Author: Moshe Taub

  • Surnames -Some Jewish History

    Surnames -Some Jewish History

    May, 2015

    Once, by a simcha in Buffalo, a man showed up to shul, took a yarmulke from the bin and placed it on his head. He came over and introduced himself to me as a lawyer in town, friendly with the father of the groom.

    “Babad is my last name”.

    That name seemed so familiar, but I just could not place it. “Do you possibly have relatives in Toronto (my home town)?” I asked him.

    He did not.

    I shrugged my shoulders, as if to say ‘my error’, and turned to move on to greet the next guest when he tapped me on my shoulder.

     “Perhaps my name is familiar to you because you know of my great ancestor, I think he wrote a book on the commandments?”

    Why, of course! Rav Yosef Babad was the author of the classic commentary to the Sefer Hachinuch, titled Minchas Chinuch. While I had never determined exactly how they were related, it was a reminder of just how last names can sometimes reveal so many secrets about a Jew.

    Last week we explored the idea of everyone having a unique story. In my time in the rabbinate I have been surprised over and over again with the amazing backgrounds of so many in my memberships, often from those one would least expect it.

    We talked about a neighbor of mine in Buffalo whom I had never met until several years there and his amazing background –to be continued in a future week.

    With the right knowledge a rav can sometimes begin a conversation with someone just from hearing their last name –where their family likely stemmed from (e.g. Reiss/Rice, Halpern), if they are a Kohen, and, sometimes, what possible minhagim they may have.

    While the genesis of Jewish last names is somewhat murky, historians agree that it was the sefardim who were first to take on this custom long ago. Indeed, there are some sefardim who may carry names that are predicated upon pesukim, teffilos or zemiros. Those examples may be described as more than simply chosen last names, rather they represent, better put, a type of quasi family coat of arms.

    Some of the oldest sefardi surnames –and the oldest Jewish surnames-go back to the end of the geonic era, and include Berdugo and Alfasi (refer to Dr. Chanan Rappaport’s article Sheimos U’Mishpachos B’Yisroel).

    When it comes to ashkanazim, however, the practice of last names begins far more recently. Up until not too long ago an individual was very often known through their paternal line, e.g. Avrahan ben Yitzchak.

    Of course, there were some exceptions, such as, for example, Teumim, Weil, Eiger, Bacharach, Mintz and Lowe, variations of which we find already in the 1400’s.

    It was not until 1787 and 1804, when the Austria-Hungarian empire and the Russians, respectively, issues decrees on many Jews to choose family names when surnames really took-off.

    Nevertheless, kinnuiyim or nicknames (for lack of a better term) to describe families dates back further, especially in larger cities. Examples of these range from Metzger, Kaufman and Kaplan/Rokeach for certain occupations, and Frank or Frankel for those stemming from Germany (Frankfurt). The latter surname would often begin as a nickname when someone moved to, say Italy from Frankfurt.

    For example, Rav Yehudah Mintz, known today as the Mahari Mintz, moved from Mainz in Germany to Italy in the 1400’s. Once settled in his new home, he became known by the city he emigrated from, Mainz, or, Mintz.

    Beyond the examples above, and because a paternal name for a kohen or a levi would often anyway end with that term, last names like Cohen, Levi, Levin and Katz (abbreviated from ‘Kohen Tzedek’) are also older than most last names.

    Most famously is the last name Rappaport, and one of the rare last names with its own Wikipedia page! While some argue that this last name goes back to the 1400’s, the best evidence to its modern provenance is from the 1500’s when Rav Shlomo ben Menachem haKohen Rapa of Venice likely made a shidduch with Rav Avraham Porto haKohen. The former was the rav of this Italian community while the latter was its parnas. Together, the two last names form Rapa-Porto, Rappaport. Further, it seems that both of these families were able to substantiate their yichus all the way back to Ahron hakohen. For this reason, until today, kohanim with the last name of Rappaport are prized. Indeed, it is widely written that the Vilna Gaon would consistently throughout his lifetime redeem himself with coins for his pidyon haben out of fear that each kohen was not really a kohen. He did this until he met a kohen who was carried the last name of Rappaport, at which point he was satisfied.

    Speaking of the Vilna Gaon and last names, we discover another secret to surnames. In a recent biography on the life of the Vilna Gaon, the volume had the subtitle, ‘The story of Rav Eliyahu Kramer’, and in other books his surname is spelled Kremmer.

    However, historians now seem to agree that neither were his true last name, and this particular surname had only begun to become attached to the Gaon over the past sixty-seventy years.

    One resourceful researcher went back to look at the old Vinius (Vilna) census records, and lo-and-behold the true last name of the Vilna Gaon may have been discovered!

    “Eliasz Zelmanowicz, wife Chana, son Zelman, daughter Basia, and servant Nechama”. Later records show his second wife Gittel. However, even this researcher admits that the last name Zalmanovitz likely refers to the fact that his father’s name was Zalman. This is an illustrations of another way surnames sprung up.

    Some last names are of more recent vintage. Many changed their names upon moving to the new state of Israel. In Buffalo there was a young rav names Rabbi Freidfertick. A deep lover of Eretz Yisroel, about ten years ago he decided to pick up his family and learn in kollel and write sefarim the rest of his life. Upon doing so, he changed his last name to Tzion! (And he has written at least ten sefarim since the move!)

    My own last name, Taub, has a number of meanings. Some suggest it refers to a dove, others that it stems from tov/good. But there is another possibility.

    Once, an older gentleman, a guest in his shul, went over to my father to give shalom.

    “Vuz iz de rav’s nummen?” (What is the rabbi’s name?)

     “Taub”.

    “Voz?” (What?)

    “Taub”

    “Nechemul; vuz?” (Once again, what?)

     “Taub”

     “Ahn shuldiks mir, ubber ich bin toyb” (Excuse me, but I am the “deaf” one.

    You see, Taub in Yiddish can also mean deaf.

    I was reminded of this potential etymology when doing research on the topic of deafness in halacha for this column several years ago. I kept finding variants of my last name scattered throughout the literature. Often poskim of a couple of hundred years ago would discuss spending time with the deaf/mute they would describe these institutions as: Taub/Stummer-Schul (Deaf/Mute School).

    I like to imagine, that if this is indeed the source for my last name, it is not due to a deaf ancestor, but rather to a gadol who was ‘deaf’ to lashon hara!

  • Of P’tcha & Pedigree

    A Guest Reveals His Amazing Yichus and Backstory

    May, 2015

    “Everyone has a story to tell, everyone is a writer. Some are written in the books and some are confined to hearts.” American Proverb

    Indeed, everyone does have a story, just some are more remarkable than others.

    When I first moved to Queens, I made it a point to meet, over the course of a year, with every member of my shul. Naturally, the main purpose for such meetings would be to get to know them on a personal level.

    But there was something else driving me. I have come to learn that there is no single person in this world who does not have something fascinating in their background.

    So, whether it was the remarkable stories of survival of the holocaust by so many of their parents, the genius math-wizard father who worked together with Albert Einstein at Princeton, or the member who was Rabbi Schneerson’s physical therapist during his final years, these new members did not disappoint.

    In my old shul in Buffalo as well there were many stories. When I moved to Buffalo I naively believed that yiddeshkeit – at least the backgrounds I was used to –was confined to the major Torah centers of the world.

    But I was wrong.

    There was the one-hundred-year-old man from Dvinsk who was forced to bury his own family during the war. In his younger days, although unlearned, he recalled listening to the holy fires that left of the lips of the Meshech Chochma and the Rogatchover gaon. Although he never learned even a modicum of English, he would come each evening for davening and listen quietly to my divrei halacha. There was the retired Chabad rosh yeshiva, Rav Greenberg, who was chavrusos with Rav Shisgal and Rav Simcha Schustal –in their younger days they were known as ‘the three musketeers’ among their peers. He even once spent a Shabbos with Rav Menachem Zemba hy’d, while in yeshiva in Europe.

    However, due to language, sickness, or time –and sometimes all three- I was never able to develop a close relationship with either of these two men.

    But then came Shay.

    He had a ponytail and walked with a cane. He looked about eighty-years old, and had a small kipa seruga pinned to his grey, thinning slicked-back hair.

    I was walking to shul Shabbos morning when I first spotted him, lumbering slowly on the other side of the street.

    At this point I had lived in Buffalo for seven years and I had never seen this man before.

    I would have ventured that he was a guest, yet he was walking in an area that was residential and not near the many hotels where visitors would be staying.

    As I watched him slowly make his way to shul I asked the person I was walking with, who himself had lived in the neighborhood for many decades, “Who is this man?”.

    “Oh, him?” he responded, pointing to the older gentleman, “That is Shay Mintz, he lives a block away from you”.

    I was surprised, as I thought I knew of all the Jews-religious or otherwise-that lived in my close proximity.

