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Rabbi A. Leib Scheinbaum

Hebrew Academy of Cleveland

PARSHAS YISRO

Yisro said, "Blessed is Hashem, Who has rescued you from the hand of Egypt and from the hand of Pharaoh." (18:10)

Yisro maintains that the Jewish nation owes a special sense of gratitude to Hashem for His "personal" involvement in their liberation from Egyptian bondage. Rather than have Pharaoh release them of his own accord, Hashem forced his hand to make him send them out of the country. Indeed, if Pharaoh would have willingly participated in the redemption, we might have reason to believe that he too should be recognized and appreciated. Now we acknowledge that it is only to Hashem to whom we have an obligation of gratitude.

The Chasam Sofer interprets this idea in his explanation of the Avadim hayeenu, "We were slaves" homily, recited at the beginning of the Seder. This serves as the segue into the Haggadah and the entire story of Pesach. We say, "Had Hashem not taken our ancestors out of Egypt, we, our children, and our children's children would have remained slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt."

The question is obvious. How does the Baal Haggadah know that we would have forever remained slaves to Pharaoh? Throughout history we have observed nations who had once been enslaved, but have broken the shackles of incarceration. Either their fortune finally took a positive turn, or their "host" nation fell prey to another nation which did not believe in slavery. To say that thousands of years after the fact we would still be languishing in Egypt is a strong statement.

The Chasam Sofer explains that slavery can appear in different guises. One may be physically free, but in his mind he remains beholden to his master. Such a person, in effect, continues to be a slave. Mental slavery may not be as physically debilitating as physical slavery, but it is equally demoralizing. Had Hashem not personally taken us out of Egypt, but instead put it into Pharaoh's mind to make an about-face and release the Jews, then every ensuing generation of Jew would maintain a debt of gratitude to that evil despot. Every Jewish child would be raised with a sense of hakoras hatov, gratitude, to the wicked Pharaoh. That is a form of slavery that is much more difficult to extirpate. It becomes part of one's mindset. Now we know that we do not owe Pharaoh a thing!

Hashem forced Pharaoh's hand, thus allowing our minds and our bodies to be free of Pharaoh for all time. Truthfully, this concept applies throughout all of life's endeavors. We must acknowledge and recognize those who benefit us, but we must be certain that our focus of gratitude is properly pinpointed on the true Benefactor. First and foremost, nothing - absolutely nothing - is achieved without Hashem's directive. The finest and most successful physician, surgeon, mentor, and savior are helpless without Hashem guiding their hands, mouths, and minds. Having acknowledged Hashem as the true Benefactor, we go on to the individuals who have played an overt role in our successful experience. Gratitude is one of the critical principles of Jewish life, but it is not true gratitude if it is misplaced.

If you this thing… then you will be able to endure, and this entire people, as well, shall arrive at its destination in peace. (18:23)

Yisro intimated to Moshe Rabbeinu that, by following his advice, the people would be confident that they would be judged justly. They would, thus, be at peace, content with the rulings that had been administered. The words, yavo b'shalom, "shall arrive at its destination in peace," is a phrase which is used in connection with the deceased. We say: lech b'shalom, "go in peace;" tanuach b'shalom, "rest in peace," and v'saamod l'goralcha l'ketz ha'yamim, "and arise for your reward at the End of Days." When speaking to the living, wishing them well, we say, lech l'shalom, "go to peace." Why does the Torah change its style?

Horav Yashar quotes the Chafetz Chaim who posits that anyone who has money in his possession that does not belong to him - whether he stole it or owes it to someone - cannot possibly reach Olam Habba, the World to Come. He must return to this world reincarnated, until he somehow returns the money that he owes.

Horav Shlomo Levinstein, Shlita, relates an incredible story that took place concerning Horav Meir Premishlaner, zl. The holy Chassidic Master once spent Shabbos at the home of one of his wealthy chassidim, who had apportioned an entire wing of his palatial home for the Rebbe. That Friday afternoon, after chatzos, midday, the chasid came to the Rebbe and asked, "Rebbe, is there anything I can do? Whatever the Rebbe asks, I will be happy to do."

