?The older I get,
the more grateful I am to Hashem for what I have – and for what I don’t have.
To have wonderful children,
grandchildren, and great-grandchildren is to be truly blessed. Being able to
interact with and know them is even more special. Many of us have a natural
tendency to take blessings for granted, which, unfortunately, seems to be human
nature. It is therefore good to be reminded to “count our blessings,” which is
one of the reasons we recite the Modim
(thanksgiving) prayer five times daily – three times privately and twice
publicly.
At the end of August, my lovely wife
Arleeta and I were privileged to attend the Jerusalem wedding of our grandson
Yehuda. The sweet young lady he married is Tzippy, the youngest daughter of
Rabbi Yitzchok and Naomi Berkovits. Since Rav Berkovits is the Rosh Hayeshiva
of Aish Hatorah, the chuppa took
place on the majestic rooftop of the Aish building overlooking the Kotel and
Har Habayit. I cannot properly describe the many emotions I felt as I recited
the last of the Sheva Brachot (seven
marriage blessings): “Hashem, our G-d, let there soon be heard in the cities of
Judah and the streets of Jerusalem the sounds of joy and happiness, the voice
of the groom and the voice of the bride.” (Yirmiyahu 33:10-11) It was
otherworldly. I felt the Jewish past, present, and future come together at that
moment, on that rooftop.
* *
*
My grandfathers, on both sides, escaped the
terrible Russian/Ukrainian pogroms of the late 1800s and arrived in America at
the turn of the 20th century. They each came as a young teen, from
impoverished shtetls, with a few personal items and the tattered clothes that
they wore. At ages 14 and 15, respectively, they were also tasked with looking
after their sisters. Reluctantly, they worked seven days a week, believing that
it was pikuach nefesh and
that their very survival was at stake. I make no judgments – I wasn’t there! I
have no idea of what it felt like to be a penniless, non-English speaking
teenage immigrant, arriving in a strange land without money, family, or
friends.
Both grandfathers married in their
late teens (well over a century before we somehow managed to develop a shidduch
crisis). They worked hard and raised good children who identified as Jews but
were not Torah observant. Somehow, inexplicably I became observant (a story for
another article). I am a direct link to my grandfathers’ observant families
from whose shtetls
they emigrated 120 years ago. Sadly, my cousins are non-observant, some are
intermarried, and, tragically, their children are completely assimilated. They
are part of the sad, normative story of 20th century American Jewish life.
I was with my grandpa Imber (my
mother’s father) 44 years ago, on the day before he died. I helped him put on a
tallis
and tefillin.
We davened together, and then my grandpa said, “You are named after my father’s
father, Yitzchok Tzvi Hersh. He was an important Rav. He is proud of you. As
for me, you are my shearis hapleita
(my surviving remnant).” It was a powerful,
humbling, heavy, chilling, and daunting statement, the meaning of which was
clear: Don’t let me down!
* * *
Standing on the holy ground just
above, and opposite, the Kotel, I thought about how my ancestors, for centuries,
prayed fervently for our return to Zion and Jerusalem. I thought of General
Mordechai Gur’s famous words on June 7, 1967 (translated) “Jerusalem is ours,
and the Temple Mount is in our hands!” Would my great-grandfather Yitzchok Tzvi
Hersh have ever imagined that his great–great-great-grandson Yehuda would be
married in our Holy City next to our Kotel?!
Standing under the chuppa,
before reciting the bracha,
I said a personal prayer of modim
(thanksgiving), quietly thanking Hashem “shehechiyanu vekiyamanu vehigiyanu
lazman hazeh – Thank
you Hashem, our G-d, who sustained us and brought us to this time (and place).”
As the wedding celebration was
winding down, a group of us got together for Maariv. I’ve davened Maariv
hundreds of times at many “pick-up” minyanim
at various weddings. This pick-up Maariv was somewhat different. We davened in
the still of the night under the starry Jerusalem sky overlooking the Har Habayis.
It was awe inspiring and emotional. As we were leaving the Aish rooftop to
rejoin the celebration, there were some yeshiva students who had come up to the
roof to shmooze and kibbitz.
Suddenly I felt uncomfortable. I thought to myself, you’re
facing the Har Habayit!! Do you not know that this is a sacred place?
I didn’t say anything, but I felt uncomfortable.
The next day, at sheva
brachos,
I shared my feelings with Rav Berkovits. He said, “I feel
exactly the same way. In fact, the window in my office has the same view as the
rooftop. When I’m at my desk I am constantly reminded of Da lifnei Mi
atta omed – Know before Whom you stand.” The Rav continued,
“Hopefully, as our talmidim
mature, they will become more aware of their surroundings. They aren’t being
disrespectful; it’s simply human nature to take common occurrences for granted.
For these talmidim,
who live and learn here, seeing what you saw is a common, normal, everyday
sight.” Of course the Rosh Hayeshiva’s assessment was correct. Then I thought
about the fact that these young men were born into a world in which Israel and
a united Jerusalem always existed.
* *
*
I remember
my first visit to Israel, in 1966, when the holiest sites lay desecrated in the
hands of the Jordanians and inaccessible to Jews. I also remember the accounts
from my grandfather about the pogroms of his childhood and the yearning to
reestablish our long-lost homeland after 2,000 years of exile. I recall the
terrible and worrying days just before the 1967 war (on Shabbos the 17th of Iyar, May 27th), when the words (and prophecy) from parshas
Bechukkosai (26:8) were read: “Five from among you will
chase one hundred, and one hundred among you will chase ten thousand – and your
enemies will fall before you by the sword.”