    After davening I went over to give him a hearty shalom aleichem, and he could not have been sweeter.

    In fact, he asked me a question on the parsha. I can not now recall what the question was (and I wish I could!) but I do remember thinking that it was a good question, in fact, I recall thinking that it was too good of a kasheh for an amateur, someone new to Torah.

    I inquired more about this neighborhood visitor to shul and was told that although he himself has always been frum, he worked for many years for the adult education at the local conservative synagogue and helped run the Hillel at the University of Buffalo. The university’s campus was down the block from our shul and the reason why he was never in our shul is because he had been, for decades, running their Shabbos services.

    Once retired he still felt that perhaps he would be considered persona-non-grata in a frum shul, so he reluctantly stayed away. But he he could not go anymore without a minyan, and although quite sickly he began to walk the short distance to shul, which for him took much effort and time.

    I thought to myself that he must have come from a different, more confusing time in America and, nebech, got lost in the shuffle somehow. I mean, how ‘frum’ could he really be, could he really have been?

    The next week he was back, and then the week after that, and again after that. He soon became one of the the Shabbos regulars. Every week after davening he would always first comment to me about the drasha and then ask me a question on the parsha.

    In time I came to realize that every question he asked was taken from the sefas emes. ‘Interesting that he seems so fascinated with the sefas emes’, I would think for but a moment, but I never gave it any more contemplation.

    At one kiddush soon after he began coming to shul each week I mentioned to him that I wanted to get home as I had made fresh ptcha for Shabbos and wanted to see how it came out.

    Shay closed his eyes and, as if going back in time, he smiled and said “What I would do for a geshmekah piece of ptcha”.

    Naturally, I invited him for lunch. “Bring your wife as well”, I sincerely encouraged.  Sadness suddenly engulfed his face as he shared with me his present reality; his wife was in a home, suffering from late-unsought Alzheimer’s disease. So, from that Shabbos onward, Shay would come to my house almost every Shabbos lunch thereafter.

    It was at this first Shabbos seudah together that I discovered who this man really was.

    “So, Shay” I asked, as I cut him a healthy slice of my ptcha, “Where did you learn to eat such heimeshe food”.

    “Yerushalayim”, he replied.

    “Oh, you spent some time there?” I innocently inquired.

    “I was born there, before there was modern state”

    He paused, “Perhaps in your time in eretz yisroel you have seen some streets named ‘rechov mintz’ found in Yerushalayim, Bnei Brak and other cities?”

    “Yes” I replied with, in truth, only a shadow of a vague memory of such streets.

    “Well, these were named after my father”

    He then pointed to a sefer I had on my shtender from the great gaon and bibliophile Rav Reuvein Margolios zt’l. He began to swell with tears how recounted the time he had spent with that genius in Torah.

    Just who was this man at my Shabbos table, who lived just a block away from me in, of all places, Buffalo, New York?!

    Well, my dear reader, Shay Mintz, passed away last week in Yerushalaim. Sitting and writing this column has been cathartic, my way of dealing with his passing.

    There is so much I want to share with the reader about his amazing life. But the news was so sudden, I am scrambling to find in my boxes the letters he kept from Rav Meir Shapiro, the great rebbes of Gur, and the biography of his father that he published, and much, much more.

    Just who was Shay Mintz, and how he went from a chassideshe yingle in pre-Israel Yerushalim to Upsate New York?

    For that story the reader should seek out his book -about his father’s life and his -titled Ai Shel Efshar (Hebrew).

  • Source-less ‘Chazal’ Sayings

    Source-less ‘Chazal’ Sayings

    Are There Sources For These Jewish or ‘Chazal’ Sayings?

    –Hamakom Yenacheim–

    –Devarim HaYotzim Min HaLev–

    –Ein Navi B’Iro–

    –Maaseh Avos Siman…–

    &

    Many More

    Rabbi Moshe Taub
    Originally Published in Ami Magazine in May 2015

    “I quote others in order to better express myself”

    –Michel de Montaigne

    ______________________________________________

    “Don’t believe every quote you read on the internet”

    -Abraham Lincoln

    Brilliant and innovative Torah ideas with no known source will often be mistakenly attributed to the Vilna Gaon, as discussed in another post.

    But for adages, maxims, axioms, or aphorisms of unknown origin, it is different. If secular, they will often be attributed to Mark Twain, while in Torah, lahavdil ad la’netzach, most just assume that it comes from “chazal“.

    Let’s test this, begining with the following saying:

    “Ein navi b’iro”
    –It’s unfeasable to be a prophet in one’s hometown–

    This is a common expression, referring to the challenge of being a navi or a rav – or to hold any respected position of power – in one’s hometown. The meaning behind this is obvious, as mustering an air of authority among those who are familiar with one’s youthful peccadilloes would prove difficult, if not insurmountable.

    What is the provenance of this adage?

    One can search all the ‘Bar Ilan’s Torah software, as well as all the libraries of the world, yet still come to one conclusion: this saying does not derive from chazal, rather it comes from a book within a series of books that, let’s just say, is often found in hotel room drawers.

    This does not mean that it could not have first emanated from within klal yisroel –as did much of that hotel room book! Rather, and perhaps more accurately, this is to say: ‘We do not find it written in toras chazal’.

    Last year, in honor of Shavous, I discussed the idea of hufuch bu v’hufuch bu sh’kulu bu, that everything can be found within the Torah, be it science or mathematics. We then sought to test and demonstrate the inherent truth of that statement.

    Our focus this year may be described as the opposite: matters that people assume come from the Torah or chazal when, in reality, it is unclear.

    Many gedolim and mechabrei sefarim have published their own lists of unsourced ‘chazals’ (see, for example, ‘Otzar Hayedios’, chelek 2, by Rav Yechiel Michel Stern, and, ‘Mitzuveh V’Oseh’, ch. Talmud Torah, by the inimitable Rav Shmuel Freidman shlit”a).

    Here, I will seek to offer my own chelek in that discussion.

    It may be of interest to point out that according to many meforshim, chazal’s term of “Hu Haya Omer” is unique from “Amar Rav Ploni” or “Hu Amar“, in that the former represents this tanna/amara’s common quote, a passion of his – or a life’s mission – often on his lips. Meaning, many members of chazal were indeed known in their lifetimes for certain sayings that were seen as valuable. Yet (perhaps) unless such a saying was reflective of Torah sh’Baal Peh or apropos to a Talmudic discussion, such saying were never recorded, and certainly not indexed. Since only a trifle of these were given to us in written form, many sayings -known in their time by their authors -were perhaps retained by students and admirers, who said them as frequently as their teachers. Little-by-little (I am suggesting) these proverbs slowly entered into the mainstream, and soom become part of our lexicon.

    Some axioms, while not found in chazal, do have known provenance, and are first found in the early rishonim.

    For example:

    ‘Bo Shabbos, bo menuchah’
    –With Shabbos’s arrival comes tranquility–

    This is indeed found in a Rashi, although not a chazal.

    Other sayings have their source in kabala.

    For example:

    “Ein davar omed b’fnei haratzon”
    –Nothing can stand in the way of one’s will–

    We do find this stated, although in different terms, by the Zohar.

    In fact, the latter category may help illume history.

    Rav Chaim Kinievsky writes (Krias Melech, p. 282, footnote) that the Rambam never saw or studied the Zohar. However, some disagree. Rav Reuvein Margolios wrote an article seeking to prove that the Rambam must have studied the Zohar. One of his famous proofs/examples is a ruling in Rambam (hilchos deos 2:7) that has now become a famous Jewish proverb:

    “Kol hakoes k’ilu oved avodah zara”
    -Whoever loses their temper, it is as if he served idolatry–

    This statement can not be found anywhere in chazal, however it is found to be stated several times in the Zohar.

    Rav Chaim (ad loc.) dismisses such evidence, explaining that such examples more likely came from the sefarim of the geonim or midrashim that Rambam had access to, some of which are no longer extant.

    Indeed, this proverb is strongly alluded to by chazal themselves. The gemara (Shabbos 105) states,:

    “Anyone who tears his clothing in anger, or breaks utensils, etc. is as if he served idolatry”

    A similar example of a famous proverb that likely came from an analogous chazal is the follwing one:

    “Maaseh avos siman la’banim”
    –Our forefathers‘ actions/histories allude to klal yisroel‘s future-

    Although the current maxim may have originated in Ramban al HaTorah -where it is mentioned several times (see, e.g., 12:6) – we (I) find no chazal utilizing this phrase. The closest I found was the following chazal where they share how Hashem told Avraham:

    “Stay! –as you are a siman for your children”

    –Bereishis Rabba

    But there are still maxims for which we seemingly find no written source at all.

    Perhaps the most famous examples of these is the following:

    “Devarim hayotzim min halev nichnasim el halev’”
    –Matters spoken from the heart enter the hearts of others–

    Although a popular expression, I could not locate a source in any of our writings from chazal or kabala.

