The morning after...

Tonight is the World Cup final at Soccer City, just a few miles away from here. We can already hear the sirens of VIP motorcades heading out of Sandton. Choppers are circling overhead and the ubiquitous vuvuzelas blast away on the streets. Once again, you can feel electricity in the air as South Africa gears up for the climax of a spectacular month. As Holland and Spain warm up to face off in the ultimate soccer meet, there is another group of people who faces an even greater challenge than the finalist teams.

We have floated on a cloud for weeks and now this spectacular time is about to end. Tomorrow's Monday morning blues will likely saturate the whole nation. Pick 'n Pay tellers and Eskom phone operators will resume their deadpan, slow-mo service. Window-washers will harass you at intersections and taxi drivers will cut you off on your way to work with nary a cop in sight to stop them. Whities will become cynical again. The great hangover sets in tomorrow. 

Or not.

Anticipation, celebration and the inevitable letdown that follows are not unique to the World Cup. I remember the day that I graduated high school; how my friends and I had so looked forward to that great celebration of freedom, and how the day had turned out to be unusually ordinary.  Weddings, births, graduations- life is full of wonderful moments to look forward to and enjoy, before they slip by. 

Life is actually not about the wonderful moments. It's after the excitement dies down that life truly begins. 

Yesterday we read the twin Torah portions Matos-Massei, which teach us how to deal with the "morning after" syndrome. 

Matos means staffs or tribes (the singular being "mateh") and Massei means journeys. The synonym for "mateh" is "shevet" (which also means both rod and tribe). The difference between a shevet and a mateh is that, while both are branches that have been cut from a tree, the former is still moist, fresh and flexible, while the latter has dried out and hardened. A shevet is inspired, whereas a mateh has lost its excitement. 

We all have our brief shevet moments and "real-life" mateh periods. 

A shevet still has its freshness and inspiration, but a mateh has strength and resilience. And that’s exactly the point. Inspiration is wonderful- while it lasts. It is not the stuff of achievement.

By linking the twin portions of Matos-Massei, the Torah illustrates a critical lesson about life: You will always feel better when you are inspired, but you will achieve more when you are resilient. Matos, determination- not excitement- produces Massei, journeys, movement and true progress.

South Africans could tomorrow make the all-too-natural mistake of cleaning up the party mess and moving on. Or we could learn the recurring lesson that good times are there to open our eyes to life’s opportunities. And then it’s up to us to realize those opportunities.

We are blessed. We have hosted and impressed the world. We have tasted national pride and national unity. Tomorrow is not the day to reminisce on how good the last month has been. It is the first day of working to grow the goodwill, spirit and positivism that our country forgot it had.

Lessons from the World Cup part IX: "The winning team"

All too quickly, it’s almost over. The World Cup hype has stoked our country for almost a month, and hopefully the positive vibe will continue beyond next Sunday night. We’ve seen some of soccer’s greatest names disappoint and some dark horses make good. Now it’s time for the best teams of the tournament to face off at Soccer City on Sunday night. 


The sangomas and psychic octopus are working hard to predict who will walk away with the trophy, while the bookies put Holland ahead of Spain to win. Either way, history will be made. Netherlands has never won a World Cup and Spain has never made it to the finals. 


So, what does it take to be a winner? 


Casino ads often carry the disclaimer that “winners know when to stop”,but it’s the other way round in competitive sports. Your biggest mistake in a contest of this magnitude is to stop or even slow anytime before the final whistle. Even if your team has one goal up on your opposition, you should still push for another goal- and then another. Watch the pros play and you’ll see they don’t relax when they take the lead, they keep pushing.


In business, too, winners don’t slow when business is good, they power on harder. Regardless of how spectacular profits may be, a successful businessman will strive for even more. Winning artists keep honing their skills, top musicians practice and practice and scientists consistently push the envelope of research and innovation.


As one of my high school teachers was fond of saying: “Keep on truckin’!”


Everyone accepts the winner’s attitude to sport or business, but we often overlook this approach in the core areas of life. A few years into our marriages, we are likely to feel comfortable, maybe complacent. We tend to get by with giving our children just enough attention and love, but nothing that ejects us from our comfort zone. We hardly tackle our Judaism with winner’s enthusiasm.


This week we’ll read the Torah portion called “Masei”, meaning “journeys”. Note, the name is “journeys”, in the plural. Judaism is about constantly progressing; always improving. As soon as you plateau, you are not living as a Jew should. 


Judaism is built on the winner’s attitude. Make sure you don’t take second place.