I was witness to the incredible
fulfillment of that prophecy (just prior to Shavuot) in June of 1967. It was an
astounding open miracle displayed to the entire world. Etched in my brain is
the vivid photo of Rabbi Shlomo Goren sounding the shofar, standing with the
first paratroopers to reach the Kotel on June 7, 1967. After 2,000 years, the
Old City of Jerusalem and our holiest site had been reunited with its original
owners. How could someone born in the twenty-first century possibly know the
emotions which my generation experiences when we gaze at the Kotel and the Har
Habayit?!
* *
*
On September 2, 1948, one month
before Rosh Hashanah, Golda Meir (then Meyerson) began her service as Israel’s
first ambassador to the Soviet Union. Stalin welcomed the new ambassador in the
hopes of establishing a greater presence in the Middle East with what seemed to
be a new socialist state. Stalin was certain that Soviet Jews (with the
exception of a small minority of the elderly), who had been denied access to
all things Jewish from the start of the Bolshevik revolution in 1917 through
1948, considered themselves Russians not Jews. Golda, a secular Jew herself,
was similarly convinced. Therefore, a month after her arrival in Moscow she
wasn’t sure if it was even necessary to attend shul on Rosh Hashanah. After
consulting with her colleagues, she decided that it was proper to go. She
assumed that possibly a few hundred elderly Jews would show up at Moscow’s
Great Synagogue. Although the Soviets had closed virtually all of the Jewish
institutions, they left the Great Synagogue open, with government-approved
clergy, in the hopes of being seen by the free world as tolerant.
Because the Russians were convinced
that Golda’s visit to the synagogue was a benign gesture, it was reported in
the government-controlled press. What happened next shocked Golda and Israel,
and jolted Stalin. On the first day of Rosh Hashanah, October 4, 1948, Golda
intended to do what many secular Jews did: drive to shul and have her driver
park a few blocks away, from where (out of respect for Jewish tradition) she
would walk the last few blocks. When her driver was nearing the synagogue, they
were stopped because of an enormous number of people crowding the streets. It
didn’t occur to Golda at that moment that the crowd was composed of Jews – tens
of thousands of them – who, at great risk to themselves, had come to the Great
Synagogue to get a glimpse of the new ambassador from Israel.
A KGB official approached Golda’s
limousine and ordered her to immediately assist in dispersing the crowd, which
by now had (by Soviet accounts) exceeded 50,000. Later photographic evidence
indicated almost 75,000! Recounting the incident in an interview two years
later, Golda said, “My head was spinning. I was trying to make sense of it all.
It was overwhelming – thousands of Russian Jews shouting my name, louder and
louder. As I made my way through the crowd, people were straining to touch me.
I realized that I was the tangible reality that the State of Israel actually
existed.
“I knew that the police would start
arresting people if they didn’t disperse. I was hoisted up above the crush of
the crowd on the shoulders of people supporting me so that I wouldn’t topple
over. I knew I had to say something and it had to be brief while conveying a
message of hope. Russian and Yiddish were my first languages before English and
Hebrew. In my strongest voice I said, in Russian, ‘My dear brothers and
sisters, I do not know if you and I will meet in Israel, but this I promise you:
Your grandchildren will play with my grandchildren in the streets of Jerusalem!’”
Evidently, for a brief moment in
time, G-d granted Golda the gift of inspired prophecy. Today, thousands of
Russian children play in and around the streets of Jerusalem, some no doubt
mingling with Golda’s great-grandchildren.
Stalin immediately realized that
Israel was now a threat to the stability of his iron-fisted rule. The ambassador
whom he had greeted warmly a month earlier was even a bigger threat. Six months
later, Stalin ended his “cordial” relationship with Israel and sent the
ambassador and her entourage back home. It was clear that the Soviets hadn’t
succeeded in snuffing out Judaism. The yearning among Russian Jews for Zion and
Jerusalem remained.
* *
*
The great philosopher Blaise Pascal
(1623-1662) wrote, “In certain parts of the world, we can see a peculiar people;
they are called the Jewish people. Whereas the people of (ancient) Greece,
Italy, Sparta, Athens, and Rome, and others came later than the Jews, they have
perished long ago, while the Jews still exist – despite efforts to wipe them
out hundreds of times. My encounter with this people amazes me.”
We learn that “Hakol
holech achar hagmar – Everything is judged by the ending.”
Although the final chapters of the story of our people have not yet been
written, we Jews are still here because of G-d’s promise to Abraham 4,000 years
ago. As we approach Rosh Hashanah, it is important to pause and give thanks for
so many of Hashem’s blessings (“Modim anachnu Lach”),
and especially for the very great miracle of Eretz Yisrael. We must never take
our holy land and our holy city for granted. We, who enjoy the gift of Israel,
are the recipients of the fervent prayers of our ancestors through 2,000 years
of exile, coupled with the blood of the brave soldiers who fought for us and
now defend us, and by the grace of G-d Al-mighty. When we are sitting in a
coffee shop in Mamilla Mall, it’s easy to forget what we must constantly
remember: “Jerusalem is ours, and the Temple Mount is in our hands.”
We are G-d’s Chosen people – at long
last reunited with our homeland. The prophet Yeshayahu (619-533 BCE) states, “From
Zion the Torah will come forth and the word of the L-rd from Jerusalem.” (Isaiah
2:3) We Jews have an awesome responsibility to each other and to all humanity.
May Hashem bless, keep, and watch over His children for a new year of good
health, peace, and wellbeing.
L’Shana Tova U’Mesuka!