    In the three volume encyclopedic work ‘Michlol Hamaamarim V’Pisgamim’, its author sources this adage to R’ Moshe Ibn Ezra (d.1066), while others (see the yarchon ‘Nezer Hatorah’, kislev 5769 p. 305, as well as the aforementioned Metuzuveh V’oseh p. 367) source this proverb to a gemara (berachos 6) where we are taught that any person with yiras shomayim will find his words being heeded.

    Another, perhaps even more surprising, axiom that has no known source is the following:

    “Yeshuos/Teshuos Hashem b/k’heref ayin’”
    –The salvations of Hashem can/will come in the blink of an eye“

    While certainly a factual statement for any baal emunah, it is found anywhere, and is certainly not a pasuk, as many assume!

    Some quote Rav Aryeh Levin as asserting that this maxim came from a piyut recited during the Yomin Noroim. In the Torah journal Ohr Yisroel, Rav Gedalia Oberlander offers other potential sources. He first marshals the many other sefarim and likkutim that also sought to locate its provenance, with one even suggesting, incorrectly, that it came from a midrash Tanchuma. In the end he demonstrates how numerous piyuttim over the centuries have utilized this idiom. While not a direct source, it does prove its antiquity.

    The lack of a source should not trouble us. There is no doubt that as we suffered through two-thousand years of galus we developed sayings, phrases, and teffilos. This last one may have been in response to amazingly swift salvations and so as to express our hope in future ones.

    Moments before I sent this article in to the editor of Ami Magazine for publication, I found one last amazing potential source for this most famous adage:

    In a Hebrew academic work on the siddur (‘Teffila L’yisroel Bihitpachusa Ha’historiot’), the authors lay out every nusach of the siddur ever discovered. There, they share a nusach of Shemoneh Esreh found in a geniza in Eretz Yisroel that reads as follows (ibid. p. 392):

    “…michalkel chaim b’chesed…m’chayei meisim k’heref ayin yeshuah lanu tatzmiach…”

    (!!!)

    Another famous proverb that many suggest is without a chazal source is the following:

    “Mi sh’yeish lo manah ratzah ma’asaim’
    –When one acquires a hundred of something (he will not be satisfied, rather) he will then desire two hundred–

    While it is true that no such exact chazal exists, however it is so strongly alluded to by chazal, that we can say they are the direct authors of it.

    In Koheles Rabbah (1:13) chazal teach:

    “Rabbi Yudan said in the name of Rabbi Aivu: A person does not leave the world with even half his desire in hand. Rather, if he has one hundred, he wants to turn them into two hundred; if he has two hundred, he wants to turn them into four hundred.”

    This appears later as well, on the pasuk, “I have seen the matter that God has given to the sons of man in which to engage” (koheles 3:10):

    “‘I have seen the matter’ -Rabbi Aivu said: This refers to the pursuit of money/property. As Rabbi Yudan said in the name of Rabbi Aivu…”

    There are so many more examples of proverbs from unknown sources.

    “Kol harodef achar hakavod, kavod baorech momenu“
    -Whoever chases honor will find honor allude him–

    Likely taken from the Shelah, parshas korach

     “Mitzvah habah l’yadecha al tachmitzenah”
    -When a mitzvah comes up do not push it off–

    Mentioned by the Rama siman 625 and perhaps first formulated by Rashi to Megilla 6b

    “Kabal es ha’emes m’mi sh’amro”
    -Accept the truth from whoever says it–

    “Kabdeihu V’Chadsheihu“
    -Honor (all) but remain suspicious-

    Interestingly, in America there is a similar saying, rooted in ‘Reganism’:
    ‘Trust but verify’

    “B’yoser sh’yehudi shomer es hashabbos, hashabbos shomeres es hayehdui”
    -As much as the Jew kept Shabbos (throughout the generations), Shabbos has ‘kept’ us Jewish–

    “Osiyos machkimos’”
    –(The Hebrew) Letters make us wise–

    But perhaps the most famous example of this column’s topic is the one that will surprise the most.

    “Hamakom yenachem eschmen b’soch shaar avlei tzion v’yerushalim’“

    Although commonly said upon taking leave of an avel, its provenance is a mystery. Although the Tur and others give other sentences to say that strike some of the same themes, the hamakom we say must have developed over time.

    In fact, even before shiva, by the levaya itself, there is a pasuk often quoted (yeshayahu 25:8) that although exists, is so often misquoted. The famous niggun based on this pasuk goes, ‘Umucha Hashem dima m’al kol panim’-Hashem (in the days of Moshiach) will erase the tears from upon our faces. Although popularized through this song, the actual pasuk reads (end) ‘…umucha Hashem Elokim dima m’al kol panim’.

    All of this should only serve to galvanize ourselves this Shavous to study as much of the Torah Shb’ksav and Baal Peh for ourselves, thereby knowing what indeed stems from chazal and what does not, and through which will b’ezras Hashem bring the merits to hasten the very day to which the Yeshayahu hanavi was reffering.

    Ah gutt yom tov to all!

  • For Whom Does Shabbos Food Taste & Smell Special?

    For Whom Does Shabbos Food Taste & Smell Special?

    The Mailman’s Kugel and the Sweet Smell of Shabbos

    I once heard quoted in the name of Rav Yisroel Reisman who suggested, in humor of course, that a non-Jew will never understand the pleasure of not having to say tachanun on a Monday or a Thursday due it being a yom simcha.

    In truth there are many pleasures (outside the beauty of the Torah itself!) not understood outside our macheneh. In my old shul one of the congregants become frum later in life. Already married and leading successful professional lives, they gave up much of their creature comforts to embrace an existence of Torah and chesed.

    In the initial process of coming toward Torah, before they were fully frum, they would often be invited out for Shabbos lunch. Recounting these shabbosim to me, now years later, they remarked how they were amazed that their hosts were restricted from going anywhere beyond their neighborhood to do some other activity after the meal. After all, the whole day lay ahead.

    “What do you do the rest of the day?” they  sincerely wondered. “It is now only two-pm and Mincha is not for another six hours!”

    The host family respectfully and honestly replied that they spend the remainder of the day with a mix of learning Torah, and the kids playing games, and often they take a nap.

    “We were shocked to hear this!” they recounted, now years later. “Who goes to bed after a Saturday lunch?! How does on sleep away an afternoon?

    “But then sometime later we kept our first Shabbos. By lunch, we ate cholent and sang songs and by the time bentching arrived we felt a deep sense of menucha fall upon us. And that is when the ‘shabbos-nap’, and its unique pleasures, finally made sense!”

    But it is not just the Shabbos nap that is unique to us.

    The following story is absolutely true, and happened just weeks ago.

    Every erev Shabbos I begin my day by teaching at Shevach High School, after which I come home for a quick lunch and then go to my office to prepare for my Shabbos shiurim.

    Like many, my quick snack on Fridays is a piece of hot, fresh kugel straight out of the oven. As in many homes, in our house too more kugel is eaten then than on Shabbos itself.

    As I typically arrive home before my children, I always get the first crack of the kugel. On this particular week I arrived home to see that someone got to it first…the mailman. As I came up the steps I see him –with his uniform and bag in toe – sitting on the bench outside my home with a plastic spoon and bowl blowing on piping hot kugel!

    It was such a peculiar portrait!

    I figured there must be a story here. Walking into my house I asked my wife, humorously, “Why is the mailman eating my kugel?”

    She explained that a few minutes prior there was a knock at the door. She opened it to see the mailman standing there with a package she needed to sign for.

    She also noticed that his mood was solemn, almost rude.

    “Is everything alright, sir?” she kindly inquired.

    Usually when you ask that of a stranger it is meant as rhetorical, a way of saying ‘cheer up’, or to have them know that their mood is showing.

    This postman, however, was more than happy to not only admit that he was unhappy, but also to share the reason for his bitter mood.

    “For years I was a mailman in Kew Gardens. Every week I would dread Fridays because inevitably there were some houses whose doors I would need to knock on. When I saw a mezuzah I knew what would come next: the door would open and most unbelievable smells of cooking foods would waft out. My mouth would water and my stomach grumble! This would happen at house after house

    “’What was that smell?’ I always wondered. ‘What are they making that always smells so good?’

    “Then I was moved to a different area, where Orthodox Jews do not live, and where I didn’t have to be teased with those smells every Friday. But now I was switched routes again, this time to your area, and its happening again!”

    My wife concluded, “I felt so bad that I went into the kitchen and pulled the just ready kugel from the oven and handed him a piece, telling him to take a break and eat it on the porch outside”

    As my wife recounted all of this to I could not help my laughing. “Its like feeding pigeons! Before you know it there will be lines outside our house each Friday with post office workers!”

    In Monsey, near my in-laws, there is mailman who stops his route every Shabbos in one home near Forshay so that he can sit down and eat cholent and have a lechaim!

