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A Kol Korei from The Moetzes Gedolei HaTorah of America
In this crucial time for Klal Yisroel, the Moetzes Gedolei Hatorah has issued a call regarding our duty to participate in the democratic process. As the Moetzes statement below explains, participating in the election process is not merely a civic responsibility, but a profound expression of our commitment to the well-being of our fellow Jews wherever they reside.
May our collective efforts be mekadeish Sheim Shomayim and bring about bracha and hatzlocho to Klal Yisroel.
[Free Translation]
The third day of the parsha of "Vera'u kol amei ha'aretz ki Sheim Hashem nikra alecha" - Ki Savo 5784.
The chachomim and gedolei hador of previous generations have already taught us that every Jew should participate in and vote in the elections in the United States, a land of kindness of which, by Hashem's mercy, we have been blessed to be among its residents, until Moshiach comes and we ascend to Eretz Yisroel with joy.
Maran HaRav Berel Povarsky shlita went to Yerushalaim during Chol Hamoed Succos, to visit the Kosel and several prominent Torah leaders. Among these stops was the home of HaRav Ohev Tzion, rosh kollel of Derech Emunah and of Ayeles Hashachar. HaRav Ohev Tzion and the avreichim of his kollelim made a siyum on Shas in honor of the first yahrtzeit of the mother of HaRav Ohev Tzion.
Maran spoke after the siyum, mentioning the words of Medrash Rabba at the beginning of Parshas Terumah on the words "And they shall take to Me an offering..."
This is likened to a king who had an only daughter and said: 'Wherever you go, prepare a small place for me to stay because I cannot part from my daughter.' This, in effect, is what Hashem said to Israel: 'I have given you the Torah. I cannot part with it nor can I tell you not to take it. Rather, wherever you go, make a dwelling for Me to reside in, as is written, 'And they shall make for Me a sanctuary.'"
In an address which the Mashgiach HaRav Yeruchom gave in Yeshivas Mir on the day following Yom Kippur, he demanded of the students: "The pinnacle of Yom Kippur is on the day after. What have we accomplished on Yom Kippur? Nothing. All we did was to promise 'to pay up.' But we didn't even come with a penny worth. This is why we must make good our promises, to pay, to toil throughout the year to fulfill our commitments. Only in this manner can we justify Hashem's reliance on our promises."
We presented these words before the present Mashgiach of Yeshivas Mir, HaRav Binyomin Finkel, asking,
What indeed is our obligation in these days following the spiritual elevation of those sanctified days we have experienced?
Why is our language so imprecise and vague? What is the source of the thinking of those sectors of the Israeli public that believe that they can coerce the draft upon the Torah students? Have not the leaders who have shepherded the community of the devotees to the word of Hashem for these past many days and years very unmistakably and ultimately clarified that those who study Torah in purity shall continue to persevere to delve in Torah with unqualified self-sacrifice, and that no law or statute in the world can cause them to waver from their study?
If the State of Israel seeks to starve our children, we will find some way to contend with this decree. And if it wants to hold up budgets, as it is already doing at the present, Torah will continue to flourish, no matter what!
Torah study without any foreign admixture is the very foundation of the preservation of the Jewish people. We have said this all along and will continue to declare it today and in every place, upon every occasion, to whomever wants to listen. There is no possible way in the entire Torah world where anyone would compromise upon this because it is the very core of our existence.
Even more — it is the very foundation of our national soul. We are surely pained, like everyone, over the deaths of soldiers, among whom are so many mitzvah-observant, as those fighters from the reserves left everything behind in order to go forth and serve on the battlefield. Many of them left behind, oh so many orphans, one, in fact, ten bereaved orphans, another eight orphans and so on for so many others. The pain is terrible, the sorrow unbearable. But the Jewish truth is immutable in spite of it, no matter what or how.
Part 1
This was originally published in 2006.