The Rebbe replied, "I noticed that you have a number of horses and cows in your stable. Could you possibly give me a horse as a gift?"

"With the greatest pleasure," the Chasid responded.

"If so, I would like the black horse." the Rebbe stated.

"The Rebbe specifically wants that black one?" the Chasid asked.

"Yes. Is there a problem?" the Rebbe asked.

"Well, possibly. This horse works like ten horses. He is quick getting the job done and is waiting for more work. It is a great loss to give up that horse."

"I specifically want that horse," the Rebbe said. "If you have difficulty parting with that horse, fine, but I am not interested in any other horse."

"Rebbe, please," the Chasid pleaded. "Any other horse would be no problem. It is just that this horse is very special."

The Rebbe thought for a moment. "I am sure you have many promissory notes which attest to people owing you money. Can I have one of these documents?" the Rebbe asked.

"Surely, Rebbe, anything and I will be most honored to give the Rebbe a document."

The Chasid immediately called for a servant to bring the document box containing all of the debts. The Rebbe rummaged through the box and, after a moment, raised up a certain document and said, "I want this one!"

Once again, the wealthy Chasid asked, "The Rebbe specifically wants this one?"

"Yes. This is the one I want. Is there a problem?" the Rebbe asked.

"This is a lost document. The man who owed me the money passed away and his sons deny the loan and refuse to pay. The Rebbe would do well taking another document."

The Rebbe insisted on taking that document. He was not willing to exchange it for another one.

"Well, if this is what the Rebbe wants, it is his, and I am most happy to give this document to the Rebbe as a gift." the Chasid said.

"Are you giving it to me willingly, without any second thoughts?" the rebbe asked.

"Certainly. It belongs to the Rebbe."

"Rav Meir Premishlaner made a kinyan, actively acquiring the document into his possession and said to the Chasid, "Now the debt owed to you is instead owed to me. Correct?"

"Yes. The debt now is owed to the Rebbe. It is no longer mine."

"If so," said the Rebbe, "I write off the loan. The deceased no longer owes any money. The loan is absolved."

Five minutes went by, and the Chasid's stable hand came running in and said, "The black horse just died suddenly. One minute it was standing there. The next, it was dead!"

The Chasid realized that he had been punished by Heaven for refusing to give the horse to the Rebbe. He immediately turned to the holy sage and begged his forgiveness for his insolence.

The Rebbe calmed him down, "It had nothing to do with you. The man who owed you the money passed away before he could pay you back. In Heaven, however, one is not permitted to receive his reward in Olam Habba, World to Come, until his obligations in this world have been settled. Since he owed you money, it was decreed that he should return to this world reincarnated as a horse, where he would work for you, without reward, of course. Thus, he would pay back his loan.

"Your black horse worked so hard, because he was the gilgul, reincarnation, of the fellow who owed you money. He wanted to pay back the loan as quickly as possible. When I came to your house, I noticed how hard the horse was working and took pity on him. This is why I wanted the horse. Had you given him to me right away, it would have been considered to be the absolution of the loan. You refused, so I was compelled to ask for that loan. Once I received it as a gift and wrote it off, the horse had fulfilled his function in this world and could now return to his eternal repose."

The Chafetz Chaim underscores the significance of not retaining in one's possession funds that are not his. While, at times, many of us are compelled to borrow from another for economic reasons, paying back the loan should always be our first priority. It goes without saying that, if one has money in his possession that had been appropriated unethically, he should return it immediately.

We now understand why Yisro employed a lashon, vernacular, which is usually reserved for speaking to - and concerning - the deceased. Yisro was intimating that, if justice prevails as the result of competent and honest judges, the litigants who are involved will ultimately find their eternal repose without issue. Monetary issues will be dealt with by men of sterling character. Thus, no one will be "left behind" due to monetary issues.

