One Should not be afraid to speak of the Palestinian Naqba

Yom Ha’atzmaoot and what surrounds it has turned into a teasing holy day in recent years. A high-profile memorial service for the terrorist (sorry, for “all victims”) and soon Naqba Day slowly approaching to be commemorated on the same Gregorian calendar date as Yisrael’s Independence Day.

I have no issue with the Palestinian point of view. All they want is to live calmly, cultivate their land and slaughter the Jews like any normative nation that is contented with its lot. One can understand their anguish at the fact that they have been deprived of that right. Likewise, one can understand the crocodile’s disappointment when the antelope fled and now it is left without breakfast. It is also easy to understand how difficult it was for the Nazis to witness their dream to destroy the Jews shattering in front of their very eyes when the Russians and Americans liberated the camps. It must have really hurt. It is alright. This is how they see it when the stress is on the word “see.” The problem begins when the victim starts sliding from understanding to empathy and from there justifying those who come to slaughter him and his family. How unfortunate is the crocodile, perhaps I should give him half of my derriere? I will manage. I will sit on my side.

There is no doubt that the Palestinians have experienced a tragedy. So did the Nazis. Mistaken is the person who does not think that the next stage is a joint and flattering Yom Hashoah for “all victims.” It will happen. The deranged ones among us will ensure it does.

The Yisraeli empathy towards the Palestinian failure is a twisted version of the American and European guilt feelings regarding colonialism. We copied it, albeit as a response to the wrong question. The Yisraeli sees himself as a cavalier who is destoying a Native American village and stealing its land or hauling Africans to a slave ship. Except, in this case, it is just the opposite, Watson. Here we are the Native Americans, the one in a thousand cases in which the intended victim was able to overcome the murderous attacker and push him back.

Hungary and Slovakia refuse, and tenaciously, to accept Muslim immigrants. Anyone who is incensed at them for not partaking in the festival of European guilt feelings towards anyone whose skin is slightly darker than theirs, does not know that there, the story is different: Hungary was conquered and enslaved, in the past, by the Turkish Muslims who pushed them northward and only after many generations were liberated by the Austrians. The Hungarians and the Slovaks never conquered one centimeter of Africa or Asia and did not burn Native American villages. Neither did we. They do, however, remember what happened to them five hundred years ago. We, on the other hand, have forgotten what happened to us merely seventy years ago. The fact that we are successful at constantly our neighbours’ plan to destroy us, does not make us conquering colonialists in the microscopic tiny piece of land resting at the heart of 13 million square kilometres which are inhabited by 300 million Arabs.

What characterizes the Arab – Yisraeli wars is its totality. One side comes out with a declared goal to destroy the other side entirely. Not winning, not subduing, not imposing demands of conditions or to conquer land. Annihilate everyone to the last one. They lost? They deserve it. Suffering, let them do some reflections, learn from their mistakes and rebuild their lives. Damn, a thousand organizations and states funnel aid and assistance, incessantly, solely for that purpose. The Palestinians, though, have for four generations have been making a living off misery and at the same time refuse to give up the dream of extermination They refuse to disembark this monstrous idea. They are already lying on the ground with broken limbs, without teeth and, still, what preoccupies them is not getting to the emergency room but instead obstinately insists “now, I will really kill them.” Just like the dark knight of Monty Python.

On Yisrael’s Independence Day, one should not be intimidated to talk about the Palestinian Naqba. On the contrary, it should be taught quite openly. Here once stood an Arab village. Its residents fled because of a war that Arabs started. Here was another one and now stands in its place a flourishing Jewish town, founded by the ones destined to an impeded slaughter. Ah, and there, too, was some small village. Alas, what can one do? This is the fate of the villain that muddles with Yisrael.

Sorry, dear world, the show is over. Sorry, dear neighbours but the slaughter of the Hevron Jews, the slaughter of Zefati Jews, khybar, khybar Ya Yahud and the eradication of an entire Jewish entity, raping and forcefully Islamizing its women and children – all this will only remain in your harsh nostalgic rhymes. And from year to year, as Yisrael gets stronger and mightier, this is getting less and less attainable. Sad, but c’est la vie.

