Shavuot 5770

Israel! Israel!

The festival of Shavuot is the yahrtzeit (anniversary of the passing) of Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, who was born 300 years ago on the 18th of Elul, 5458 (1698).

An old Chassidic manuscript describes Rabbi Israel’s birth as G-d calling the name of His people. When a person loses consciousness, one of the things that is done in the effort to revive him is to call him by his name. The unconscious person might be deaf to all other sounds and words, but the sound of his own name—a sound relating to his very identity—will penetrate to the pith of his soul and rouse it to life.

Three hundred years ago, the Jewish people where in a state of faintness and stupor. The devastating pogroms of 1648-9, in which hundreds of thousands of Jews were massacred and more than 300 Jewish communities were utterly destroyed, and the havoc and disillusionment wreaked by the false messianism of Shabbetai Tzvi in the 1660s, had left the people of Israel broken in body and shattered in spirit.

To revive the spirit of Israel, G-d called out the name of His people. A soul called “Israel” was sent to the world to rouse the identity of Israel and breathe love and joy into Jewish life.

White Instead of Black

When Rav Raphael of Barshad, zt”l, first began to search for the ideal way to serve Hashem, he heard that learning the Zohar Hakadosh was a great segulah for attaining fear of heaven. He therefore began learning a great deal of Zohar. After learning through the whole Zohar, he started the Zohar Chadash. Towards the end of the Zohar Chadash, there is a warning against being like Bil’am, who was a complete fool despite his great knowledge of serving Hashem.
Rav Raphael said to himself, “If one can know so much and still be a fool, perhaps I should focus instead on the Shulchan Aruch so that my study will bring me to ma’aseh.”
He started learning the Shulchan Aruch in depth, but when he got to Orach Chaim #231, “All of one’s acts should be for the sake of heaven,” he again felt that something was missing.
“Are all of my actions really l’shem shomayim? Perhaps I should spend more time on mussar?” he wondered. Rav Rafael therefore added study of the Shelah HaKadosh to his schedule.
He was so immersed in the Shelah that he would learn it at every opportunity. He would even take it with him when waking the townsfolk for davening so that he would not waste a single minute. But after a while he again felt as if something was missing. So he traveled to the famous Rav Pinchas of Koretz, zt”l, for advice.
Rav Rafael poured out his heart. “I want to serve Hashem in truth, but everything I have tried has been insufficient!” He was so distressed that he actually fainted.
When he came to, Rav Pinchas said, “If you stay with me, you will come to truth.”
Three years later, Rav Rafael dreamed that he was playing cards. Although his hand started out with black cards, they all turned white in the end. When he shared his dream with Rav Pinchas, he was given a powerful interpretation.
“Your dream is like the gemara in Beitzah 10b, about one who designated black birds and found white ones instead. When you first came to me, you were blackened with worry and chumros, and this prevented you from serving Hashem in truth. But now you are white with virtue and purity!”

The Importance of a Minyan

Rav Yaakov of Amshinov, zt”l, worked to fulfill the mitzvah of pidyon shevuyim. Once, he returned home at an inordinately late hour. It was so late that when he sought a minyan to daven Maariv, it was hard to find anyone who still hadn’t prayed.
Completely nonplussed, the Rebbe ordered his gabbai to go to the local hangout. Any Jews in there would likely not have davened maariv—perhaps not for many long weeks or months! Sure enough the gabbai found several Jews there whom he convinced to complete the minynan. Most of them were so divorced from Yiddishkeit that the gabbai had to provide some kind of head covering so that they could join the minyan.
When the Admor of Amshinov from America, zt”l, told this story he would conclude. “Our sages teach that the Divine presence rests with ten Jews. Even if they are completely wicked, if they join a minyan to daven, the Shechinah rests upon them.”

The Light That Changed a Life

The wife of the great Chassidic master the Chozeh (Seer) of Lublin looked at the tall gleaming candlesticks that sat on the table and began to cry.


All Friday morning, as she baked the challah and prepared the chulent stew, she had forced herself to stay cheerful. All afternoon, as she scrubbed and polished until the entire house sparkled, she had done battle with her yetzer hara (evil inclination) and remained in an optimistic frame of mind. But now, as the shadows began to lengthen in the room and there was no more work to take her thoughts off the problem at hand, she could feel her spirits sinking.