Honor your father and your mother, so that your days will be lengthened. (20:12)

The fifth commandment, to honor one's parents, is a cornerstone of faith in the entire Torah. Our mesorah, tradition, is based upon a chain that has been transmitted throughout the generations from Har Sinai, where the Torah was given. This mesorah continues through this very day, through the vehicle of the parents of every generation. Each parent serves as a link to his child, maintaining this mesorah when he, in turn, becomes a parent. Without the respect demanded in the fifth commandment, we have no assurance that the other commandments will be observed.

Hashem, father and mother are partners in the creation of a child. Thus, one must honor his parents, because they are partners with Hashem. All things considered, despite being partners with Hashem, they, too, must honor Him. Thus, they may not ask their child to go against Hashem. Such respect for parents goes against the underlying basis of the goals of this mitzvah. One question that still remains: While it is true that parents must also honor Hashem, solely from the perspective of the partnership, one might contend that parents actually comprise the majority of the partnership. Should their demands not be recognized? Indeed, this is a rhetorical question, since there is no such thing as majority partners against Hashem. He grants life to all of the partners; therefore, in a sense, He is always the majority partner.

This idea is best explained with an insightful mashal, parable, by the Maggid, zl, of Dubno. There were once three brothers who decided to travel to three different parts of the world to develop a more cosmopolitan view of wisdom. They felt that exposing themselves to the varied wisdoms and disciplines of the multifaceted world community would enhance the individual wisdom of each of them. After one year, they returned to their home base to share with one another the new wisdom which they had mastered.

One brother related that he had learned to make a looking glass through which he could see all over the world. The second brother had learned to make a flying machine that could transport him to any destination in the world in a very short time. The third brother also had picked up an important piece of wisdom. He discovered a magic potion that had the ability to heal any ailment. There was no disease in the world that it could not tackle. The brothers were proud of their individual achievements. Time would tell when and how they could be put to good use.

One day, the brother who possessed the wonderful looking glass was gazing throughout the "world," when he saw a princess in a faraway country who had fallen gravely ill. The doctors who were treating her had already despaired of finding a cure to save her life. Her father, the king, was beside himself. This was his only child. Words cannot describe the scene playing out at the bedside of the young princess.

Seeing this, the brother immediately went into action. He called his two brothers, and they immediately boarded the miraculous flying machine, taking along the cure-all potion which would hopefully save the life of the princess. They arrived in the kingdom and immediately went to the hospital where the princess was lying in bed, presenting a deathly pallor. Were they in time?

The brother who had the magic potion immediately went over to the distraught king to offer his services. What did the king have to lose? His daughter was at death's door. The brother administered the potion to the princess, and, within minutes, her color returned. A few hours later, she was sitting up for the first time in weeks. Two days later, the doctors declared her disease-free. She was cured of all illness. Overjoyed, and beyond belief, the king addressed the three brothers, "As reward for saving my daughter's life, I will give her hand in marriage to one of you. The problem is that the decision concerning who should marry her is something that the three of you must decide among yourselves.

The brothers began debating the issue, each one claiming that, without his contribution, the princess would not have been cured. "Without my looking glass, we would never have been aware of her illness" was the first brother's position. The second brother claimed, "Without my flying machine, we could never have transported the medicine." The last brother argued that the discovery and travel would have been meaningless without his magic potion.

Unable to reach a decision, the king turned to his daughter and said, "You decide which one you should marry." The princess was an astute young woman. She replied, "All three of you equally deserve to marry me. That, however, concerns the past, but, if I were to become ill again, only the brother who is in possession the miracle cure could save me. It is he whom I want to marry."

The lesson is simple and clear. Yes - there are three partners in a person, and one feels a sense of indebtness to all of them. This sense of gratitude is only with regard to the past. As far as the future is concerned, we are far more beholden to Hashem than to our parents. Every moment of our lives is a special gift from Hashem. Without His Will, we simply would cease to exist.