    However, although I am sure these mailmen enjoyed their food, it is doubtful that they receive the same geshmak we do, for he is not the first non-Jew to note the special smell of Shabbos food (more: see what the Bnei Yisaschar writes in mamrei hashabbasos 1:12!).

    The gemara (Shabbos 119) tells us of the Caesar who asked Rav Yehoshua ben Chanania why the food for Shabbos smells so wonderful.

    He famously responded, “There is a special spice, and Shabbos is its name, that we place in our food and it causes its smell to penetrate the senses”

    Caesar responds, “Well, please give some of this spice!”

    To which Rav Yehoshua ben Chanania responded, “It only works for those who keep Shabbos”.

    Caesar’s reaction is strange. Once Rav Yehoshua informed him that the secret ‘spice’ was Shabbos, how could the Caesar request this nontangible item for himself?

     In a fascinating explanation of this Gemara, the Maharsha suggests that Caesar misunderstood the reply. This is because the Mishnah (Uktzin 3:4) teaches us of a spice actually named ‘shabas’, and this was the spice that the Caesar thought Rav Yehoshua was referring to.

    It was this mistake to which Rav Yehoshua responded, “No, I meant that the smell is due to those who keep Shabbos, the day”.

    The Maharal suggests another fascinating interpretation to this chazal. Caesar was actually making fun of the Jews who because they can not eat fresh hot food on Shabbos it does not smell good. To this Rav Yehoshua responded, “To those who keep Shabbos, the food is always delicious”. Meaning, that we love Shabbos so much that the food tastes as good, if not better, than when fresh.

    The Maharal’s brother (in Sefer Hachaim 3:6) offers a deeper explanation. We all have moments where we question emunah, especially emunah that comes from our own intellect. Just like a dish needs spice, so too does Shabbos act like the tavlin/spice to our faith in the Torah.

    Even more interesting is what I discovered after this ‘mailman’ incident. The Bnei Yisaschar writes (mamrei hashabbasos 1:12) that food for Shabbos should not, if possible, be given to non-Jews! This, however, is not due to our feeling superior, rather for their own protection. He explains that for Jews Shabbos food is a sam hachaim, while for others it can be a sam maves. The Tiferes Shlomo (Mishpatim, 21:19) teaches similarly, explaining that not only does Shabbos food taste and smell good, it contains the power to heal!

    The Tiferes Shlomo (Mishpatim, 21:19) teaches that not only does Shabbos food taste and smell good, it contains the power to heal!

    Rav Moshe Feinstein would often suggest (see Rav Moshe, Artscroll) a difference between the families in early America whose children maintained their yiddeshkeit and those that did not. These Europeans arrived to these shores during period in our recent history when one who did not show up to work on Shabbos would immediately lose their job.

    The first group, whose children often maintained their yiddeshkeit, would be b’simchah on Shabbos, even though they will soon be summarily fired. In fact, I know of one family who, in the 1930’s and 40’s, would decorate their Sukkah walls with all the pink-slips received due to not coming into work on Shabbos!

     The latter group, however, would come home on Shabbos, justifiably fearing that their new job would now be lost, and exclaim “Es iz shver tzu zein ah yid!’-It is tough to be a Jew.

     No message is more dangerous for children to hear, and one that could risk alienating them from Torah.

    Rather we must recognize that beyond the day-to-day challenges and battles there are bountiful gifts and secret gems both open and hidden within all of the mitzvos.

    Today, especially without those challenges of yore, we must show our children that we do not only keep Shabbos, but that we delight in it and its gashmiyos and ruchniyos pleasures.

    So, pass the kugel, please!

    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
  • 
		
		
    
			
    A Lag B’Omer Secret
    
			
    A Lag B’Omer Secret
    
			
    

     The Mystery Behind Why We Celebrate.


    Why Do We Celebrate The Plague Ending, If It Already Killed ALL 24,000 of Rebbe Akiva’s Students ?
    




    April, 2015
    




    Lag ‘Bomer always falls on the same day of the week as that year’s Purim.
    




    Perhaps this is not simply by chance.
    




    After all, if there are two days during the year when the focus is on children, and that our children look forward to the most, it is these two days.
    




    We may find an even deeper connection between these two days. The Shulchan Aruch points out the above Purim-Lag B’omer day connection (siman 428:1), also providing us with a siman to remember this rule: the Hebrew word peleg (pe’lg= purim/lag b’omer).
    




    Perhaps this word alludes to the very heart of the potential breech that can take place between these two days each and every year.
    




    On Purim we provide each other with mishaloach manos, in large part to foster closeness, friendship and camaraderie between Jews. However, and as the word peleg (sect, or faction) alludes, too often that closeness can quickly dissipate.
    




    After all, at the heart of Lag B’omer is the history of Jews not showing each other proper respect. So, whereas on Purim we had an enemy from without, on Lag’B’omer we recall the lurking enemy from within.
    




    For, although chazal make no mention of this period of mourning that precedes Lag B’omer (it was a minhag that became solidified as law in the days of the geonim), they do often recall the death of the students of Rebbe Akiva during these days, and the reason for their demise –their lack of kavod for one another.
    




    However, even this is somewhat murky. When chazal share with us the story of Rebbe Akiva’s students’ death, not always are the same terms used.
    




    In the gemara (Yevamus 62b) the story is told as follows: “Rebbe Akiva had 12,000 pairs of students…who all died in the same period because they did not show each other proper respect”. Later, the gemara will inform us that this ‘same period’ was in fact during the days between Pesach and Shavuos.
    




    However, in the midrash (Bereishis Rabba 61:3) when these same events are taught, there are some slight discrepancies: “Rebbe Akiva had 12,000 students…who all died in the same period. Why did they die? Because they looked at each other begrudgingly (ayin tzara)”
    




    The first difference between these two sources is the number of talmidim we are told that died –the gemara teaches a total of 24,000 (12,000 pairs), while the midrash gives us their number as 12,000 total. Even more difficult is the Tanchuma (Chayay Sara, 6) that teaches us that the total number of Rebbe Akiva’s students, as well as the total of those that perished, was 300.
    




    To answer this first discrepancy, we could suggest a simple solution. Chavrusa’s are supposed to be symbiotic and united as one. For this very reason does the gemara describe them as 12,000 pairs instead of simply saying 24,000. The midrash was only furthering this same idea by actually counting each pair as one entity. As for the 300 figure, see Shekalim 21b as well as many other gemaras where the number ‘300’ is often used as a descriptive for any large number (see Gra ad loc.).
    




    However, the greater difficulty – at least as it relates to our own personal growth – is how on the one hand the gemara describes their bad behavior as a general lack of respect for each other, while the midrash designates a specific flaw of jealousy and contempt for each others’ personal and Torah growth.
    




    The Sifsei Chaim quotes from the Ponivitcher Rav who explained that there is in fact no discrepancy at all. Chazal are informing us how even a small putrid midda can sometimes metastasize and destroy so much more. The midda they failed in was,as the midrash accurately teaches, ayin tzara. However, that seemingly small failing colored so much else, to the point of each student becoming so fearful of the other’s growth as to not show proper respect to one another. This then caused all of their learning to be for the sake of their own personal benefit – to be better than the other – and not l’shmah. (Sifsei Chaim, 3).
    




    The Maharsha echoes this idea by asserting that due to their jealousy they likely spoke lashon hara about each other. In fact, he points out that the disease that killed them –asakrah- is taught to be related to the sin of lashon hara (Shabbos 33a).
    




    As to why they died specifically during this period of the year, the Beis Yosef brings from the Tashbetz a stunning explanation: the chillul Hashem caused when talmidei chachamim do not act properly leads people to say, “Woe to those who study Torah!” R’l. For this reason, they perished during our countdown to Shavuos and the giving of the Torah!
    




    The Maharsha suggests the reason this time of the year was chosen for their demise was for a more technical reason. Hakodosh Barush Hu wanted it to be clear that this was a Divine punishment. Chazal teach (Shabbos 147a) that the period between Pesach and Shavuos is set aside with the special power to heal. Their death during that same period would suggest to the homan am that this was clearly a punishment from Above.
    




    On the point that this time of year contains the power to heal, the Chasam Sofer to that gemara suggests that it refers specifically to the month of Iyar, and is alluded to in the pasuk ‘Ki Ani Hashem Rofecha’ (I am you Gd, your Healer), the first letters of the last words spelling out ‘Iyar’.
    




    There is so much more that lays beneath the surface of these days, but let me end with one more hidden message contained in the many chazals that discuss this story.
    




    Both in the midrash and the gemara, always, the discussion that leads chazal to mention the students of Rebbe Akiva was a lesson derived from Koheles 11:6 “Do not be idle in the evening”.
    