Lessons from the World Cup part VIII: "There's no I in team"

As the World Cup tournament progressed, we saw team after team leave the field. We saw  some of the hottest teams unceremoniously dismissed. France is seething at their team that fell apart, English fans want to know why their players are paid so much (they didn't even make the quarter-finals) and South America's giants bowed out early.


In the build-up to the games, people ogled over Rooney, Ronaldo, Kaka and Messi. None of them will play in the final game on Sunday. Having a celebrity sportsman on your team doesn't guarantee success, because one man cannot win a soccer game. It's a team effort, where everyone has to play in harmony or everyone goes down. It's those teams who have played as a cohesive unit who have made it to the finish line, not those that boasted the fanciest names of football.


Judaism is team effort. You can't connect to G-d on your own; you need to join a team. You can't rely on a professional Jew (your rabbi) to look after your spiritual needs. No matter how good your rabbi is, one man can't win the game. For that matter, you can't expect your child's school to insure his child's spiritual wellbeing. Sure, you send your youngster to an excellent school, but his teachers need you on the team to ensure that he turns out a success.

Lessons from the World Cup part VII: "Spectators"

Watching soccer is interesting. Watching people watch soccer is more interesting. At times they sit on the edge of their seats, beer suspended pre-swig in midair, breath held. They chorus in collective groans at the near-misses and yelps of "Yes! Yes!" when their team scores. It's understandable. Your adrenalin pumps as the excitement on the field rises. 


What I don't get is when people shout instructions to the players. I understand that technology has come a long way from the old flickering TV screens and you can now watch the game in HD or even 3D. I didn't know that the new-fangled sets allow the players to hear you.


Ok, we all know they can't hear you. We all know that fans play the game vicariously through the footballers they watch. But, seriously, why the screaming?


It gets more extreme than that. 


When we realized that we would battle for a Mincha-Maariv minyan on the evening of the South Africa- France game, I arranged for the guys to watch the game together at someone's house and we'd daven Mincha during half-time (I can be pragmatic, sometimes). 


Mincha took a little longer than expected and the guys got back to the game a few minutes into the second-half. Nothing serious had happened in the first few minutes of play, so everyone should have been happy. What nobody noticed was that one of the guys had slipped into the room ahead of the pack and PVR'ed the game back to the beginning of the second half. When the others found out, a raucous debate ensued: Some wanted to watch every minute of the action, while the others argued that there would be no point in watching a live game if they were not going to watch it live. 


In life, there are times when you are the player and times when you're only a spectator. When you're the player- when you can do something about a situation- play with everything you've got. When you're a spectator- when things happen that are beyond your control- don't scream and shout, because it won't help. Don't try control what you can't control and don't live in the past, because the live game will pass you by.


Some people live life as players. They get things done. Others are spectators. They make no meaningful contribution, but have plenty of advice for everyone else. If you find yourself feeling critical of everyone else, it may be a symptom that you're living as a spectator. When that happens, get up and do something proactive.

Lessons from the World Cup: Audio link

Lessons from the World Cup part VI: "Keep your eye on the ball"

I'm not a soccer aficionado, nor do I follow professional sport, but having the world's largest sporting event in my backyard this month has piqued my interest in soccer.  


One lesson from the beautiful game that seems pretty obvious is that a player must keep his eye on the ball. During the game, it's all action. No player can afford the luxury in mid-play to stop and check the score or ball-possession stats. 


Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai was a leading Talmudic sage. As he lay dying, his students gathered at his bedside, the great man reflected on his 120 years. 


"I don't know which way they will take me, to Heaven or to purgatory," he commented. 


Here was a man who had dedicated his every breathing moment to G-d. He had studied every aspect of Torah, had taught hundreds of the greatest Jewish scholars and had single-handedly ensured the survival of Judaism in the face of the Roman destruction of Jerusalem. And he didn't know where he was headed in the next world?


Rabbi Yochanan had spent his whole life working, with his eye on the ball, and had never stopped to ruminate over what his scoreboard looked like. Rabbi Yochanan's wanted to teach his students (and us) that life is all about playing the game, not worrying about how good we look while on the field.

Lessons from the World Cup part V: "Encouragement"

Bafana Bafana, South Africa's national team, was ranked 83rd in the world soccer-rankings. France, their final opponent in the opening round, was ranked 6th. By that game, every South African knew their team stood almost no chance of making it into round two. All they wished for was that they should go out winning a game. But, the odds were steeply stacked against an SA victory.


Our opening game appearance wasn't too promising either. Mexico is a strong team and we genuinely feared that we'd make history as the first World Cup host nation to lose an opening match.