When parental wishes come into an opposition with those of G-d, the future decides the issue. Without Hashem, we have no tomorrow. In fact, today is dependent upon Him as well! Both the child and his parents are in Hashem's debt. The question of precedence is a moot issue.

Upon perusing Rabbi Yechiel Spero's latest volume, "A Touch of Chizuk," I came across a story which is particularly inspiring and quite relevant to our dvar Torah. Rabbi Yosef Mendelovich was a Russian refusenik who fought fiercely for the freedom to practice his religion. (He was known as a "Prisoner of Zion." A political activist who has devoted his life to speaking out against religious persecution, especially of Soviet Jewry. One of the first and most famous refuseniks, his devotion and commitment to Judaism served as the standard for others to emulate.) The dread KGB took special joy in making his life miserable. While serving time in the Russian Gulag for some trumped up charges, he taught himself to daven and observe mitzvos.

The prison guards were the lowest form of humanity in a country not known for maintaining a very high level of humanity. They did everything within their power to break his spirit. The more they worked at destroying him, the more stoic he became. He showed them that his commitment to Hashem was stronger than their devotion to evil. He had a greater will to fight for freedom than they had to take it from him.

He wanted to wear a head-covering, but yarmulkes were not accepted as part of the prison uniform. Thus, instead of wearing the traditional yarmulke, he took a handkerchief and wrapped it around his head. (Interesting how some of us feel that wearing a yarmulke in public is not pc). It was a constant battle to wear that handkerchief, but it was a battle that he won.

One day, after being locked up for some time, he was informed that his elderly father was coming to visit him. This was very unusual. His father was not a well man and the long journey to the Gulag was not an easy trip. Once again, the guards were determined to break his spirit by testing his will. Waiting with bated breath for his father's arrival, he sat in the waiting room with his handkerchief on his head. His father had arrived and was waiting on the other side of the door. One can only begin to imagine the excitement, the yearning of son for father, and father for son. As he was about to go to meet his father, the guard stopped him and said, "Remove your head-covering!"

Yosef was confronted with a dilemma. According to Jewish law, there was no problem with removing his head covering. He knew that his father was waiting anxiously to see him. On the other hand, he also knew that this was a test - a test to see if they could break him. If he gave in and removed his handkerchief - then they had succeeded in defeating him. Once defeated, it would be most difficult to once again ascend the spiritual ladder. So he refused to remove his head covering. The guards, heartless animals who did not know the meaning of compassion or decency, likewise refused to budge. "No visitation," they said. Instead of running through the open door into his father's embrace, he returned to his cell - miserable, but triumphant. The guards did not succeed in breaking him. Sadly, his father would never see him again. He took ill shortly afterwards and succumbed to his illness.

This is a very sad story - one that has the reader asking, "Was he correct in his refusal to remove his handkerchief? Was he right in "probbing frumkeit" taking a stringent stand concerning his observance of this one tradition - at the expense of his aged father's desire to see his son, to have a little nachas, before he died?"

I am not one to decide right or wrong. One thing I am certain of, however, is that when his father's neshamah, soul, ascended to ginzei Meromim, the Heavens Above, it viewed the refusal of his son, Yosef, from a different vantage point. The nachas that the neshamah experienced then is indescribable. In fact, I wonder if Yosef Mendelovich's handkerchief in this world did not translate itself into a special crown for his father in the Eternal World.

Do not steal. (20:13)

The Talmud Sanhedrin 86a, teaches that the Lo signov, "do not steal," associated with the Aseres Hadibros, Ten Commandments, is a reference to kidnapping. This is not about stealing money from someone; rather, it is a case of capital punishment for stealing a human life. Horav Yaakov Galinsky, zl, points out that stealing is often viewed relatively. In other words, if someone appropriates an object illegally, his warped mind will likely convince him that this object is now his, and whoever takes it from him is the thief. This idea applies across the board to every case of monies finding their way into our possession, in a less than savory manner. We now think that since we have possession it is ours. This is the moral bankruptcy of a twisted mind.

