From the Rabbi
Rabbi Robert L. Wolkoff
Previous Messages
“Stanley”
As I was preparing for my annual journey to the Holy Land, it was apparent that Stanley was starting his journey to heaven. It was exactly eight years since we’d first spoken. Prior to my introductory Shabbat at Congregation Tifereth Israel, I called him to discuss the order of the service at this shul. He had just turned 87, but he sounded as excited as a teenager. I felt instantly welcomed. When we finally met, I immediately recognized the teenager with the cane. This was the beginning of a wonderful friendship — the Gabbai and the Rabbi.
We journeyed across three continents: From Florida to Ottawa, from the Berlin Wall to the Western Wall, from the streets of my childhood in Israel to the neighborhood of his beloved Eva’s youthful years in Vienna. Both of us loved history and admired beautiful architecture. We brought each other along.
I pushed his wheelchair through many cobblestone streets, while he stirred me through the winding roads of ministry. Handling these trips was not difficult. It was like the Levis from the family of Kehat, who were responsible for carrying the Ark of the Covenant through Israel’s journeys; the Ark carried its carriers.
In Joshua 4:11, the Bible tells us: “And it came to pass, as the priests that bore the ark of the covenant of the Lord came up out of the midst of the Jordan, as soon as the soles of the priests’ feet were drawn up unto the dry ground, that the waters of the Jordan returned unto their place, and went over all its banks, as aforetime.” The Talmud (BT Sota 35a) then concludes that the Ark carried itself and its carriers. Stanley carried me with his love of life and his wisdom. He did not let his physical impairment hold him back from appreciating life to the fullest. “What can’t be cured, must be endured,” he would say. By this virtue, he always helped me overlook the difficulties of the moment, and bounce back.
Early on, Stanley shared with me a vivid dream he’d had, by which it was clear to him that he somehow should take care of me and make sure I would succeed. At first, I wasn’t sure if it meant anything, but soon I found that it was prophetic to him. From that point on, we would speak pretty much every evening. We always ended our conversation with him saying, “I’m glad you called.” And I would respond, “I’m glad you answered. Layla Tov.”
It came to a full circle with my own dream on the night of Feb. 14. Early that evening, I sat with Stanley’s children, and our dogs, around his bed. We shared beautiful moments. That night, something woke me at exactly 4:14 a.m., and the phone illuminated Feb. 14. I looked at the phone and twice saw 14. The number 14, according to the Hebrew numerical value, spells the word “hand.” The two hands spell the word yedid — “friend.” On Erev Shabbat, we sing “Yedid Nefesh.” When the message came in the morning that Stanley had passed away, the message was clear. He was a yedid nefesh — a soulmate.
The thought of not saying a proper goodbye to this most proper man was hard to bear. I was torn between the need to begin my planned journey to Israel and the need to stay. With all our journeys together, my heart would not let me leave without accompanying Stanley on his last. I delayed my flight.
I’m writing this message having recently arrived in Israel, a few days after saying a proper goodbye. It was a most respectful and well-attended funeral — testimony to his full life. The group accompanying me on the tour will arrive tomorrow, and Stanley will journey with us. Stanley, a wonderful man who dwelt among us, will continue to travel with me always. May your soul rest in Eden and your memory be for a blessing.
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
“Modern-Day Slavery”
On a recent Shabbat, we began again to read the Book of Exodus, the story of a minority — a small sector of society — that somehow threatened the Egyptian hunger for globalization. This is how the story of slavery begins — large entities trying to wipe out the identities of smaller or marginalized groups to keep them in servitude and under control.
In our last “Ethical Life” class, we discussed the topic of modern-day slavery and the ethics of consumerism. One of the midrashim (Pirkei de‐Rabbi Eliezer, Chapter 5) contends that consumers benefit from the invisible servitude of others, and thus bear an ethical responsibility to modify their practices. According to Rabbi Yehoshua, “the depth of the earth is a distance of 60 years’ walk, and one tehom (a deep wellspring or fountain), which sits directly over Gehinnom (i.e. a fiery hell), flows from there and brings forth warm waters that provide pleasure for human beings.” Just as paradise is warmed by the waters of hell, our own enjoyment is enabled by the oppression of others. Whenever we see poverty and degradation in the world, we must entertain the possibility that it sustains our comfort.