The tragic episode of the collapse of the greatest aliya until modern times — that of Rav Yehuda HaChossid and his followers — stemmed from one of the noblest visions of a selfless man. Rav Yehuda of Shidlitz, Poland, labored to become a vessel worthy of Hashem's light, living a life of self-abnegation and devote Torah study. At about the age of sixty he decided that the only place where a Jew could truly perfect himself was in Eretz Yisroel, and began planning to ascend to the Holy City.
For Part II of this series click here.
A Legend in His own Time
Wednesday, the first of Cheshvan, 1700 (5461), was a historic day for the small Jewish community of Yerushalaim. Everyone went out of the city gates to greet the arriving European rav and his thousand plus followers. There had not been such a massive aliya in thousands of years! (The only resemblance to an aliya on this scale was the 13th century arrival of three hundred baalei Tosafos in Israel.)
Rav Yehuda HaChossid was a great talmid chochom and a charismatic figure. Wherever he went and spoke, he captivated his audience by the depth of his genuineness. He spoke from the heart to the heart. His theme was direct: we must all repent and cleanse ourselves, we are G-d's chosen people and should take on the holy tasks which we were created for. The time of the redemption, he taught, is dependent on our rising to the occasion and dedicating our lives to the ultimate cause. We must go to Yerushalaim, he told the people, and there Hashem will fulfill the words of His prophets.
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The new zman is about to begin for yeshiva students - for everyone, for that matter. It is a moment of leave- taking from home. For some, for those who are first leaving behind their warm home, the transition to yeshiva is to leave behind their childhood as they go forth to "exile themselves to a place of Torah" in their respective dormitories.
It is difficult for the young boys, but also for the parents as well. It has been so ever since we became a nation, from the time that our ancestors immersed themselves in Torah study. We find this already by Yaakov Ovinu, who left his parents' home to study for fourteen years in Yeshivas Sheim.
In the pre-Holocaust times, a widespread phenomenon was of `essen teg - eating `days,' whereby yeshiva students were assigned families which they would join for designated meals during the course of the week.
This was very difficult for the young students. They had to overcome their natural shyness and reticence, and many were the times when their natural reluctance overcame their physical need and they would prefer to remain without that `chessed bread.'
In present times too, leaving one's home requires a great deal of personal courage and stamina. The difficulties are sometimes veiled and buried inside, but they exist, nonetheless.
It is important for our tender young boys to know that they are not alone: they are an integral part of a chain of generations of mesirus nefesh to keep the Torah. And according to the difficulty - commensurate is the reward.
We have gathered a few stories which exemplify and illustrate the difficulties of days gone by.
IN-DEPTH FEATURES
I'm sitting in my kitchen, in my third-floor apartment, drinking my coffee. The wind outside is howling, trying to break through the window. We need to insulate better I tell myself, and proceed to check the condition of the window.
While I'm standing really close to the window I hear a car announcing a funeral by loudspeaker.
I open the window a smidgen, just enough to hear who was deceased but not enough to allow the cold to enter my heated house. When the loudspeaker approaches my house, I hear the announcement, "The boy's funeral . . . "
A little boy is no longer alive. He must have been a gift to his parents and they probably loved him and cared for him dearly. Who's able to understand the meaning of a child to his parents as well as I can? I waited fourteen long years until my eldest was born; I waited fourteen years for my dear, precious Chaim'ke.
I think of the boy's parents, of his family, his brothers and sisters, his friends in school. What a tragedy! A boy. A pure soul.
I hear the loudspeaker repeat the announcement. When I catch the name of the deceased boy - Moshe ben HaRav Shlomo Yudelevitz - I cease to feel the biting wind coming through the open window.
I grab hold of the window to stop myself from falling. I feel my head spinning and my heart beating rapidly. Moishele! I know him!
Know him? How can you say that you know a boy that you've only met a few times in your life?
But how can you not say that you know a boy who turned your life around, who cared about you and renewed your faith in man?
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