The Perpetual Desert Generation?

Two weeks ago, Jews the world over celebrated Pesach, the Holy Day marking our People’s Exodus from Egypt and embarking on our journey from slavery into freedom. For me, at least, it bears a very meaningful period in our Jewish timeline.

Unfortunately, this Pesach was quite a different one, one that we are not going to forget anytime soon. This year, it was celebrated in the shadow of Corona, serving as a reminder of the fragility of the fabric of our existence.

It is not just Corona, however, that served as a wakeup call for many. For some, myself included, this Pesach, unfortunately, presented, yet another proof that though we may have physically come out of bondage, mentally and emotionally, we are still drenched and perceptually bear the yoke of serfdom. We are still in the Sinai desert trying to make our way to the Promised Land.

Remember how our forefathers complained to Moshe on a regular basis during that time? Here are some examples.

Exodus 16:3 : “If only we had died by the Lord’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted, but you have brought us out into this desert to starve this entire assembly to death.”

In Exodus 17:3, we hear a similar gripe when they accuse Moshe of trying to kill them. This time, though, they add, “children and livestock,” thus making the accusations against him even more severe by including these two feeble and vulnerable groups. “Why did you bring us up out of Egypt to make us and our children and livestock die of thirst?”

Later, in Exodus 32, when Moshe is away on Mount Sinai, receiving the Torah, the Yisraelites lose patience and continue with their complaints. Aharon, who is not well versed in the art of leadership, caves in and erects the golden calf.

This was going on for forty years when all that Moshe wanted was to deliver our People to their own Land and secure their future.

Fast forward a few thousand years. That brings us to the modern-day Jewish state of Yisrael.

Looking around me nowadays, I see members of a Nation and a country that I love so dearly. Although we have moved forward and are experiencing the opulence of the Age of Technology with its many conveniences, something that did not exist during the Exodus, attitude wise, not much seems to have changed. Our mindsets and reactions to serious issues has unfortunately remained pretty much the same. It pangs me to see that we are still doing what our forefathers did thousands of years ago during what should have been considered a landmark in our history.

We are still complaining precisely as did the Biblical desert generation.

When we could celebrate Pesach freely among family and friends, many Yisraelis preferred to do it on some remote exotic island. It is probably and most likely because they did not want to be in the company of salivating auntie Frida and blabbering uncle Maurice.

Now, we have an epidemic, rather a pandemic which forces us into a new reality. “Now” they told us, “you are relieved of the company of auntie Frida and uncle Maurice. In fact, we forbid you to spend any time with them.”

And what do some do in response? Yes, they complain, as did the desert generation. .

The Yisraeli Health Ministry issued some extremely strict guidelines in order to stamp out a virus that has claimed many lives. These directives have one goal and one goal only. It is to secure the health well-being of Yisraelis (a tactic which, by the way, proved itself as remarkably effective).

And how do we react? You guessed right again. Just like them.

We keep complaining while some still refuse to cooperate and to adhere to the instructions.

I could come up with some more examples to prove my point. But you do get my gist, don’t you?

For a nation, a People that has been through so much in history, witnessed so many miracles, saw devastation and renewal, death, and rebirth we, Jews have much to be grateful for.

But hey, if we follow the logic of Cohen’s quote above, I guess the question that is begging to be asked is, if we drop our complaints, would we still be Jewish?

Happy Independence Day, Medinat Yisrael and Am Yisrael.

The Eighty First Blow

I first heard about the story that I am about to unfold to you here, dear readers, when I was a young child in Yisrael. The year was 1961.

In April of that year, Adolph Eichmann, the notorious Nazi criminal who was one of the initiators and implementors of the “Final Solution” for our Jewish People, stood trial in Yisrael, the National Home of the Jewish People after he had been kidnapped and brought to Yisrael.