The beautiful candlesticks, which usually brought her much joy, seemed to be pointing an accusing finger in her direction every time she looked at them. Where are our Shabbos candles, she could almost hear them ask. Why don't we have candles to greet the Shabbos Queen?


What could she answer? Despite her many prayers, help had not come. There had been no money in the drawer that morning to buy candles for Shabbos and now, just a few minutes before it was time to light the candles, there was still no money - and no candles to light.


The Chozeh's wife's gaze shifted anxiously from the candlesticks to the darkening sky. Soon the sun would finish its slow descent and disappear beyond the horizon. Soon the Shabbos lights would begin to flicker in the windows of all the Jewish homes in Lublin. All, that is, except one.


The thought of her home being in darkness on Shabbos pierced her heart like a dagger. As the minutes passed, her distress became so great that the house could no longer contain her pain. She flung the door open and rushed out into the street and began to cry.


"Ribbono Shel Olam, Master of the Universe," she pleaded, "if I have done something to deserve punishment, I accept Your rebuke with love. But please don't make my husband and our distinguished guests sit in darkness because of my transgression. Please hear my prayer and let there be light in my house on Shabbos."


Just at that moment a fine carriage drawn by four black horses turned on to the little street. Inside the carriage sat a man - a Jew who had long ago drifted away from a life of Torah observance. For him the setting sun did not herald the approach of the holy day. Instead, he was on his way to a house of entertainment, where he would squander the precious hours in drinking and playing cards and other frivolous amusements.


Yet despite the fact that the man didn't observance the mitzvos, he did have a good heart. When he saw a poor woman crying in the street, he ordered his driver to stop so he could see what was the matter.


"I can see by your fine carriage and clothes that you are a wealthy man," said the wife of the Chozeh. "If you could spare two pennies..."


The man did not even wait for her to finish her request. He quickly reached into his coat pocket and placed the two pennies in her hand.


"Thank you," she said with deep gratitude. "You have just now done a tremendous deed, and I bless you that the light of Heaven should shine into your heart forever."


The Jew rode off in his fine carriage, while the Chozeh's wife rushed to the candle maker to make her purchase. Then she raced back to her home and, with just a few minutes to spare, she lit her candles for Shabbos. As she watched the gaily dancing flames fill her home with light, she brushed away a tear - one of the tears of joy that were now flowing freely from her eyes.


In the meantime, her husband, the Chozeh, was in shul, where his soul was also gaily dancing in expectation of greeting the Shabbos Queen. As he uttered the beloved words of the Kabbalos Shabbos prayer service, his soul soared higher and higher. Then, much to his amazement, he saw something he had never seen before on Shabbos.


The Heavenly Tribunal was in an uproar, and when the Chozeh's soul entered the courtroom all turned and pointed an accusing finger in his direction.


"Isn't it bad enough," one of the judges demanded, "that you bless all sorts of unworthy people and we have to fulfill your words? Now your wife is following in your footsteps and doing the same! Just look at who she wants us to give the light of Heaven to!"


The Chozeh looked down and saw the Jew seated in his carriage. The Chozeh could also see that the man's thoughts were far away from holy matters. It certainly appeared to be true that this particular Jew was an inappropriate vessel to receive such a precious gift. On the other hand, if his wife had seen some hidden spark within the man, who was he to argue?


"You are right," the Chozeh told the Heavenly Tribunal. "At this moment, the man is unworthy. But can't we give him a chance? Shine the light of Heaven into his heart for one half hour, and let's see what happens. If he continues with his present way of life, you may take the light away. If he changes, however, you will do as my wife requested and shine this light into his heart forever."


The Heavenly Tribunal agreed to the Chozeh's suggestion, and the light began to shine into the Jew's heart.


At first the man just felt a quick twinge of discomfort, which was just as quickly dispelled by settling back into his cushioned seat. Then the feeling came back and he was beginning to feel positively strange. He tried to keep his thoughts on cards and dice, but his mind kept drifting back to the strange encounter that had occurred earlier in the evening.


As he recalled the narrow street and the woman who had stood crying outside, the whole scene now seemed to be infused with a bright mysterious light. And what was more, that light was also shining in his carriage. The light was even filling up his mind and overpowering his vision, until he could see nothing but this pure, white light.


