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Be Happy!

For us Jews, it's not just good natured advice, it's a commandment!

That''s right! We're commanded to be happy! On Purim this past week, on Pesach coming up and just about on all Jewish holidays, we're commanded to be happy. How is it possible? How can we just switch off our sorrows and simply be happy? It smacks of naivete...

Perhaps we can find the answer in our childhood:

What do you do when you see a happy child? Nothing.  
How do you react when you see a child whose serious? You ask him what's wrong!

What do you do when you see a serious adult? nothing.  
What do you do when you see a happy adult? You ask him what's wrong!

Isn't a funny how we have no problem with happy kids, but an adult whose happy makes us uncomfortable!?

 Clearly, our default setting is to be happy, but something goes wrong when we grow up!

The difference is clear: Adults are self absorbed but children are too naive to think about themselves.

As babies, we have no problems running around without clothes, were simply not thinking about ourselves. But as we grow older, were thinking about ourselves, our success, and whether or not were outdoing the 'Cohens' next door.

'He who has a hundred, wants two hundred, He who has two hundred wants four hundred.' Talmud. 

As long as were self absorbed we cannot ever be happy. No matter how much we have,we always instinctively need more.

Its only when we stop thinking about ourselves and focus on the needs of others, that we can ever be truly content.

That's why on Purim, we give gifts of food to each other and charity to the Poor. That's why on Pesach we care for the matza and wine needs of the poor and invite others to our Seder Tables. 

The Holiday Mitzvahs shift our focus from ourselves onto others. The automatic result is a sense of happiness! 

The world holds its breath as we wait to hear the fate of the Malaysian Airline Flight MH370 from Kuala Lumpur to Hong Kong this week. Everyone was stunned how a massive Boeing 777 can simply vanish in a world that is constantly online. 

Out hearts and prayers go out for the 239 passengers as we pray for a miracle. Yet, amidst the suspense and tension has already emerged a miraculous and inspirational story:

On a jam packed trip, leaving from Boston, Andrew was planning to go to Sydney, Hong Kong, Kuala Lumpur, Beijing, Vietnam and Melbourne. The trip was built around a conference in Fangshan, China, on Saturday.

His travel agent, an observant Jew, proposed the business class itinerary, slightly altering the Kuala Lumpur-Beijing flight from Saturday to Friday.

Andrew insisted on staying an extra day in Kuala Lumpur, but that would have meant a flight on Saturday.

The travel agent responded that he would not be able to book travel for him over the Sabbath, but that he was free to book that flight by himself.

Andrew agreed with that and planned to book the flight by himself. But, then he re-considered.

In an email, Andrew wrote to the travel agent: “Greetings from LAX airport. Will board my Delta flight in 55 minutes. I reconsidered, you are right I should be more observant, I’ll manage without that day in Kuala. Since I’ll have an extra night in PEK, any recommendations for a good Friday night dinner in Beijing?”

The travel agent recommended the Chabad of Beijing for a nice kosher meal and booked him on the original itinerary, flying from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing on Friday early instead of Saturday.

Two days later, Andrew wrote to the agent: “Holy G-d, You sure heard what happened to MH370. I cannot stop thinking about this. This is a true miracle for the books. You are a true life saver… I cannot think anymore! We’ll talk later this week. Don’t know how to thank you enough. Now please change my return. I am not stepping on a Malaysia flight in my life.”

The travel agent responded, “I am so happy for you! Not I am the life saver. God and Shabbat were your life savers. You owe them something.”

Andy's story is reminiscent of that of Rose Goldstein, a Jewish girl who emigrated on her own from Poland, and had a job at a shirt factory on New York’s Lower East Side, a hundred and three years years ago exactly. She told her bosses an excuse for not working for several Saturdays in a row, but then felt the pressure to go to work on Saturday, or lose the job. She made the decision not to work, spending the Shabbat alone in Tomkins Square Park, happy but at the same time fretting that her absence would surely mean that she would lose her job. 

Only when she got home that night, Rose found out that the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory had burned down, and 146 of her immigrant co-workers, out of 190 at the factory, had died because the fire escapes were locked to keep them busy working. Read the full story here .

Rose always remembered the parting words from her father as she boarded the boat for America:"More than the Jews protect the Sabbath, the Sabbath protects the Jews.”

Our relationship with G-d, according to Kaballah, is measure for measure, tit for tat. When we initiate, G-d reciprocates. Most often, we need to make the first move.  

This Shabbos, just before Purim, is called Shabbat Zachor (Rememberance) when it is an extra special Mitzvah to hear the Torah read in Shul. As Jews we are always commanded to 'remember'. When we remember the Shabbat to keep it holy', G-d remembers us with extra special protection!

Dear Friends,

This Shabbos is Shabbos Zachor, the Shabbos on which we remember. We are instructed to remember to forget the audacious nation of Amelek who attacked us as we fled Egypt.

But, what does it mean to remember to forget? To remember, is not to forget at all. And why are we remembering to forget them so many years later? 