The trial was broadcasted live over the radio. As a young child, I would never forget those long nights of pain, heartache and endless tears that poured like rivers from my parents’ eyes as the atrocious stories were being told, stories that no sane mind can digest. Those were the nights Yisrael stood still as witness after witness took the stand to point at this evil man and repeat two words that have become part of our Jewish DNA, “J’accuse!”

This is also where the story you are about to read was first told. This is where, my parents, two Shoah survivors, and I heard it for the first time.

It starts in the Przemysl ghetto. One of its inmates, a thin young man, age 16-17, along with a group of others were appointed as the “Transport Commando” where they were employed as carriers. Their duties consisted of emptying Jewish homes and transferring the content to storage.

One day, in the summer of 1943, close to the liquidation of the ghetto, the Nazis executed the train station manager. His crime, he was a Jew (though he had converted to Christianity earlier in his life). His wife who was not Jewish was shot as well.

Along with his team, this young man was assigned to empty is home. The place, as it turned out, housed many books,  a large portion, of which studied the subject of trains. The occupants of the ghetto had already heard about the trains and their destinations.

While removing the content of the train station manager’s residence, our young man decided to take some of the books and upon their arrival back in the ghetto hide them. Being aware that such a move was akin to signing one’s death warrant, did not deter the young man from pursuing his plan. He was adamant that those books should never fall into German hands.

A few days later, he was called into the yard. There, he saw the Jewish camp commander standing next to Yosef Schwammberger, the SS commander in charge of the camp. The latter was holding a leather strap which was tied to a dog’s collar. The strap was thick. On one side, it had a buckle.

The young boy had already witnessed the way the Nazi commander had employed the dog and on more than one occasion before. “Man, go get the dog,” was one of his favourite methods of punishment.

It was clear that something horrible was about to happen. One does not get to see commander Schwammberger for any minor issue.

“Where did you hide the books ?” roared the SS man after removing the strap from the collar.

Initially, the young man was unaware of his “crime.” When he realized what it was, he explained that when he got back to the ghetto, it was “lunch time” and by the time it was over, the books had disappeared so he had assumed that people had already taken them to read.

Wrong answer!

Yosef Schwammberger, raised the strap and hit the boy over his neck. He then ordered someone to bring in “the bench.” It was a special bench. On it, they would   lay the “culprits” or the victims and deal them twenty-five (25!) blows with no less than the buckle. After fifty (50!) blows, Yosef would produce his gun and shoot the victim. It was common knowledge.

The uncertainty of his fate was just as devastating as punishment by death.

When the strokes commenced, our young man started counting them. Surely, he felt, he could count to 25. After the 13^th and 14^th blows, he fainted. When he came to himself, he was hit again. He fainted several times. The other residents of the ghetto were asked to come out and watch it.

Suddenly, he felt nothing.

There were eighty (80!) blows, so the witnesses counted.

This young man was a miracle, the embodiment of one! Let me tell you why.

According to the Talmud, punishment by lashes, which was common in ancient times, should not surpass 39 for fear that the 40^th strike might be detrimental to them. The guilty person may be weak, can get sick or die as a result of them. The number of the lashes the accused was dealt was always measured against his health status for fear that such a practice might endanger him. But there were never more than thirty-nine. Thirty-Nine, NOT Eighty! To survive 80, it must be, it can only be a miracle

When he finally came to himself, our young man heard Schwammberger yelling : ”In three minutes, I want the books back in the library.”

Where he got the energy and the strength to get up and run to the piles of books, is an enigma to this young man who is now B’H 95 years old. He stood there with his back bleeding, waiting for Schwammberger’s orders. The latter pulled a Psalms book and asked him whether it was one of them. After, he confirmed it, the young man was ordered to go but not before he was dealt one more blow on his neck. For a few days afterwards, our young heroic man spent several days in the corridor.

This young man survived that horrific experience but lost his whole family. He survived Auschwitz. He clung to life, been to hell and came out of it ready to avenge the demons with staunch determination, a determination understood by very few.

