel Shoham’s shul) on Madison Avenue just above North Avenue. In those days, that was a safe neighborhood, and lots of people walked to shul. On the High Holidays even the Jews who weren’t shomer Shabbos walked. Everyone dressed in their nicest clothes, and both men and women wore hats.

?I am writing this article a few days after my recent return from the Czech Republic. I had the privilege of accompanying a group of Jewish Learning Exchange (JLE London) donors on a four-day trip to Prague. My rabbinic colleagues, from London, were Rabbi Dr. Akiva Tatz, Rabbi Aubrey Hirsh, and Rabbi Ben Morgan. We visited many special places, and because Rabbi Hirsh, who is an expert in the history of Prague, was our primary tour guide, we learned an enormous amount.

During my days in the active rabbinate, I would devote a reasonable amount of time each week to preparing my Shabbos sermon and various shiurim. Delivering a sermon is not the same as giving a shiur or saying a short dvar Torah. Traditional sermons, which these days seem to have fallen out of favor, were devoted to relevant topical issues as seen through the lens of Torah. There were times when I thought I had prepared a pretty decent sermon, but on erev Shabbos, some major event would take place which required me to pivot quickly to address the topic that was on the minds of my congregants. That’s what happened with this article. I had originally prepared something focused on family issues and dilemmas, but when Donald Trump was indicted, I felt it required me to pivot. Hopefully, what I’ve written will be relevant to some of my readers.

Over 100 years ago, in 1919, something seemingly impossible happened: The World Series was “fixed.” The Chicago White Sox were playing the Cincinnati Reds. Chicago was heavily favored to win until professional gamblers approached eight White Sox players and offered them bribes. Those players helped Cincinnati to win the Series. The Cincinnati win meant a lot of money for the gambling syndicate. Eventually, the story of the fix leaked out, and a grand jury was convened. The eight players were banned from baseball for life. Among the many tragic details was that Joe Jackson (known as Shoeless Joe) was, at that time, the greatest player ever. He had grown up in grinding poverty, was illiterate, and worked in a mill from the age of six. Had his career not been cut short, he may have become more well known and celebrated than Babe Ruth. Joe admitted the fix to the grand jury. After testifying, Shoeless Joe was leaving the courthouse when a little kid, with tears in his eyes, yelled out, “Say it ain’t so!” Tragically, it was so!

During the course of my career I’ve pretty much heard and seen it all. From the sublime and holy to the ridiculous and insane.

I am reminded of a conversation I had with the late great Rabbi Herman (Naftali) Neuberger, zt”l, in the wee hours of a summer morning 26 years ago in his humble first-floor apartment on Yeshiva Lane. I had just told Rabbi Neuberger that it was almost impossible for me to process all of the amazing things that he had achieved, in so many areas, during his lifetime. Without missing a beat, he half smilingly said, “The greatest accomplishment is when you can stop bad things from happening; those achievements are the most important and the least known.” An incredibly profound statement, which I took to heart and have tried, whenever possible, to emulate.