Rav Galinsky relates an incident that occurred in which he was accosted by a less-than-observant Jew, who was furious over the successful efforts of Rav Galinsky and others like him, people who were sacrificing themselves to rescue lost souls who had been forced into abdicating their religious observance.

The man began the conversation with a shout, "Galinsky! When will you do teshuvah, repent?" Rav Galinsky immediately countered, "What sin have I committed that requires expiation?"

"You are stealing souls away from us!" the man yelled. "How dare you attempt to inculcate 'saved' Jewish children who have been force-fed with your archaic laws and rituals?"

Rav Galinsky replied, "At worst, we are guilty of being gonev min haganov, stealing from a thief. You grabbed innocent Jewish children from their homes, cut off their peyos, side-locks, and infused them with Communism, teaching them a godless lifestyle. All we are guilty of is taking back what is rightfully ours. Yet, you have the audacity to call us thieves!

"I remind myself of a story that took place in Russia years ago, before the Western Union telegram for wiring money. In those days, when one wanted to send money from place to place, he would dispatch a special messenger to deliver the money. Obviously, since this mission was fraught with danger, the messengers were not your everyday garden-variety citizen. They were powerful, strong and capable men, who could take care of themselves. When confronted with a gun, however, the hardiest messenger turns into butter.

"One such messenger was waylaid by a robber who demanded the money he was carrying in his pouch. Only a fool stands up to a loaded gun, so the messenger turned over the pouch together with everything that he was carrying in his pockets. He was left bereft of all valuables. The messenger asked the robber, 'Can I ask you for a favor?' (Apparently, it was a more 'cultured' thief.) The man who sent the money is a very suspicious person. He will not believe that I was robbed. Please shoot a hole in my jacket, so that I can prove to him that I was the victim of a robbery.'

"The thief was a practical person. Why not accommodate the victim. So he shot a hole in his jacket.

"'You know, perhaps one is not enough. Can you shoot some more?' Once again the robber acquiesced putting another two holes in the jacket.

"'Just to be safe, can you shoot another bullet into the bottom of the jacket?' the victim asked.

"'I would love to help you out, but I am clear out of bullets,' the thief replied.

"'If this is the case," the victim declared, "then you have no advantage over me.' He immediately jumped on the thief and pummeled him quite mercilessly. Once he retrieved his pouch with the money, he heard the thief moaning, 'Not only did you beat me within an inch of my life; you took away my pouch with my money!'

"'Your money?!' the victim screamed, 'Your money? I took back what you originally stole from me!'"

Rav Galinsky concluded his tale, "We suddenly become the kidnappers, and you are the victims! We are only taking back what was ours to begin with!"

Va'ani Tefillah

V'ahuv v'chaviv. And beloved and cherished.

Horav Avigdor Miller, zl, explains that ahuv and chaviv have two distinct meanings - both focusing on relationship. One may love intellectually. He may even admire something. Yet, despite the love and admiration that he has for the subject, he remains distant from it. He has no interest in coming closer, to always be in its proximity. Ahuv is eternal love. The next step is chaviv, whereby we also cherish. In response to "this matter" set forth in the Shema, we recognize the power, wisdom and kindness of Hashem. We acknowledge the Torah, His greatest gift to us. This is love. We want also to cherish "this matter" by incorporating its ideals and values into our hearts and personality. One cherishes a treasure by embracing it, concealing it within himself.

We love the Torah and its ways more than anything physical that we may love. To cherish alone, without love, is of little meaning. There are those who cherish, but do not love. We might enjoy certain foods, pastries, etc.; we cherish them. We certainly do not love or admire them. The Torah is something which we love intellectually, admiring its wisdom and Divine brilliance. We also want it to become a part of our lives. We feel incomplete without the Torah. Thus it is something which we cherish and love.

Dedicated in loving memory of our dear
mother and grandmother
Leona Genshaft
Leah bas Refael Hacohen a"h
niftara 16 Shevat 5770
by her family
Neil and Marie Genshaft
Isaac and Naomi

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