Rabbi's weekly Blog

What do you think is the question that Rabbi Jonathan Sacks was asked most?

Last week I met a friend who had had a few chats with the former Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z”l. I admit that that is something that I would have liked to have experienced as well. The friend shared a number of fascinating stories with me, and one of the most special ones was about Rabbi Sacks asking him the above-mentioned question: “I give speeches hundreds of times a year; I meet scores of people of all types; what do you think is the question that people ask me most?”

The friend made a few guesses, but the rabbi smiled and said, “Well, this is the question: ‘Rabbi Sacks, do you remember me?’”

Amazing, isn’t it?

It turns out that we are interested in many things and topics, and we learn a lot, but it seems that there is one basic thing that we all need: We want to be remembered; in other words, we want to be noticed and remembered, to be important to someone, certainly if he is on the level of Rabbi Sacks.

As I’m writing this, what comes to mind is that my mother, who was a teacher and a principal in the Beit Rivkah High school in Kfar Chabad for forty-eight years, always says that that is the most common question she is asked by her former students, young or old, some of whom were her students ten years ago and some forty years ago. They all ask the same question: “Hamenahelet (Principal), do you remember me?”

The parasha we will read tomorrow in the Torah is parashat Vayera, the parasha in which Hashem reveals Himself to Avraham.

I don’t know how many of us turn to Hashem sometimes and ask, “Do you remember me?” I assume that if we were close enough to Hashem, or felt close, that is what we would ask. And this is the point at which every Chabadnik is reminded of the story about Rabbi Shalom Dov Ber Schneersohn of Lubavitch, the fifth Chabad Rebbe, also known as the Rashab. One year, when he was four or five years old, on his birthday, he entered the room of his grandfather, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneersohn, the third Rebbe, known as the Tzemach Tzedek, in order to be blessed. And as the child entered the room, he burst into tears and said, “Why did Hashem reveal Himself to Avraham and not to me?”

This child, who, as mentioned, later became a Rebbe, had just learned the weekly parasha of Vayera, and had read or heard that Hashem reveals Himself to people, and here He is indeed revealing Himself to Avraham Avinu, so he too wanted to have such a revelation. Perhaps this is a type of “Do you remember me?” of tzaddikim…

I have two things to say by way of a summary: The first relates to bein adam lachaveiro – mitzvahs that concern interpersonal relationships. One must look around, understand and remember that people want us to remember them – especially people who have some kind of connection to us – just like we want them to remember us. 

The second thing relates to bein adam lamakom – mitzvahs that are between man and his Creator. The truth is that we are close enough to Hashem to really and truly want Him to reveal Himself to us, even though it doesn’t come as naturally as it did to a scion of family of Rebbes. Nevertheless, we do have this desire, this yearning to come closer, to experience a spiritual revelation, to feel that Hashem is close to us. And if this doesn’t happen, we are allowed to ask: “Do you remember me?”

Shabbat Shalom, 

Rabbi Zalmen Wishedski

I once participated in a teachers’ course sponsored by the umbrella organization of Swiss Jewry – SIG. At the time I was a teacher in the Basel community, the IGB. In one of the workshops the facilitator tried to teach us to work together, to trust each other, so that we can become a good team. He divided us up into pairs, and each time asked one of the two partners to stand behind the other’s back and be ready to catch him when he falls back. From the other he requested that he allow himself to fall back without looking, just trusting his friend to catch him. Does this sound easy? Maybe. But it is very difficult. I think no one managed to do that, certainly not the first few times. (Even my partner in this task, Dr. Yuval Rubin, did not succeed in throwing himself back. And the truth is that I was very surprised by this, because I was the one who was supposed to catch him…).

We are so used to trusting ourselves and controlling our lives that we are not capable of letting go and agreeing to give up control. 