He put his hands over his eyes to try to block out the light, but the light was inside him. He pulled aside the curtain in his carriage, but the light was outside, too, and it was illuminating the night sky. Everywhere he looked, it was the same. The whole world was filled with light - and so was he.


"I must be going crazy," he said to himself.


And then it struck him.


"No, now I'm not crazy," he continued. "Before, I was crazy! Wasting my life with gambling and drinking - that was crazy. But now…"


But now, what? The Jew was filled with a tremendous longing to change. But how to do it? He was so far away that he knew no one who could help him. Then the memory of that strange encounter came back, and he knew what he had to do.


The man called out to his driver to turn the horses around. The horses seemed to be guided by some inner light, because they flew over the cobblestone streets. When the carriage arrived at the spot where he had stopped to give the woman the two pennies, the man quickly jumped down and strode up to the house.


Before he knocked on the door, however, the man looked through the window. Inside he could see the Chozeh and his guests - all dressed in their special Shabbos clothes - seated around the Shabbos table.


The last of the thirty minutes were ticking away, and the light that had been shining inside him so brightly was beginning to fade. The man felt a queer sensation, as if he was slowly awakening from a dream.


"What am I doing?" the man whispered to himself. "I can't be like them. This is crazy."


He stood outside not knowing what to do. Should he go inside or return to his carriage?


He was just about to go back into the night when the beautiful candlesticks of the Chozeh's wife caught his eye. As the Jew looked at the two lights glowing from the Shabbos candles, he knew that what he had just experienced wasn't a dream. Here, standing in front of him, was the source of the light that had shined so brightly inside him.


Without further hesitation, the man entered the Chozeh's home. He became a devoted chassid of the Chozeh, and with time he became a leading light of his generation.

Counting the Hours

"Do not be satisfied with the speech of your lips and the thought in your heart, all the promises and good sayings in your mouth, and all the good thoughts in your heart; rather you must arise and do!" The Kotzker Rebbe






During the month of Iyar, we count the days of the Omer - the seven-week period in between Pesach and Shavuot. The following story is also about counting the days, and why we should count each day with joy.


Although the Chozeh (Seer) of Lublin, Rabbi Yaakov Yitzchak, left a vast spiritual legacy to his family and followers, when he passed away he had very few worldly possessions to bequeath. To his son, Reb Yosef of Torchin, the Chozeh left his Shabbat clothes, his belt and a clock that had always hung in his study. And with these few but cherished possessions packed away in his bag, the bereaved son left Lublin to return home.


Reb Yosef had rented a horse and open wagon and his journey should not have taken long. But when he was just reached the mid-point, the heavens opened wide and sent a torrential downpour of rain crashing down below. Not only was Reb Yosef quickly drenched to the bone, but within minutes the dirt road was transformed into a swirling river of mud.


Although the horse struggled to pull the wagon forward, the wheels remained firmly entrenched in the bog. To make matters worse, the day was nearing its end and what little light there was now was quickly fading. Yet even so, Reb Yosef did not despair.


"There must be somewhere that I can take shelter," he reassured himself. And indeed, the moment he began to look, his efforts were rewarded.


In the distance, he could see a small village. He jumped down from his seat and began to push the wagon from behind. After an hour of this hard work, Reb Yosef finally arrived at a small house that lay on the outskirts of the village. The house belonged to a Jewish couple, and they agreed to allow Reb Yosef to stay with them.


The rain continued to pour down for three days and nights. When the skies had finally cleared and the road was once again safe to travel on, Reb Yosef made his preparations to leave.


"It's been our pleasure to have you stay with us," the villager said to Reb Yosef, "but as you can see, we are not wealthy people."


Reb Yosef understood from these words that the villager expected to be paid for the lodgings he had provided. As he didn't have a single coin in his pocket, Reb Yosef knew that he had no choice except to part with one of the treasured gifts he had received from his father.


"I have no money," Reb Yosef replied, "but I do have a few sacred possessions that belonged to a great tzaddik. Perhaps you will except one of them as payment."


Reb Yosef carefully placed each object on the table for the villager and his wife to inspect.


"We can't use the clothes," the wife said, "and the belt is also of no use. I suppose we will have to accept the clock. We can at least use it to let us know when it is time to milk the cows."


Now that the debt was settled, Reb Yosef was able to resume his journey. Many years passed and another chassid was now traveling down that same dirt road.