During the Death March, when the Nazis were hastily moving the inmates westward, in the freezing winter, he was able to escape with a couple of friends. They were hiding until the arrival of the Russians at which time, our hero joined Red Army, learned to drive a tank and fought against the Nazi army, on the Czech front.

After the war he made it to Eretz Yisrael on a refugee boat. The boat was captured by the British sent to a detention camp in Cyprus and eventually married, set up a family, joined the police force, became a police officer and was appointed to be one of Eichmann’s, the now miserable, dismal creature that the former Nazi had become, interrogators.

Amazingly enough, our hero told his story only once. It was the first and the last time he had shared it, until Eichmann’s trial.

One of the witnesses in the Eichmann trial was Dr. Bushminsky, one of the ghetto residents who had seen what had happened in that yard, in the Przemysl ghetto, on that dreary day in the summer of 1943. When they first met and our young man introduced himself. The doctor, who evidently did not recognize him, said “I knew someone by that name in our ghetto. He was dealt 80 blows by Schwammberger. “Last I heard, he added, “he was dead.”

"He is not dead, he is standing right in front of you,” answered our friend.

Dr. Bushminsky must have shared that with Gideon Hausner, the Chief Prosecutor at the Eichmann trial. When Dr. Bushminsky took the witness stand he also shared the story about the young man who was beaten 80 times. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Hausner turned to Dr. Bushminsky and asked: “Can you point that young man to us?” “Yes, your honour,” answered Dr. Bushminsky, “he is sitting right next to you and is wearing a police officer’s uniform.”

Later, when asked by  Gideon Hausenr, the chief prosecutor in the Eichmann trial why he never shared his story more than once, the proud man unveiled a very sad reality that many of the other survivors faced upon sharing their story.

Disbelief.

As it turns out, our friend, did try to share history once with a couple who he had met. When  he finished his recount, he saw the man turn to his wife and say to her in Hebrew: “Shoah survivors had been through so much, sometimes they tend to mix truth with imagination.”

“That’s it,” he resolved right there and then and later disclosed to Hausner and others during one meeting, “I am not telling anymore fantasies.” The silence that cloaked the room was deafening.

“And that, for me,“ he added to their blank faces, “was……”
“Your Eighty First Blow,” uttered one of those present.

This hero is B”H still with us today. His name is Michael Goldman Gilad. He is the father of our dear friend here, Tal Gilad.

Pidyon HaBen

{Note:  Pidyon HaBen (redemption of the firstborn son) is a Jewish ceremony wherein the father of a firstborn male redeems his son by giving a Cohen (a descendant of Aharon, the High Priest) five silver coins, thirty days after the baby’s birth}. 

The following article was written by Tal Gilad in Hebrew and translated into English by Bat-Zion Susskind-Sacks.

From here to there, I find myself, one day in a Pidyon HaBen ceremony, at some friends’ home. The last time that I attended such an event was at my son’s Pidyon HaBen which too place twenty years ago.

I must admit that I do not get excited by events in which the subject of the event is not asked whether he wishes to be there or not. The same is, more or less,  true for weddings but there, at least one still has the theoretical option to jump out the window and escape to Ben Gurion airport, a privilege which one does not have at the age of one month. Make no mistake, I am all for it, I just pity the baby and his parents surrounded by salivating aunts and uncles who possess a sense of humour older than wine.

Still, a pleasant surprise awaited me as soon as I arrived, when I realized that the ceremony will be conducted by my dear friend, Yechiel Safra (yes, that same one from the programme “It is Language Time”), one of the most amazing people that I was fortunate to meet.

 It was clear that this occasion, was not going to be boring. However, one glance at the audience, raises doubts in me: the scenery is entirely secular, most of whom look younger than the spectacled-bald-enlightened breed that is travelling to attend critiquing an exhibition in Berlin.

The parents themselves look like children, a bit stressed, trying to smile. The father is still not certain about handling the child, gets advice and light reproof from female relatives. Oy, how well I remember this.