    From here chazal derive the lesson that if you study Torah in your youth, make sure to also study in your old age. Whenever this lesson is taught, invariably, it causes chazal to teach us the story of Rebbe Akiva’s students. This is because the greatest lesson we can draw from it is how Rebbe Akiva never gave up. Even when he lost everything, he rebuilt his yeshiva again in the ‘evening’ of his life.
    




    This may also explain the significance of Lag B’omer as a day of celebration – a famous debate (as, after all, there were no more students left to perish!), and which was the subject of last year’s column.
    




    Lag B’Omer always falls out on the 18th of Iyar.
    




    In the gemara (Rosh Hashana 11) we learn that according to R’ Yehoshua the first day of the mabul in the days of Noach was the 17 of Iyar.
    




    According to many (see Sefer Hayashar, cf. Ibn Ezra) the waters by the Flood killed everyone on the first day, so that by the 18th of Iyar the deaths ended. The 18th of Iyar is also the date when we recall how another mageifa ended on this same day –the deaths of Rebbe Akiva’s students.
    




    Perhaps, then, Lag B’omer, or the 18th of Iyar is set aside as a time of renewal. It reminds us of two people who saw their world lay desolate, having witnessed all they built destroyed by a Divine decree. More saliently, it reminds us that on this date, twice in our history-by Noach and again by Rebbe Akiva- neither surrendered to forlorn, rather they galvanized themselves to start over, again.
    




    As we see the dead trees of winter suddenly revivified by Spring, so too may we take the lessons of these days and work to have those relationships thought to have also withered on the vine have a second chance.
    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
  • 
		
		
    
			
			
    Judaism and Veganism
    
			
    

    See also the following posts:

    “Vegans, Vegetarians, and Sensitivity”

    “Vegan Restaurants: A Kashrus Minefield” 
    




    Society will always be judged by history by how they reacted to their own major events.
    




    How did Germany react to the rise of Hitler?
    




    How did Bush and America respond to 9-11?
    




    Enter a new question for the history books that, in my judgment, will go down as marking a red-letter day when leftist culture had officially taken over the American milieu:
    




    How did America react to the Cincinnati Zoo gorilla incident?
    




    As we approach that day’s one-year anniversary, let me first catch the reader up to speed: In May of 2016, a mother of small children went to the zoo. Her three-year-old asked if he could get a closer look at the gorilla. Of course, the mother was heard saying ‘No!’.
    




    Focusing for a moment on the other children in her entourage was all it took for the 3-year-old to somehow climb over the fence and fall into the gorilla enclave.
    




    Zookeepers rushed to the now the screaming crowd and saw the 450 pound gorilla, named Harambe, holding the child.
    




    They promptly shot the gorilla.
    




    My reaction upon hearing this was not just of relief, but that this incident finally answered a nagging question I always had about how prepared the zoo keepers are for such an emergency. I was not just in obvious agreement with their decision, but also impressed.
    




    To quote then candidate Donald Trump: “The way he held that child, it was almost like a mother holding a baby … It was so beautiful to watch that powerful, almost 500-pound gorilla, the way he dealt with that little boy. But it just takes one second … one little flick of his finger.”
    




    Parenthetically, now a year later, his reaction to this incident may give more away about our president’s approach to foreign policy than simply about animal protection.
    




    But many disagreed. Animal Rights activists and common citizens were oddly up in arms about this. Aside for the frightening death threats against this boy’s mother, the zoo also was attacked.
    




    Their concerns were so far removed from common-sense that one wonders how quickly some, and our culture, are becoming unhinged from basic social mores.
    




    In fact, in a time when the holder of the White House was thought by some to be potentially sympathetic to their cause, five-hundred thousand people signed the following petition on the government’s website (emphasis mine):
    




    “The zoo made the last-resort decision to shoot Harambe because of the increased risk of aggression if a tranquilizer was used in such close proximity to a human. This heartbreaking decision was made in the best interests of keeping the child and the public safe. This beautiful gorilla lost his life because the boy’s parents did not keep a closer watch on the child. We the undersigned believe that the child would not have been able to enter the enclosure under proper parental supervision. Witnesses claim that they heard the child state that he wished to go into the enclosure and was actively trying to breach the barriers. This should have prompted the parents to immediately remove the child from the vicinity. It is believed that the situation was caused by parental negligence and the zoo is not responsible for the child’s injuries and possible trauma. We the undersigned want the parents to be held accountable for the lack of supervision and negligence that caused Harambe to lose his life. We the undersigned feel the child’s safety is paramount in this situation. We believe that this negligence may be reflective of the child’s home situation. We the undersigned actively encourage an investigation of the child’s home environment in the interests of protecting the child and his siblings from further incidents of parental negligence that may result in serious bodily harm or even death.”
    




    Some people wished to compare this incident to the case of a three-year-old fifteen years ago outside Chicago where a gorilla held the fallen boy until helped arrived. However, that case was far different, as the child then was unconscious and there was no fear of sudden movements, yelling and confusion –all of which could have led the gorilla to change his calm demeanor.
    




    It may of interest to note that chazal in the beginning of Bava Kama teach that there is a distinction in the punitive perspective toward the animal that harms another animal and the animal that harms a human. Rashi, in his second explanation, explains that a human is harder to harm due to its distinct mazel. I imagine many in the outside world would bristle at such a view.
    




    I was reminded of this story, and its anniversary, when I was asked the other day what the Torah’s view is on vegetarianism. In fact, this is a question that rabbanim get with some frequency.
    




    I was once asked by someone –a wonderful man who would identify himself as someone with strong ties to leftist academia- if he may halachikly abstain from meat consumption. I responded, “You can be a vegetarian on one condition”. He listened intently as I revealed the one rule he was to follow. “You may not tell anyone that you are a vegetarian”.
    




    He laughed because he understood my point. Too often those that accept meta-ethics upon themselves do so, consciously or otherwise, to feel superior. For some (and, of course, we are excluding those who refrain from meat due to health reason or the like), excluding them from advertising their life-choices would be to cut their desire at its knees.
    




    Suffice it to say that while there is possibly no halachik concern with being a vegetarian (perhaps even on yom tov when some hold one has a mitzvah to eat meat–see Chullin 11b and siman 529 with commentaries), why one chooses to do so not only makes a difference in halacha but in hashkafa as well. Should one feel he is superior to other Jews, or to halacha, or to R’l Hashem and his Torah then it would not only be likely forbidden but if allowed would risk changing the landscape of the petitioner’s entire prism of Torah-based morality.
    




    However, we must also be careful to maintain a balance here, as well as to be cognizant of the Torah’s own ethics toward animals.
    




    The gemara lists those from our historical past who were destined to be moshiach had we earned it, or are the exemplar of the middos of the future moshiach (based on the two explanations to this gemara found in Rashi). It also lists someone from their own generation, still alive, that either was to be moshiach should they earn it or who was an exemplar of such middos. The person in the latter category so named was none other than Rebbe Yehudah Hanassi.
    




    Rashi explains that one of the reasons he was chosen as moshiach was because of an incident he was involved in that caused him to suffer throughout his life.
    




    Rebbe Yehudah Hanasi was passing by a slaughter house when a cow came over to him and pleaded to be saved from death/shechitah. Rebbe Yehudah Hanasi responded to the cow, “lech! sh’lekach notzarta!” –Go! For this is why you were created!
    




    What did he say wrong? After all, don’t we all eat meat? The mistake he made was in defining an animal’s sole existence as that of for food and slaughter. Do we not use cows for plowing, for fertilizer, etc.? Do they not serve purposes beyond human needs, adding and playing a part in the brilliant cyclical ecosystem and bionetwork that we all live in?
    




    For this error he suffered many years.
    




    Indeed, Sefer Chasidim is cited as having remarked that we are allowed to eat meat because they also give us the parchment necessary to write our Torah and our Teffilin!
    




    Of course there is no doubt that the yiddeshkeit places a high value on all animal life, and even when it comes to how one treats animals we have been way ahead of the curve –having dealt with these serious issues long before the world was awoken to them. Furthermore, in a perfect world we too would abstain from meat, as was in the days before Noach.
    




    But the anniversary of these events in Cincinnati remind us why Hashem felt it necessary to have us eat meat –so as not to compare ourselves to just another animal in the animal kingdom, a thought process that slowly led to humanity deserving of the mabul.
    




    Now –more so than ever –we need this reminder.
    




    The Ramban explains Yeshayahu 11:6 – “The wolf shall lie with the lamb” – as not a miracle of the days of moshiach but rather as a return to the true nature of old. However, we mustn’t act like the bnei Ephraim, forcing this future world upon a world not ready.
    




    Let us hope for those days to come when we are worthy, and not for the chaos of brought by forcing such holy nature before its time.
    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
  • 
		
		
    
			
			
    The Role of the Rabbi
    
			
    

    December, 2015
    




    …The editor of the paper wished to do an essay on rabbanus. In order to facilitate this mission, he set out to interview four great geonim of the time and ask them, each, what the role of the Rav is…
    




    It is said that when Rav Chaim Volozion would send off a yungerman to a position of rabbanus he would first call him into his office.
    