As the years go by I learn how much we really do not control our lives, how, in the end, there is somebody or something much greater than ourselves who runs our lives and if we will just be able to surrender and agree to let go bit, it will be easier and better for us – and in addition we will enjoy more happiness and contentment in our lives. I am speaking from experience. 

“Go for yourself from your land and your place of birth and the house of your father to the land I will show you.” This is the first task in the Torah, given to the first Jew by the Creator. There are endless explanations, commentaries and messages connected to this passuk. They are all wonderful, but sometimes one ought to just read the passuk in its simplest meaning. It says here clearly: Start your journey without knowing where you are going. Throw yourself back, knowing that I will catch you. Release control and trust Me. 

This of course does not mean that a person should sit and do nothing, G-d forbid; or that he should not think and plan ahead or prepare himself for the near or distant future. Of course not. A person must work, study, prepare himself, plan what has to be planned. But what should be at the base of his life, his plans, his calculations and his dreams is the knowledge that in the end the control is not in his hands. If something goes wrong on the way, is altered, exchanged for something else or even cancelled, give in to it. Trust Hashem that everything is for the good and He will show you the way.

And if there is a challenging moment, one can always sing the prayer of Rabbi Meir of Apta, as put to music so nicely by R. Avraham Shabtai Hacohen Friedman: “Master of the Worlds, yadati – I know that I am in Your hands alone.” 

Shabbat Shalom, 

Rabbi Zalmen Wishedski

 Before Succot I posted a picture of me examining Etrogim. The goal was marketing and nothing more – on my table were dozens of sets of the Arba Minim (Four Species) and the picture was designed to attract buyers.

A friend of mine whom I love and respect sent me a message as follows: “As the Rebbe’s shaliach, it is probably hard for you to examine Etrogim; after all, the Rebbe taught us not to see the black spots.” I smiled and sent him back a suitable emoji.

The Shabbat of parashat Noach, is my bar mitzvah Shabbat. Yes, my birthday is on the 2^nd of Cheshvan. When I sat by R. Abba Levine z”l, the perfectionist Torah reader in the central shul of Kfar Chabad in order to learn how to read the haftara of parashat Noach, we didn’t call it a bar mitzvah Shabbat, but two decades spent in Basel have accustomed me to noting the parasha as my bar mitzvah Shabbat. Well, after Noach comes out of the ark and sees that the world has been laid waste, he drinks a bit too much. His sons come in to cover him, and then the Torah emphasizes that two of his sons approached him walking backwards so as not to see their father’s nakedness: “And they walked backwards and covered their father’s nakedness; their faces were turned backwards and they did not see their father’s nakedness.” Twice it says “backwards” and twice it is repeated that they did not see his nakedness. 

This was not done without thought, nor was it meaningless – it was their choice. They chose not to see their father in his weak moment. Their choice is an instruction to us, an instruction of how to live our lives. 

It is possible – indeed, it is much easier – to see the bad; it is interesting, it is compelling and sometimes it gives us a good feeling: We feel we are better people when the failure or weakness of the other is evident. 

But it is also possible and much more worthwhile to avoid seeing the bad. It’s a bit drier, less interesting; sometimes one has to change the subject or move from where one is standing at that moment, but it leaves us cleaner. 

Noach’s sons knew what they were coming to do; they understood what they were dealing with; but they decided to walk backwards and not to see, in order to show respect to their father as well as to stay clean themselves. And mainly, so that this one-time event will not stain their father’s being. As with the Etrog, if we want to, we can see the black spots, but then we’ll lose seeing the beauty of the Etrog. 

I have a birthday, and that is what I am wishing myself: that I should merit seeing the good in the world, the beauty of the other person. May Hashem grant me chochma, bina and da’at (wisdom, understanding and knowledge) to know when to avert my head and not see what one doesn’t have to see, so that the other person’s beauty will shine. 

I wish the same to you too, my friends and readers.

From experience, it does wonders to all the types of relationships we have in this world.

Shabbat Shalom, 

Rabbi Zalmen Wishedski