The ritual commences and I realize how convenient it is to be a guest and not a frightened parent. You can listen and even understand when the mother is reading certain explanations from her notes. And then she invites Safra. The well experienced fox stands up and while walking starts chanting with his thundering voice, the proper Biblical trope, “And G-d spoke unto Moshe…..” I am always envious of people who do not need a microphone and who were blessed with the voice that I only have when I have a cold. The sudden attack finds the spectacled-bold unprepared and in need of that split second to grasp the cynicism. They tense up and you realize that it suddenly interests them. No, it is more than mere interest. It is something that is reminiscent of methods used to locate spies: someone behind them utters something in their native tongue and checks to see who instinctively turns, before they contemplate their move. No use trying, Judaism is there, in all of them, underneath a crust that is much thinner than we believe.

Safra does not hold the baby and does not raise him upward, as they did to my son twenty years ago, a moment where my blood froze and a decision to become a Buddhist ripened. It turns out that it is not an essential or inseparable part of the ceremony. For a second, I retroactively get upset but in no time return to the present. Here, the parents continue to hold the baby. And those who remember what being a fresh parent knows how comforting it is to all involved.

“Firstborn son, you shall redeem after thirty days,” I did not know the explanation it formed the Hebrew acronym of “Bresheet,” (in the beginning). The origin of the text is, of course, associated with the tenth plague that preceded the Exodus from Egypt, which spared the firstborn sons of Bnei Yisrael. “And each of firstborn sons you shall redeem.” Jews enjoy doubting themselves. There is a cosmopolitan halo about it. The Exodus from Egypt? No proof! We are enlightened, scientific, and hopelessly sober.

Many of the researchers who are, with all due respect, no less scientific and sober than the bald-spectacled above, are fairly certain that the Exodus from Egypt did take place. A blend of shreds evidence, the Egyptian Ipouwer Papyurs which even the enlightened of the enlightened will have to chuckle while reading the text and at least say: “ This, of course, proves nothing, yet it is interesting” and, mainly, the use of that very rare commodity, common sense.

There is no reason for the presence of such a popular story if it has no basis in reality. Nations do not invent story that describe themselves as originating from slaves who had escaped. It is a story that outlines  an ongoing, not always complimentary, story which involves many people and generally sounds credible.

The ceremony continues, a mixture of light and heavy, the course of redeeming the baby is performed according to all rules and regulations. What would you prefer the baby or the shekels? Surprisingly enough, the father elects to have the baby and we reach the stage of Birkat Cohanim.

And then comes the genuine great surprise.

Some of the participants (not only the uncle with the kippah from Nes - Tziona which everyone seems to have) mumble lines from the blessings along with Safra. I know because I learned it from my son. But where in the world does a Tel Aviver who produces a feature and has a cat, know it? And here – unbelievable, or, in fact, why not – there appears a little tear. Not one facial muscle moves, the young man sits with folded hands, no one would have noticed if not for the wipe, as if by happenstance, of the eye and quickly reverts to folding his arms. Someone once told me that there is not one person in Yisrael who is secular.

Safra concludes, explains a few points and leaves us all with a smile. The mother ends with a few Torah words and everyone’s attention is shifted to the plates. All of this in less than a quarter of an hour, a feel-good timeout and unveils in you what you truly are. Secular or observant, Leftist or Right wing, a believer or very lucid. A Jew.

Shabbat Shalom.

When Does A Belief Become Part Of A Nation’s Historical Timeline?

The following article was written by Tal Gilad a Yisraeli journalist. It was translated into English by Bat-Zion Susskind-Sacks

It seems that there is no point anymore in addressing the question as to whether there was an Exodus from Egypt or not, since this issue and any opinion about it is affected mainly by agenda. Those who despise anything related to religion / faith (or in fact loathe anything other than Macchiato) qvell in the yearly opportunity to mock the entrenched myth, and whoever is for Bibi is also for Moses. For some reason, the two go hand in hand/ Yes, of course it is a generalization and I know that also on the Right there are those who scorn faith and currently hold haughty rational positions. That’s ok.