    Likely assuming that great mysteries of the trade would be shared -treasured advice and collective wisdoms – we could only imagine the mixture of dread and anticipation these young men must have felt as they slowly made their way to meet with their holy rebbe.
    




    However, they were likely surprised when Rav Chaim would open his drawer and hand the young musmach a luach.
    




    A luach?
    




    He would explain that the role of a rav is many things. However, a rav must also keep in mind what balla battim may assume his role to be. While talmidei chachamim may understand that it is not shocking to be well-versed in the laws of choshen mishpat yet at the same time be unsure as to when the minhag of av harachamaim is said Shabbos morning, some in the audience may be shocked at this breech in knowledge.
    




    A rav must have the calendar on the tip of his tongue, explained Rav Chaim; the schedule for davening must be something that the rav never hesitates about, because it is something-rightfully-balla battim take very seriously.
    




    This past week in my shul a number of families had sons who received semicha from Yeshiva University, and over the course of the following Shabbos these families sponsored a kiddush, and, the newly-minted musmachim gave over a number of divrei torah and shiurim.
    




    To introduce the simcha felt among these families, I thought to say over the above story and hand each one a luach.
    




    I am now thankful for the fact that the sefarim store was out of luach; in hindsight it would have been a somewhat anti-climactic message.
    




    But then I remembered a story, a story that I had heard from one of the leaders of their yeshiva,  Rav Ahron Soleveitchik.
    




    I called my father to confirm the events, as I was but a child at the time.
    




    Rabbi Soleveitchik’s son-in-law, Rav Refoel Marcus, was a rav in Toronto until his untimely passing, and his father in law would visit from time to time. On occasion my father (and I) would go meet or hear him.
    




    It was at one of these visits that he shared the following story with us.
    




    At the turn of the century there was a non-religious newspaper, I believe named ‘Hatzoar’.
    




    While not religious, no doubt that each of the Hebrew writers grew up in religious homes, and some even spent time learning in yeshivos.
    




    The editor of the paper wished to do an essay on rabbanus. In order to facilitate this mission, he set out to interview four great geonim of the time and ask them, each, what the role of the Rav is.
    




    The first was Rav Refoel Shapiro, son in law of the Netziv, rosh yeshiva of Volozion and father in law of Rav Chaim Soleveitchk.
    




    “What is the job of the Rav” the reporter asked the holy gaon.
    




    As we would hope a rosh yeshiva would respond, Rav Shapiro said that the main goal of a rav is to make sure that the level of Torah and its learning was of the highest caliber.
    




    The reporter then went to Kovno to visit with Rav Yizchak Blazer. Also known as Rav Itzelle M’Petterburger (‘from St. Petersberg’ where he served as rav when he was but 25 years old), he was not just a gaon but also one of the prime disciples of Rav Yisroel Salanter.
    




    His response: A rav must give mussar to his congregants so that they should continually grow.
    




    The reporter then set out to Nevarduk to meet with illustrious posek Rav Epstein, who would go on to author the Aruch Hashulchan.
    




    It should surprise no one that when this important posek was asked by this reporter what the main job of rav was that he responded emphatically: ‘To pasken shailos’.
    




    Now it was time for this reporter to make one last stop. He boarded a train to Brisk to meet with Rav Chaim Soleveitchik.
    




    The reporter must have been beyond curious as to what answer Rav Chaim would give to his question.
    




    After all, it seemed that any of the previous answers would each be suited for his style.
    




    After posing the question, Rav Chaim paused. Always the wisest in any room, Rav Chaim first turned to the reporter and asked, probably half-jokingly: “First tell me what the others responded”.
    




    Rav Chaim carefully listened to the sage advice of those geonim v’tzadikim who were interviewed before him.
    




    He nodded his head in agreement to each. “Yes, yes, to make sure everyone is holding in learning. Avadeh! Ki Heim Chayeinu! Torah must be a high virtue. But the job of a Rav? After all, this is everyone’s responsibilityas well.
    




    “To give mussar? Of course, of course. But, after all, we all have a mitzvah of hochayach tochiyach, not just the Rav, so this can not be the one job unique to to the rav.
    




    “To pasken shailos? No one can deny that this is from the most important jobs a rav has. But this too is not the ikar role of the rav.”
    




    At this point we can imagine the reporter waiting with baited breath to hear what indeed was the main job of a rav in the eyes of Rav Chaim.
    




    Rav Chaim leaned in and said, all that you have heard from the prior geonim is emes l’amito, however if you would like to know the main job of a Rav is, it is this: make sure the almana has food, the yosom has clothing and warmth. Do not go to bed until the poor have been fed and the lonely are made to feel less alone!
    




    And this was the message I gave over to the new musmachim.
    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
  • 
		
		
    
			
    Blowing Out Candles – Halacha or Myth?
    
			
    Blowing Out Candles – Halacha or Myth?
    
			
    

    December, 2015
    




    Candles seem to revisit us throughout our Jewish lives.
    




    Whether through our homes that are aglow each week with neros Shabbos, or our singing around the yearly neros Chanukah, and, l’havdil, our tears that threaten to extinguish a yartzeit licht, a candle is significant to our faith and culture.
    




    And, like the mysterious nature of fire itself, there exists so many secret meanings surrounding the halachos and minhagim that relate to fire.
    




    Let us discuss one these, and one of the most famous, that also happens to relate to Chanukah.
    




    Is it true –as I have often heard since childhood –that al pi kabbalah one mustn’t blow out candles? And, that should one need to extinguish a small flame they must do so in a secondary manner (e.g. through waving their hand, or the like)?
    




    How does this question relate to Chanukah? Throughout the halachos of Chanukah there is much discussion relating to blowing out candles, specifically the candles of one’s menorah. Yet, intriguingly, although this would make the perfect opportunity for the poskim to parenthetically make mention of the concern relating to how one blows out a candle, they are taciturn on the subject.
    




     For example, say a family has a simchah or an event to go to soon after lighting their menorah and do not wish to leave their home with burning candles unattended. The Shulchan Aruch rules that once the length of time when the candles need to be lit for is completed (about thirty minutes) one may indeed extinguish the candles (siman 672:2). We should point out that because today the length of permissible lighting time is extended –as mentioned in last week’s column- a morah horah should be consulted before blowing out one’s candles at home.
    




    Although a most perfect opportunity to tangentially mention the sakana of blowing out candles with our our mouths, neither the Shulchan Aruch nor the classic commentaries make mention of this mystical concern.
    




    Another example of Chanukah and blowing out candles comes from a more common concern. We have a well established minhag, and halacha, of lighting the menorah with berachos in a shul on Chanukah. When I lived in Buffalo, where the shul would empty soon after maariv, there was a fear among many of leaving the unguarded menorah burning.
    




    May a shul extinguish them upon the completion of maariv?
    




    This is a more complicated issue than the first because in most cases maariv will conclude before thirty minutes have transpired since the candles were lit.
    




     While some, like Rav Elyashiv and Rav Wosner (Peninei Chanukah p. 128 and Shu’t Shevet Halevi 8:156, respectively) are strict – unless there is danger – others are lenient and allow a shul to extinguish these mitzvah flames before their completed zman (see Shu’t Melamed LeHoil 121).
    




    Again, while a textbook opening to mention the aforementioned mystical apprehension relating to blowing out candles, I have seen no mention here as to how one extinguishes these menorah candles.
    




    When I was younger, and with unwarranted skepticism, I thought-erroneously-that this concern regarding blowing out candles was but one of the many halachic myths from my childhood that could be traced to another cryptic halacha.
    




    In siman 296 the Rema mentions a number of minhagim regarding havdala, what is said and how it is performed. He ends by citing the custom of putting out the candle with the wine of havdala, either through spilling from the kos unto the flame or from placing the flame into a plate that has been wetted from the wine sherayim/leftovers.
    




    This indeed is a mysterious custom with unclear provenance. The Vilna Gaon (ad loc. 4) teaches that this comes from rishonim and is based on the gemara (Sukkah 38a) that teaches us that a segulah to ward off unfortunate events can come from even the sherayim, ancillary parts of, mitzvos. The Shulchan Aruch Harav, among others, also offer solutions to the source for this minhag.
    




    In any event, because this is a popular minhag, and due to its ambiguous reasons to most observers, I assumed that from it many assumed it was born out of the concern of blowing out the havdala flame. This then, I thought, soon led to a ‘myth’ about blowing out candles.
    




    However, I was mistaken. The concern of blowing out candles goes back many generations.
    




    The Kolbo (siman 118), written by an unknown author, and which was likely a condensed version of the 13th century work Orchos Chaim by Rav Ahron KaHohen M’Luniel (see Chida in Shem HaGedolim) is the first to mention a concern in blowing a flame.
    