As the hour was late, Reb Yissachar Dov, the Sava Kaddisha (Holy Grandfather) of Radoshitz, knocked at the door of the Jewish couple and asked for lodgings for the night. The villager agreed, and led his guest to a small room. On the wall hung the clock that had once belonged to the Chozeh.


Reb Yissachar Dov was exhausted from his journey, but he found it impossible to sleep. Every time he tried to doze off, the ticking of the clock chased any thought of sleep away. Although normally this would be exasperating, for some reason Reb Yissachar Dov didn't mind. In fact, as the clock ticked away, he could feel his heart becoming filled with joy. Soon he had jumped out of bed and was dancing happily about the room. He sang and danced throughout the entire night, and he stopped only when he could see that the day was breaking through the dark.


The villager had heard it all, and of course he was quite curious to know why his guest had not slept and why he was so happy. The tzaddik had his own question for his host.


"Where did you get this clock?" Reb Yissachar Dov asked.


"I received it many years ago," the villager replied, "from some poor traveler who couldn't pay for his room."


The Sava Kaddisha smiled.


"I knew it," the tzaddik said. "This is the clock that once belonged to my master, the Chozeh of Lublin. It's sound is different than any other clock in the world."


As the villager was looking puzzled, Reb Yissachar Dov continued with his explanation.


"You see, most clocks remind their owners that they are one hour closer to death," Reb Yissachar Dov began, "and so their ticking gives off a melancholy sound. But the clock of the Chozeh of Lublin is different.


"This clock tells us that we are one hour closer to the coming of Mashiach and the Final Redemption," Reb Yissachar Dov continued. "When I heard this clock's exultant ticking, I was so happy that I simply had to get up and dance."

"If you believe that you can damage, then believe that you can fix.

If you believe that you can harm, then believe that you can heal."
- Rebbe Nachman
of Breslov

Rosh Chodesh Iyar

The name Iyar is an acronym for the words: "I am God, Your healer" (Exodus 15:26). Therefore this month is a time of healing - and in particular inner healing.


Judaism tells us that when we are sick, we should make every effort to find a good doctor or alternative healer. However as King David reminds us, in our search to find a cure, we should never forget Who is really the One Who heals us.


The following chassidic story gives us a similar message.


There was once a man who was desperately ill. He visited dozens of doctors, but none of them could help him. Out of desperation, the man went to visit the tzaddik Reb Mordechai of Neshchiz.


Reb Mordechai listened sympathetically to the sick man's tale, and when the man finished speaking the rebbe wrote out his "prescription."


"Go to Hanipoli," Reb Mordechai advised, "and seek out the professor of that town. He will cure you."


Traveling to Hanipoli in those days (and even today) was no small matter. No trains went that deep into the Ukraine, and so the chassid had to hire a wagon and driver. The wagon bumped and jiggled its way down the long and dusty road, and the poor chassid was totally exhausted by the time he arrived.


However, he was anxious to find this professor - in those days a medical doctor was also called by this title - and so as soon as he found a place to lodge he set out to find where the professor lived.


"What professor?" the innkeeper said in rely to the chassid's question. "Hanipoli doesn’t have any professor."


"Perhaps you refer to him as a doctor," the chassid persisted. "Where does the doctor of Hanipoli live?"


"We don't have any doctors, either," the innkeeper firmly replied.


The chassid refused to be deterred. He asked storekeepers and laborers and anyone he could find - but everyone gave him the same reply.


The chassid was totally confused and disappointed. How could Reb Mordechai have sent him on such a wild goose chase? The sick man rented another wagon and driver and set out on the long, arduous journey back home.


When he arrived in Neshchiz, the chassid went straight to the rebbe and told him what had happened.


"There's no professor in Hanipoli?" Reb Mordechai asked in apparent surprise. "Then tell me, what do the people there do if one of them, God forbid, becomes ill?"


"Do? What can they do?" the chassid replied. "I suppose all they can do is trust in God and ask Him to heal them."


"That's him!" Reb Mordechai exclaimed. "That's the professor of Hanipoli that I was talking about! If He can heal the townspeople of Hanipoli, then surely He can heal you, too."


When the chassid left the rebbe's room, he immediately began to pour out his heart to God. As he prayed he could feel a little bit of his health returning to him, and eventually he was completely cured