I have no doubt that the Exodus from Egypt did take place since we have no reason to believe it did not. What is unusual in a story about a People which wanders from one place to another? Had I wanted to invent an impressive myth about our origin, the last thing that would have jumped into my mind would be to describe us as a bunch of nebechs who had run away from their masters and on the way did some ugly deeds as the Tanach tells us. It would have been far more exciting to tell how the first Man fought an evil dragon but during the battle bumped into a bush which tore off his foreskin. And while he was hurting and bemoaning, a voice came out of Heaven and said: “Oh, Man, do not cry and do not despair, for this circumcised one will become a great nation.” A rain of children started to pour from Heaven and they became the People of Yisrael who overcame the dragon. And since then, we perform circumcision to commemorate the victory and we eat Matzot because the First Man broke the dragon’s head with a wooden board.

We can invent a hundred stories like this, per day. And indeed, there are plenty of such stories in other people’s mythologies.

The Exodus from Egypt does not fulfill the criterion of an unfounded tale. Remove the parts with miracles, if you wish, or reduce the number of people to a mere few thousands, still what is unreasonable about it? “There is no archaeological evidence.”

There is evidence,, however, it cannot be connected, with any certainty, to the Exodus from Egypt. Archaeology is a young discipline. About Egypt, in general, there is still much that is unknown. “No skeletons.” A skeleton erodes and crumbles in a matter of a few decades. What we find, occasionally, are a million years old fossils, lucky skeletons which were surrounded by conditions that allowed them to mix with the minerals and thus survived. Otherwise, the whole planet would be covered with human and animal skeletons.

The story of the Exodus from Egypt is detailed, long and filled with ups and downs and unpleasant details. Were it just a Harry Potter story, no one would have celebrated it every year, actually twice, Pesach and Sukkot. It is fair to assume that not everything happened exactly as told but its nucleus sounds entirely realistic.

Even the Egyptians had a somewhat incensed version of the story of the Exodus. Manetho, an Egyptian historian on the 3^rd century, B.C.E., claimed that the Children of Yisrael are the Hyksos, foreign rulers who were expelled out of Egypt in the 16^th century B.C.E. In ancient Egypt, “The lepers’ libel,” which claimed that the Children of Yisrael were forcefully banished since they were lepers, was circulated, Yuck.

Ok, let us leave a typical narrative of “no way have I lost,” the kind we  hear from our surrounding nations who continue to assert their victory even without their teeth and withn their head is stuck downward in a barrel. The fact is that the narrative refers to that tale. 

In Hebrew there are quite a few words which originated in ancient Egypt, including the name “Moshe (Moses)” which simply means “son.” The suffix, “messes” was commonly used in in ancient Egypt. One of the names that is related to Egypt is Ramsses II, who according to some researchers is the Pharoah mentioned in the Book of Exodus. Circumcision, which Jews practice to signify our unique covenant with G-d,  was customary in Egypt before we adopted it.

The Greek historian, Heroditus, states that “the Syrians who lived in Palestine” (The Jews who lived   and worked in the coastline area which was named after the Philistines) circumcise their sons in the Egyptian tradition, unlike other nations in the region.

Papyrus Ipower, the ancient Egyptian papyrus, describes events, some of which astonishingly resemble the ten plagues, which means that if it were a legend – it originated in Egypt. Ancient Egyptian wall paintings portray Semitic Peoples arriving to Egypt, nothing unusual about it, the Hyksos, likewise, were Semitic. Egypt’s protectorate spread all the way to Northern Eretz Yisrael, albeit shaky.

It all points to a strong bond between Am Yisrael and Egypt.

Were this story not related to religion, the tables would have been turned: the Left would have basked with great pleasure in the story of the Exodus from Egypt and see it as yet another proof that from the onset came from another Land. In fact, the average Leftist might have a dilemma here – who does it hate more, the Jewish faith or Eretz Yisrael. Hatred towards religion gains strength here in Yisrael because it is imprinted in our blood for many more generations. So let us say this – if the Right and the observant Jews insist that we came from Egypt, then perhaps it is true.