    Perhaps a more ancient source comes from Otzar Hamidrashim (pirkei rabbeinu hakodesh).
    




    This concern is again repeated by the Reishis Chochma and the Ben Ish Chei, among other more recent poskim and tzadikim.
    




    Based on the earliest sources mentioned, blowing out a candle can lead to a very specific tragedy (nefeilah).
    




    Some suggest that the concern is due to the fact that the sound one makes when blowing is identical to a name of a specific malach. This latter reason is hard to understand, being that it should not then be reserved for fire, i.e. blowing on food to cool it for a child. Being that this source is kabbalistic, however, it would not be for us to expect to fully appreciate, and certainly it would be beyond our province to question on our own.
    




    Still others suggest that the reason for this concern is due to the fact that one’s neshama is compared to a ner/candle; one neshama (a person)blowing out another candle is then seen as incongruous. This last reason perhaps comes with certain leniencies: the concern would only be true for a candle and not other types of flames. I have since seen in Hegyonei Haparsha, Devarim, p. 763 where the author argues a similar position.
    




    Rav Chaim Kinievsky (Derech Sicha p.282) gives yet another, more practical, reason for the concern of not blowing out candles: because many candles used to be made from forbidden cheilev (animal fats) there was a concern of blowing them out and getting to close to the forbidden substance.
    




    So how should one extinguish candles, be it the Chanukah lights or another candle?
    




    Many bring an ancient custom of blowing out candles through overly pronouncing the words ‘Pesach’ or ‘Purim’!
    




    At the very least, we can see that this concern is a real one that is supported up until our generation, even in the classic poskim such as Rabbi Ephraim Greenblatt (Shu’t Rivvevos Ephriam 54:35) and Rav Yosef Chaim Sonnenfled (Shu’t Salmas Chaim, Page 213, siman 499 in the Bernstein ed.) and the Steipler Gaon (Orchos Rabbeinu).
    




    Nevertheless, why do we still find many chashuvim who do not seem to be too concerned for this minhag of not blowing out candles? Furthermore, why indeed is this concern not mentioned by the examples from Chanukah mentioned above?
    




    Rav Ovadia Yosef suggests (Yabia Omer 9:95) that a concern such as this that is not mentioned anywhere in shas perhaps need not be carefully heeded (cf. Shu’t Noad Beyhudah, even haezer #79).
    




    Furthermore, many have observed that in most cases when we blow out candles we are involved in a mitzvah of some kind; this alone has special protection which may allow us to not be concerned (based on Koheles 8:5).
    




    One last issue: what about candles on a birthday cake? May one blow those type of candles out? Should we refrain from allowing our children to do so?
    




    Well, before we answer that question we must first ask another: what is the source for having candles on birthday cakes? And, auxiliary to that issue, what is the source for celebrating birthdays to begin with?
    




    Alas, these last questions sound like the making of their own column!
    




    May the candles of our menorah only be extinguished through the winds of eagles descending to take us to Yerushalaim.
    




    Happy Chanukah!
    




    




    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
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    A Sefer Torah’s New Home & Jewish Survival
    
			
    

    September 2014
    




    




    I was made way back in 1842,
By a humble man, a real G-d fearing Jew.
Who did his work with honesty, feeling and with pride,
He was known in Kiev as Yankele the Scribe.

With loving care, his hand so sure and still,
He formed me with some parchment, ink and quill.
Each day he'd slowly add to me just a few more lines,
With words to last until the end of time.

(Famous ode to a Sefer Torah written by Abie Rottenberg to the tune of Chassal Siddur Pesach. We will complete the poem as the article continues)


    

    I was made way back in 1842,
    




    By a humble man, a real G-d fearing Jew.
    




    Who did his work with honesty, feeling and with pride,
    




    He was known in Kiev as Yankele the Scribe.
    




    With loving care, his hand so sure and still,
    




    He formed me with some parchment, ink and quill.
    




    Each day he’d slowly add to me just a few more lines,
    




    With words to last until the end of time.
    




    (Famous ode to a Sefer Torah written by Abie Rottenberg to the tune of Chassal Siddur Pesach. We will complete the poem as the article continues)
    

    




    The other day my shul celebrated a hachnasas sefer Torah. Such a simcha is one of the purest one can attend.
    




    The sefer Torah being donated to the shul was not a new one. Rather, it is a one-hundred-year-old sefer that was used in many shuls and communities on both sides of the Atlantic until the 1960’s. It was, then, placed in a crate and forgotten about for many years until it was recently handed over after a death of a relative of one of my members. It had recently gone through a long process of being checked and fixed, prepared for regular usage.
    




    The story behind this sefer Torah only added to the celebration. Having sat alone for so long, it will now be read again, and placed together with the other sifrei Torah.
    




    It was coming back to a home.
    




    The singing in the street, the dancing, and the hakafos and other various minhagim performed upon its arrival to its new family were all a sight to be seen.
    




    

    …And on the day that I was finally complete,
    




    The whole town came and filled the narrow street.
    




    And they sang and danced and held me high and carried me away,
    




    To the little wooden Shul where I would stay.
    




    And as the Rabbi held me close against his chest,
    




    He spoke out loud and clear to all the rest.
    




    He said, “No matter if you’re very young, or even if you’re old,
    




    Live by the words you’ll find inside this scroll.”…
    

    




    Over the next few weeks we will iy’H discuss the writing, completion and the celebration of a sefer Torah; its various laws and its fascinating minhagim and stories.
    




    Rav Steinman, in a drasha by a hachnasas sefer Torah (Toras Emes Likut Hachnasas Sefer Torah, p. 53ff) wonders why we go to such a celebratory degree for a new sefer Torah. After all, in most cases the shul to which the sefer is being dedicated already has other sifrei Torah to read from, and, the new sefer Torah need not be special or unique from the others in any way.
    




    Furthermore, he points out, according to many the mitzvah to write a Torah can today be fulfilled with the purchasing of any important sefer, say, a shas. On that note, do we celebrate in the same manner when a new shas is purchased for a shul? Why, even for the purchase of the one-hundred and fifty volume ‘Mesivta’ Shas –a shas that has revolutionized the study of daf yomi– does not engender such joyous activity!
    




    What is unique about a hachnasas sefer Torah that causes us to literally rejoice in the street?
    




    Rav Steinman points to a gemara (Sanhedrin 102b) that questions why the wicked King Achav merited twenty-two years of kingship. In sefer melachim (1:20:2-9) we learn how Achav was forced by the Syrian king Ben Hadad of Aram to give up everything, even his family. Achav agreed to the demands, yet refused to give up his sefer Torah.
    




     Concludes the gemara that Achav merited twenty-two years of kingship because he honored the Torah which is made up of twenty-two letters.
    




    Now, continues Rav Steinman, would not our questions be equally valid for this gemara as well? Why would Achav go to such an extreme to save this one sefer Torah when there would be many more in the world remaining? Why would this noble yet apparently superfluous act cause such Divine reward to be placed upon this wicked king?
    




    To all this, Rav Steinman gives us a wonderful insight. Chazal teach (mishneh, Sanhedrin 37) that Man was created alone in order to impart the lesson that if one destroys but one life it is as if he destroyed the entire world, and similarly should one sustain one life it is as if they had sustains the entire world.
    




    Explains Rav Steinman, this ideal is true for human life and one other area: a sefer Torah. Just as one person can turn into the whole world –as did Adam harishon–  so does each and every sefer Torah carry within it the potential to teach, and to change, the entire world!
    




    

    …Three days a week they read from me out loud,
    




    It filled my soul with joy, it made me proud.
    




    They followed each and every verse with fire in their eyes,
    




    The words that told them how to live their lives.
    




    But the hatred from the west came to Kiev,
    




    And they rounded up the Jews who had not fled,
    




    But Moishele the Shammos, he was brave and he was bold,
    




    He hid me in his cellar, dark and cold…
    

    




    This potential is unique to Torah sh’bksav but is not true by Torah sh’baal peh, and other sefarim, as we see from the story of Osniel ben Kenaz. The gemara relates (Temurah 16a) that by the time Yehoshua finished mourning for Moshe rabeinu thousands of halachos were forgotten. Not being able to turn to prophets –for the Torah may only be learned through human study and not from the heavens (Devarim 30:12) – Osniel ben Kenaz was able to use his penetrative skills to relearn these forgotten laws from the verses in the Torah itself.
    




    Concludes Rav Steinman, that Osniel could have only done this for sh’baal peh, but as for Torah sh’bksav no human intuition could ever cause someone to ‘figure out’ the Divine verses of the Torah on their own. Should a Torah have R’l even one letter be missing, one word be absent, on break be misplaced, we would have no way of rediscovering the truth.
    




    

    …But it was someone else who found my hiding place,
    




    And to America he sent me in a crate.
    




