After dinner last
week, my wife Arleeta suggested that we have a cup of tea. Out came the tea
chest filled with every imaginable tea choice. I’m not a tea connoisseur; for
me traditional black (orange pekoe) tea is almost always my choice. As I
removed the tea bag from my cup, I had a flashback to my grandparents’ table.
When I was a child, it was unheard of to use a tea bag only once! My
grandma would always give my grandpa the first cup, then she used the tea bag
for her cup, then the third cup went to the next-oldest uncle or aunt – and if
you were next in line, you got the fourth cup. In my own home, my mom only
stretched three cups out of one bag! In those days, tea meant two choices: Lipton
or Swee-Touch-Nee.
Reminiscing about the tea reminded
me of other observations from my childhood. For instance, my dad would hold on to
a piece of bread throughout every meal. As I got older, I realized that, during
his childhood, food was scarce. Therefore even when times got better, holding
onto a slice of bread (subconsciously) gave my dad a sense of security.
The theme in my home and in the
homes of my friends was “don’t be wasteful,” “be appreciative,” and “never take
anything for granted.” If something broke, you did your best to repair it or
have it repaired. You didn’t just toss it out and reflexively buy a
replacement. I recall repairing my eyeglasses with a safety pin or paper clip
when I broke them playing football. I wasn’t self conscious about how I looked
since many of my friends made similar repairs. Patches sewn onto the elbows and
knees of torn clothing were common. (Who then would have imagined that, 40
years later, ripped jeans would be a $100-plus fashion statement?!)
Because we didn’t have lots of stuff,
we appreciated what we had and understood that there was a limited family
budget. For my parents, if there was food, clothing, and shelter, you were in
pretty good shape. If you had a black-and-white TV, life was good – even if the
images and sound were a bit fuzzy because we had “rabbit ears” instead of a
roof antenna.
The Stamp of
Truth
Thinking about being appreciative, I
remember growing up at a time when almost every Jew (from religious to secular)
appreciated and loved Israel. In the early 1950s, I often visited and stayed
with my (maternal) grandparents, Leon (Yehuda Leib) and Pauline (Pesha) Imber.
I often brought in their mail and left it on a small shelf near their front
door, where my grandpa would find it when he came home. One day, Grandpa came
in and shuffled the envelopes. As he held one particular envelope, tears came
to his eyes. Even though I was a little kid, I knew that bad news could come in
letters, but my grandpa hadn’t opened the envelope. He was just staring at it
teary eyed. I said, “Grandpa, what’s wrong?”
He bent over and said, “Look at this,”
pointing to the stamp on the envelope. I didn’t know what he meant so I must
have looked puzzled. Grandpa said, “This stamp says Eretz Yisrael (Israel) in
Hebrew, and the postmark says Yerushalayim in Hebrew; this letter is from our
Israel!”
At the time I really didn’t
understand, but I nodded and went out to play. Years later, I understood. My
grandfather and his ancestors survived persecutions and pograms. They prayed
daily for our people to return to Zion and Jerusalem. For my grandfather, the
reestablishment of Israel was the greatest miracle of his life. Therefore, a
postage stamp that did not say Palestine in Arabic, Turkish, or English
represented the fulfillment of a promise from G-d to His children which had
come true. To Grandpa, just holding an envelope from Israel was an awesome
blessing. That generation appreciated Israel and did not take it for granted.
A Pair of Socks
Having lived most of my life in the
United States, I never fully grasped what absolute abject poverty looked like.
Most of the “poor” in America have safety nets that help to offset what I call “absolute
poverty.” When Arleeta and I moved to South Africa, we came face to face with
abject poverty, often within a few miles of majestic homes overlooking the sea.
Government-run safety nets for the poor were nonexistent in South Africa. Many
thousands of people in the shantytowns and Black townships on the outskirts of
the cities lived in absolute poverty: no electricity, no running water, no heat
in winter, just flimsy shacks made of discarded cardboard and sheet metal
nailed or tied together.
In a previous article, I wrote about
my friend, Rev Herbert Suray, the Dutch Reformed Pastor who became a Noahide.
It was Herbert who first introduced me to and accompanied me to The Haven
Shelter. The Shelter, supported by various churches, provided basic food,
necessities, and shelter to the most vulnerable – primarily the infirm or
handicapped. I will never forget my first visit. The conditions were pretty
stark. It was mid-December, and there were a few holiday decorations adorning
the bare walls. The first man I spoke with was a member of the Xhosa
(pronounced Causah in English) tribe. All native South African Blacks have
tribal heritages. He told me that his name was Elijah. I asked him what he
wanted for Xmas.
(Yes, asking someone named Elijah what he wanted for Xmas was indeed a bit odd!) He was stunned
by my question. He told me that he couldn’t remember ever receiving an Xmas present.
I said, “Well, this year you will.
Please tell me what you would like.” Elijah thought long and hard. He then said
in his Xhosa-accented English, “I don’t want to trouble you, but if I could get
a new pair of socks and maybe a few peaches, that would be so wonderful.”