The Perpetual Flame

“The fire must be kept burning on the altar continuously; it must not go out.” Leviticus 6:13

Fire is one of the five elements of nature. It is probably the most fascinating one of them. One cannot avoid being attracted and mesmerized by its dynamics and power when watching it. Along with its symbolism, fire has steered mankind since the dawn of civilization. It has been used in  social, religious and sacred rites. It is a wonderful gift which can cleanse, purge, and empower us, inspire, and enrich us. Unfortunately, when unbridled, it can also harm us. It can consume and turn into ashes anything that stands in its path.

Fire and its role in conducting the affairs of the Mishkan, mainly with regards to the rituals of the various sacrifices, is one of the central themes in this week’s Parashah, Tzav. Many of the various sacrifices were mentioned in last week’s Parashah. However, while there, it discussed the laws that concern the persons who bring the sacrifice, in this week’s Parashah, the commands are relegated to the Cohanim (priests), namely Aharon and his sons.

G-d instructs Moshe to command (Tzav) them and pass on to them the decrees, duties and rights concerning the ceremonies and rituals of sacrifices. The central tool around which most of the chores and services in the Mishkan take place is’ as we learn, the altar.

Part of the directives of conducting the work of the Mishkan, focus on the Esh Hatamid, the eternal fire, which was constantly burning on the altar of the Mishkan. The flame signifies the altar's incessant task: even when no sacrifice is offered, the altar is always on a “stand by” mode, ready to perform its mission.

In his  book “Likutei Torah,” the Lubavitcher Rebbe, states that the altar is akin to the heart of a Jew. Rabbi Elimelech, similarly, describes every Jew as an altar and their sanctity as akin to the eternal flame. Just as the altar should have the perpetual fire, he claims, so within every Jew, there should always be a burning desire to aspire to as close to being holy as possible. Just as the Cohanim needed to ensure that the altar fire never extinguishes, so do we, Jews and Am Yisrael, need to engage in the service of Hashem so that our inviolability does not get quenched.

I beg to differ with these views. Every Jew is not just “an altar.”

A few weeks ago, I addressed the directive to build a Mishkan for G-d. In my article entitled, “Terumah" – Building a Tabernacle Within Us,” I suggested that when G-d instructed Moshe to command Bnei Yisrael to build a Mishkan for him, that He “also meant a spiritual Tabernacle, one that will create a permanent dwelling place for Him not only in their camp but also in their heart, in their soul. G-d wants to dwell “in them” not only among them. He wishes to be part of their essence.”

In my view, G-d wants us to have a Mishkan within us, to be, ourselves a Mishkan, a sanctuary, a vital and spirited entity that is cloaked in holiness: “For you are a Holy Nation to the Lord, your G-d. Out of all the peoples on the face of the earth’ the Lord has chosen you to be his treasured possession” (Devarim 14:2). And just like the Eternal fire that burns in G-d’s dwelling place among us, so should an eternal vibrant flame burn within us, in our Mishkan.

 The word “holy” in Hebrew is the same root as dedication. It denotes loyalty and a concerted effort try and reach higher levels of existence, the spiritual kind and what Rabbi Berel Weil refers to as “nobility of purpose. A holy nation,” he states, “… is a nation that is able to retain its unique identity. It cannot be swallowed up by the prevailing and ever changing majority cultures that will always surround it.”

The Eternal Flame that burns on the altar of our individual Mishkan is the fervor, the passion with which we will continue to guard, protect and continue to adhere to our noble Jewish values, Torah moral code and ethics, our wonderful tradition and our designated role in History, that of being “A Light unto the Nations.”

This Flame within us will be the Pillar of Fire which will illuminate our Life’s path and help us remain, in the words of Rabbi Weil, “a Holy Nation in every walk of life, at Home and at the marketplace, in the halls of government – and certainly in the treatment of others.”

Wishing everyone Shabbat Shalom with every blessing for abundant health.