Quite frankly, today, all I could care to remember is Rashi, a young Chabad Rebetzin only 37 years old whose life was tragically and suddenly snuffed out this week, leaving a husband and eight little orphans.

There are many reasons why she’s on the forefront of my thoughts. I did spend a summer with her way back when, one of her sixteen siblings of which she was the oldest was a classmate of mine and her mother was my teacher.

She was a beautiful, strong, happy woman whose focus was on her family and oh her community. Together with her husband, Rabbi Hirhsy Minkowics, she co directed Chabad or North Fulton in Alpharetta, Georgia. Sifting through her facebook posts I see pictures of adorable little faces, smiling and impeccably dressed. She was a fabulous baker who dished out wonderful treats for the many guests she had on a weekly basis, she was a Rebetzin not just to those in Alpharetta but stayed in touch with and was a mentor to many that came through her home and most importantly, she was a mommy to eight precious little souls.

Last night as I was putting some finishing touches on our community Purim packages Etti was still bouncing around wanting to help in any way I’d agree to let her and at the same time endlessly calling my name to tell me all sorts of tidbits that came to her mind. Even the girls helping me couldn’t help but giggle at the humor of it. It was literally, “Mommy, Boruch Hashem, you see my scrape is getting better.” “Mommy, you’re so slow, look how many boxes are waiting for you to put the candies in.” And on. And on. And on!! Then finally, “Mommy, Pleeeeeeease can I have one of these boxes of chocolates? I promise I’ll hide it in my room in the box on top of my dresser where Moussia hides her jewelry.”

It was ten thirty at night. I was tired. I barely had strength to answer her. I really wanted her in bed. I needed quiet, I needed space and mostly, I needed rest. And then it hit me all as once, this was my Amalek!

You see, as humans we each have a little Amalek inside of us, that little voice within that hinders us from maximizing our full potential or achieving what we really should or could. For each of us it’s something else. For me, it’s my patience, especially when I’m really tired!

I looked back at the very overtired but utterly excited toothless, triple dimpled doll in front of me and then I thought of Rashi, whose dimpled little babies could no longer share these moments with their Mommy and I remembered how very lucky I am. How every day moments are big moments. How the ordinary really is extraordinary. I said, “Yes Etti, you can have it, now please go to bed.” As she spun to head in that direction, she could hardly contain her joy. I called her back and said, “That’s just because I love you!”

So today I take the pledge. The remembering Rashi pledge. Not just today but every day.

To remember Rashi is to realize and not forget how very precious yet fragile life is, to cherish every moment of every day. Doing this makes getting rid of the little Amalek voice inside us disintegrate automatically. Makes him completely irrelevant.  

Remembering to forget Amalek is to remind ourselves every single time he rears his little head, that he is worth forgetting. That we must forget him. Because life is just too short.

 The sell out crowd sat spellbound as Eva Schloss, Step sister of Anne Frank shared her riveting story this week. In one particularly moving tale, she told of the difficult times that the family spent in hiding in Amsterdam before the Nazis found them.

Eva and her mother were in hiding in one home and her brother and father were in another. When her brother's location was betrayed by the lady in whose house they were hiding, the Nazis were able to locate Eva and her mother too.

Somehow they both landed up on the same Nazi train headed to Auschwitz. In a very emotional reunion, her brother told her how he was unable to play the music that he loved when he was in hiding. He had therefore taught himself how to paint and had created some beautiful paintings. He told Eva that he was so excited to show them to her when they would return back home one day. Perhaps sensing that he might never return, his last words to her were the precise location of the paintings under the floorboards of their hiding place. This was the last time Eva saw her father and brother.

After the war, Eva returned to Amsterdam, hoping to find this precious legacy her brother left behind in his art. She was reluctant to knock on the door of the home as the lady who lived there had betrayed their location and caused their deaths! She was most relieved to find a friendly young couple opening the door. They gladly allowed her to search beneath the floorboards and, to her delight, she found the precious paintings exactly where her late brother had hidden them.

Like Anne Frank's diary, her brothers paintings were a glimpse into his soul. They allowed her to find solace and comfort in those painful years after the war.

 Eventually, she donated them to the Museum of the Resistance in Holland where they now stand on display of the noble fight of humanity against the evil forces that sought to destroy her.

In Palm Beach Gardens this week, we too did some underground digging.

But it wasn't art that we were hiding. It was the sewer lines of our new Shul!

After much beauracracy and red tape involving civil engineers, landscapers, the water company, general and subcontractors and tractor companies we finally managed to install the  sewer lines and have them covered up again.

How fortunate we are that we live in a time and place where we can celebrate our identity freely without needing to look over our shoulder and all that we need to hide are our sewer lines!

A caller this week on the radio asked me what its like wearing a yarmulke in public (listen here). When challenged to do the same, he was forced to admit that the only factor preventing his wearing his kippah in public is ...himself!

Let us not be our own enemies- there are enough antisemites for that!

May we be proud of our Jewish Identity and wear it on our sleeve without fear and reservation, because we can!