I fought back tears. As I made my
way through the shelter, I discovered other Elijahs: pure, simple souls who
rejoiced in the simplest of pleasures. I also realized how much these men
appreciated being visited and spoken to respectfully. It was then that I knew
that it was important for my synagogue to become one of The Haven’s sponsors.
December in South Africa is the
height of the summer vacation season. Being a resort destination, Cape Town was
always flooded with summer tourists. During December, my shul was packed with
visitors from Johannesburg and overseas. Friday nights, everyone came to shul:
men, women, and children. On the Friday night following my visit to The Haven
Shelter, I decided to do an appeal. I shared my experience at the shelter and
asked the congregants to participate in a most worthy cause. I am proud to say
that we raised enough money to purchase new clothing, bedding, and “holiday”
food for the shelter’s residents. Elijah and others had peaches, plums, socks,
and more. Subsequently, our shul adopted the shelter, and from that December
onward we had our annual Haven appeal. One of my board members pointed out that
we were probably the only Orthodox shul in the world that ran an Xmas appeal. It was a kiddush Hashem. The Haven residents
referred to me as the Jewish priest. Since I’m a kohein, the title fit.
A Haven in Heaven
Many of us are very fortunate to be
blessed with much, but sometimes we don’t realize it. It’s good for us to remind
ourselves of the many blessings that G-d has bestowed upon us. In a famous
Yiddish play, written by Yitzchok Leybush Peretz, a character named Bonche
Schweig appears. Bonche (the silent) was a truly righteous man who had an
incredibly hard life, which he dealt with in silence; he never complained.
After he passed away, Bonche was immediately admitted to heaven. Because of his
righteousness on earth, upon entering Olam
Habah (heaven), the heavenly court told Bonche that whatever he wished for
he would receive. Bonche considered his wish and then replied, “If it wouldn’t
be too much trouble, may I have a fresh warm bread roll and maybe a little
butter every morning?!”
I was reminded of Bonche when I met
Elijah at The Haven Shelter. Both were humble but broken men. But there is a
huge difference between the two. I was speaking with Elijah the Xhosa. Heaven
was speaking to Bonche the Jew. When G-d granted him one wish, Bonche could
have asked for the redemption of Klal
Yisrael from galus (exile). The
tragedy was that Bunche was so broken by his harsh life that, instead of
thinking big, he limited his wish to a warm roll, something very personal and
tiny. In his brilliant play, Peretz wanted to remind his audience, who were
living during the unimaginable hardships, pograms, and traumas of the
nineteenth century, not to become like the righteous but broken Bonche. He
reminded them that, beyond their current humiliations and difficulties, they
needed to retain their spirit and their hope for redemption. Peretz was an
interesting personality. Although he considered himself to be a member of the
Haskala (the Enlightenment movement), he greatly respected chasidim for their love and acceptance of all Jews. He said that
his writings were “based upon Jewish thought, ideals, and traditions.”
Teachable Moments
Notwithstanding our long galus, we, the Jewish people, as
difficult as circumstances may be, need to keep focused on being b’simcha (positive, upbeat, and joyful).
This was and is the primary message of chasidus.
Sometimes, like Bonche, we can’t see beyond our immediate hardships. When that
happens, we start feeling defeated. When we experience and are grateful for G-d’s
favors (large and small) we understand and appreciate the essence of the
blessings recited daily every morning and in the Modim (appreciation) prayer recited morning, afternoon, and
evening.
Just as I experienced many “teachable
moments” when I was growing up, so, too, our children (and grandchildren)
experience those moments in our presence. I am privileged to know (and to have
known) some very special and truly righteous individuals. Some are rabbanim, others are laymen. One such
person is a wealthy member of the British Jewish community. He and his family
live in a very affluent London community. Because he supports many British
charities, this gentleman’s generosity is well known. What isn’t known is the
tremendous number of individuals he quietly and anonymously provides for. In
addition, he and his brother support Jewish orphanages and food distribution
centers in the Ukraine and in Israel. Those centers not only feed the body;
they also nourish the soul with Torah learning.
Twice a year, this Jew takes his
older children (beyond bar and bas mitzva) with him to the orphanage in the
Ukraine, where they sleep in very spartan accommodations, do menial work, and
serve food to the orphans. In addition, every Thursday night his children
gather around his huge dining room table, which is filled with items for
Shabbos parcels for needy Jews to be distributed anonymously on erev Shabbos. This special Jew and his
wife are leading by example and teaching their children that G-d has blessed
them and that they in turn have a holy obligation to help others less
fortunate. In addition, they have taught their children to never take anything
for granted. I happened to be present when one of their teenaged sons was
lobbying his father for a business-class seat for an upcoming long-haul
overseas flight. His father said, “At your age, flying economy is much better
for your soul as is a bit of discomfort.”
In Daf Yomi, we recently completed Taanis. In Taanis, we encounter the Tanna, Nachum Ish Gamzu, from who we
derive the expression “gam zu l’tova”
(this too is for good). Let us be grateful for all of our blessings and find
those teachable moments. May we remind ourselves that everything (even the
seemingly incomprehensible) is ultimately for the good.