    And the men who took me off the boat, they said I was a prize.
    




    But they were Jews I did not recognize…
    

    




    Perhaps for this reason is the mitzvah of writing a sefer Torah the last mitzvah found in the Torah, and the first mizvah found in the Torah is pru u’revu; the Torah bookends the importance of populating the world with individual physical potentials, and ends on the same note with spiritual potentials.
    




    Indeed, many sefarim tell of a segulah for having children through the dedication of and/or the celebrating with a new sefer Torah.
    




    

    …And in a case of glass they put me on display,
    




    Where visitors would look at me and say,
    




    “How very nice, how beautiful, a stunning work of art,”
    




    But they knew not what was inside my heart.
    




    And across the room I saw upon the shelf,
    




    Some old friends of mine who lived back in Kiev.
    




    A silver pair of candlesticks, a menorah made of brass,
    




    We’d all become mere echoes of the past…
    

    




    While the rest of the world searches for our secret –to our successes and our survival – and as we sadly witness a generation of Jews searching anywhere but home for their self-worth, we need a reminder from time to time that there is little mystery, and no other ‘new’ path for us to venture upon.
    




    Our dancing in the street, our pure joy, arrives from an epiphany of the already known, but sometimes forgotten – lulei sorascha sha’ashuai, az avidity b’oni/if not for the Torah I would perish in my (mental and physical) anguish (Tehillim 119:92).
    




    If anyone wishes to know the ‘secret’ to our survival, if any Jew is searching for meaning, the key is laid out in the open. On the holiest day-Yom Kippur, in the holiest hour-Neilah we say it loud and clear: Ein Lanu Shir Rak HaTorah Hazos!
    




    

    …So if you hear my voice, why don’t you come along
And take me to the place where I belong
And maybe even sing and dance when you carry me away To some little wooden shul where I can stay.
    




    And as the rabbi holds me close against his chest,
He’ll speak out loud and clear to all the rest.
He’ll say, “No matter if you’re very young, or even if you’re old Live by the words you’ll find inside this scroll.”
    

    




    We will iy’H continue next week with the laws of writing and donating a sefer Torah.
    

    
			
    
		
    
		
	
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    Turkey: A Bird, Name, and Some Halachic History
    
			
    Turkey: A Bird, Name, and Some Halachic History
    
			
    

    November, 2018
    




    

    “But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought.”
    




    ― George Orwell, 1984
    

    




    




    The other day, as I was walking into shul, an elderly man, a guest, came over to me with an intriguing question.
    




    “Why is it that the word for turkey in English refers both to a bird and a country of the same name?”
    




    Sensing my curiosity at to why he would direct this question to a rav, and not perhaps to a student of William Safire, he continued.
    




    “In Hebrew too we call this bird tarnegol hodu, which means ‘Indian bird/rooster. So why do these two languages choose to name this bird after a country?”
    




    The truth is that he was touching upon an issue that relates directly with halacha, as we shall soon see.
    




    But he was also mistaken, Hebrew and English are far from the only two languages that one finds this strange occurrence.
    




    I first answered him with the following question of my own: “How does one say ‘turkey’ in Yiddish?”
    




    “Indik!” he responded.
    




    Of course, indik is also the Yiddish word for India!
    




    Already in Megilas Esther we find that hodu refers to India, so indeed why did we choose this name, in Hebrew and Yiddish, for the turkey? And why does the English language also name it after a country, although a different one?
    




    The truth is that one would have many reasons to think that Americans and Israeli’s have a lot in common when it comes to turkey. It is fascinating to note that the number one and two countries in their per capita consumption of this bird is Israel and the United states respectively! (sliced turkey by Shabbos morning’s seudah is likely what puts us at the top spot in the world)
    




    However, as a point in fact, Hebrew, Yiddish and English are not alone in this odd linguistic phenomenon.
    




    We find the same ‘Indian’ name for this bird in Italian, Russian and French, and many other languages. If anything, English is the outlier in that it is named after Turkey -and not India.
    




    To make matters even more bizarre: In Turkey itself this bird is called a hindi –‘from India’! And in India (Hindi) it called… tarki-‘from Turkey’!!
    




    Several year’s ago The Atlantic magazine (2012) dedicated much space to the issue of the Turkey/turkey English question, even zeroing in on its possible Hebrew origins:
    




    “In the early 1990s a debate broke out in the “letter to the editor” section of The New York Times over the possible Hebrew origins of the word “turkey.” On December 13, 1992, Rabbi Harold M. Kamsler suggested (as a follow-up to a Thanksgiving-themed piece titled “One Strange Bird”) that the New World fowl received its English name from Christopher Columbus’s interpreter, Luis de Torres, a Jewish convert to Catholicism. In an October 12, 1492 letter to a friend in Spain, de Torres had referred to the American bird he encountered as a tuki, the word for “peacock” in ancient Hebrew and “parrot” in modern Hebrew.
    




    Kamsler’s letter, however, was met with a firm rebuttal from the president of the Association for the Study of Jewish Languages, David L Gold”
    




    [Cf. see Sota 31a, mishneh, with Rashash with regard to a Halacha relating to a ‘talking bird’ and its identification and name]
    




    So what is going on here, and how does it relate to halacha?
    




    While no one is one-hundred percent certain about why this particular fowl has such an odd dialectal commonality across so many cultures, the general theories that abound have a few things in common that can help us understand its peculiar naming history.
    




    According to Mario Pei of Columbia University, an expert in linguistics and neologisms (newly formed words), in early America guinea-fowl –a completely different species of bird –were imported through Turkish merchants. Mistakenly believing that what we know today as turkeys were guinea-fowl, early settlers named the bird ‘Turkish hens’, which soon became, simply, ‘turkey’.
    




    So, that explains the Turkey/turkey connection in America and American English; but what about the India connection in most other languages?
    




    If one recalls, a few months back I sent to the shul an article about the West Indie esrogim being used in America in the 1850’s.
    




    What was not mentioned is why was this southern local to the United States termed with this imprimatur.
    




    Well, when Columbus sailed to the Americas, he thought that he arrived in the ‘West’ Indies. The East Indies, of course, was a part of India proper, and Columbus assumed he simply arrived at the other side!
    




    Even after we realized that the Americas was in fact a new continent the name ‘West Indies’ largely remained.
    




    With this bit of history, we can begin to unfold this bird’s naming.
    




    When the American turkeys were shipped from the Americas back across the Atlantic in the 1500’s many named it after the ‘West Indies’, and soon ‘India fowl’, and then finally…’India’!
    




    So, how does this all relate to halacha?
    




    As many of you are likely aware, the issue of the kashrus of turkeys has been questioned over the years. In fact, some do not ever eat this fowl.
    




     Their concern is not insignificant. The Rama codifies a simple rule based on Rashi—we eat only those birds for which we have a mesorah that they are kosher. Meaning birds and animals of which we have been eating for many, many generations are the only animals we consume. Should a new animal be discovered which has all the signs of being a kosher animal we would still need to refrain.
    




    While the Shulchan Aruch agrees with the Rama, he allows for certain leniencies in regard to particular classes of birds.
    




    Now, it would seem that turkeys –  seemingly only introduced late in our history (although, truth be told, some poskim argue they have been around for longer) should then not be eaten!
    




    The rational behind why a super majority of frum Jews still eat from this bird is beyond the scope of this brief monograph. However, it is critical to point out one of the Netziv’s rationales for our allowance of consuming this ‘new’ bird, against the ruling we follow of the Rama (Meishiv Davar 22): the mere fact that Jews had begun, even mistakenly, to eat this bird, which aside for the Rama’s strict view has no clear signs of being non-kosher –would allow us to continue to eat it.
    




    But why, indeed, did we begin to eat this new bird before the posekim sanctioned it? To this question many have suggested the following brilliant approach:
    




    After this new bird arrived in India and Turkey the sefardim –not bound by this Rama and thus allowed to eat new birds –began to consume them.
    




    When then these birds were sold from these countries to Europe and Russia, it carried the name indek, which many Jews wrongly assumed was due to the fact that these birds were indigenous to India and had been eaten in that and other sefardi countries for centuries, when in truth A) The name was based ona nickname for America and B) sefardim ate it because they were not bound to refrain from new animals. In other words, the name of this new creature mistakenly convinced many that this bird had a mesorah!
    




    What a story!
    




    Let me end on two notes. First, nothing written above is to question the consumption of turkey. I eat turkey and rely on the Netziv and the many poskim who allow its consumption for a variety of reasons. Primarily, I rely on minhag avosei, and so should the reader.
    




    Finally, how amazing that the turkey in Hebrew also shares its root in the word for ‘thanks’. For, regardless of our many mesorahs from rebbeim and parents regarding how to celebrate this day, we most certainly all thank Hakadosh Baruch Hu for gifting us and the world with this amazing country.
    




    May her best days lay ahead.