Whether one serves another person or God, the Torah uses the same Hebrew word — eved — which can be translated as servant or slave, depending on whom is being served. The rabbis relied on the notion that we are servants to God to argue against slavery.
This week we also remembered the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who led the Civil Rights Movement from 1955 until his assassination in 1968. Slavery in America is a good example of enjoyment enabled by the oppression of others. But the end of Black slavery in America, did not end slavery in our society. Three days before he relinquished the presidency to JFK in 1961, President Eisenhower warned against the power of the “military industrial complex” to undermine all other values and judgments of our society. Security, he feared, could be perceived as the only value worth pursuing. With so much money and power concentrated in the hands of a few, corruption would be an easy result, he felt. The need to maintain balance — balance between the private and public, balance between the cost and the hoped-for advantages, balance between the clearly necessary and the comfortably desirable, balance between our essential requirements as a nation and the duties imposed by the nation upon the individual, balance between actions of the moment and the national welfare of the future — these, said Eisenhower, should take precedence over the power of the few.
When the world leaders meet yearly for the Economic Forum in Davos in pursuit of cooperation and globalization, we can applaud the goals, but we must caution our leaders against trading individual freedoms for those ambitions, which can create heaven for one and hell for another.
With hopes for a freer world, Rabbi Gadi Capela
“Fifty Shades of Light”
Recently, I was privileged to be invited to the 11th annual Congressional bipartisan Hanukkah celebration at the Library of Congress. I met our Congressman, Lee Zeldin, and Congresswoman Debbie Wasserman Schultz, who mutually hosted. I also met again a colleague and a Jewish Theological Seminary graduate, Chaplain (Col.) Rabbi Larry Bazar, who gave the benediction. When I arrived, the senators were discussing the impeachment deliberations, this celebration, and the lighting of the Chanukia celebration at the White House. This was a reminder of the necessity to take a break from the festival of darkness and celebrate the Festival of Lights. As the people came into the room, they looked at each other somewhat “suspectfully” in an effort to ascertain each one’s political affiliation. It reminded me of a wedding, where guests were on the side of either the bride or the groom. But conversations immediately arose, vibrant and friendly, even in this contentious time. This is the beauty. The Torah commands us never to keep our anger or even our hate buried in our hearts: “You must not harbor hatred against your brother in your heart. Directly rebuke your neighbor, so that you will not experience guilt on account of him. (Lev. 19:17) In the shortest days of the year, we also read about the darkest text in the Torah — the selling of Joseph by his brothers. This was a culmination of a process that began with envy and jealousy and the inability to speak to him. Keeping anger and hate inside resulted in throwing Joseph into a dark pit. Our rabbis teach us that keeping our anger buried is equivalent to keeping Joseph in the pit, in the dark. Hanukkah is a celebration of outward light, publicizing the miracle. Perhaps when we say, “Blessed are You, the Lord our God, King of the universe, Who made miracles for our forefathers, in those days at this season,” we as Jews come together in the darkest hours and overcome our differences. While the ancient Greeks enlightened the world with art, philosophy and science, it was reserved for the intellectual realms. But for Jews, the heart is indispensable to our world view. Jews have always been battling to maintain the spiritual light within any oppressive environment. Even for a minute, the bipartisan Hanukkah celebration brought Joseph out of the pit.
In a time when it seems as though anti-Semitism is rampant, keeping the conversation going is essential. It may not be a total solution to anti-Semitism, but I believe that it can influence the greater conversation by example. The Jewish people have survived physical, spiritual, mental, and religious persecution; we must advance this message of continuous conversation — to have faith in a God we can’t see, but who speaks to us all the time. The menorah, one of the most Jewish and outward symbols, of our faith, represents our community, our identity, and our continuity. The battle of Hanukkah protected monotheism in the world, not just for Jews. John Adams, the second U.S. President (1735-1826), wrote to those who look down on Judaism: “Let the wits joke; the philosophers sneer! What then? It has pleased the provident that Abraham should give religion, not only to the Hebrews, but to the greatest part of the modern civilized world.” Mark Twain (1835-1910) wrote “[The Jew] has made a marvelous fight in this world in all ages; and has done it with his hands tied behind him… All things are mortal but the Jew; all other forces pass, but he remains. What is the secret of his immortality?” The answer is light in the home — Ner Ish uVeito — each home and its light. In the beginning of 2020, let’s try to see one another clearly, and to appreciate our different shades of light. Happy New Year 2020!
—Rabbi Gadi Capela
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