The South Africans only had one thing going for them: Spirit. Lots of it. South Africans exuded more positive energy in the opening day of the 2010 World Cup than in recorded history. I sat in traffic for two-and-a-half hours, creeping along to collect my kids from school on that Friday. Joburg had never witnessed so much traffic. Thousands of motorists rushing home to catch the game crawled alongside busloads of fans, all blocked every few minutes by motorcades whisking dignitaries along (Joe Biden's passed me on the road). There were concerns that the South African team would arrive late at the game due to the congestion. 


It was chaos. 


And everybody loved it. 


Poeple waved, sang, blew vuvuzelas and danced in the street. Everyone smiled. When the team bus eventually snaked from its hotel towards the stadium, the crowds went wild. When they entered the stadium, the crowds went wild. Eleven men, who weren't really cut out to take the international stage, walked onto the field as heroes. And they played beyond expectation. 


SA drew with Mexico. In fact, a South African player scored the opening game of the tournament (and boy, did the crowds go mad! It was already Shabbos when he scored, but we knew all about it from the roaring vuvuzelas.) Uruguay outdid the South Africans, but the home team managed to beat the French- achieving the impossible.


Ok, so we didn't make it to the second round. But, we learned a great lesson in positive energy and how much you can do for someone with a little encouragement.

Lessons from the World Cup part IV: "Eleven men"

What do a soccer team and a minyan have in common? Not much, I hear you say (although players do occasionally pray on the field). 

Ten men make a minyan, eleven a soccer side. (Admittedly eleven men make the minyan more pleasant, because then one can use the bathroom without stopping play).  On the face of it, there's no meaningful link between the Jewish prayer quorum and a traditional football squad. 


Besides, ten is a big number in Judaism. G-d used ten utterances to create the World, Judaism is based on the Ten Commandments and Ten Sefirot or Divine energies form the framework of Creation.

Eleven is, apparently, insignificant. 

On closer inspection, eleven connotes an interesting spiritual mystery. One of the most sacred rites of the ancient Jewish Temple in Jerusalem was the ketoret incense. Ketoret was the only offering ever brought into the holiest inner sanctum of the Temple. Unlike the other offerings that were essentially food, the ketoret was a fragrance. Smell is the sense that the mystics associate most strongly with the soul, so this incense is considered especially spiritual. When a plague threatened hundreds of thousands of lives in the desert, Moses sent his brother out with the Ketoret to stop the dying. Ketoret is powerful stuff.

The recipe for the Ketoret spice calls for eleven ingredients. 

Remember, ten is the number of holiness. It is considered a whole, or perfect number. Ten represents the organised system of life in balance. A system made of eleven elements seems to carry something tagged on to an otherwise complete system. Kabbalah calls it the number of the unholy. 

"Holiness" means harmony between Creator and creation. It is the symbiotic relationship between our Maker and us. "Unholiness" implies a disconnect, where a person feels detached from the source of his own life. Such an individual sees his life as a complete entity and G-d as distant "great uncle", who occasionally drops by with an inappropriate gift. To be "unholy" is to live an eleven-part life, ten parts of integrated self that live tenuously linked to a remote power source called G-d. It is to breathe each day and forget the value of oxygen.


To combat the negative "eleven", you need to invoke a healthy "eleven". Either way you look at it, eleven expresses a deviation from the wholesome system represented by ten. A corrupt "eleven" means that someone has detached from G-d. A positive "eleven" means that someone has transcended the normal ten-point system and now operates with super-rational dedication to G-d. The ketoret was that "holy" eleven, an offering strong enough to stop death itself in its tracks.


In 1980, the Lubavitcher Rebbe shared a valuable life's lesson that we could all learn from soccer. He compared the ball to the Earth and the goal-posts to the gateway to G-d. We have been put on this Earth with a mission, to get the world through the "king's" gateway and into G-d's palace. Achieving our goals has its challenges, most notably the negative forces (the corrupt "eleven") that block our spiritual progress. Often, the other side appears to be more powerful than we are, and we may feel we're not up to the task. It's at those times that we need to recall that G-d empowers us with our own "eleven", the supernatural wherewithal that ensures we will win the game.

Lessons from the World Cup part III: "Team colours"

For the past couple of months, hundreds of thousands of South Africans have worn Bafana Bafana shirts to work ea ch Friday to show support for the national side.  In Sandton City on Sunday, we passed waves of green-shirted Mexican fans eyeballing blue-and-white clad Argentinian supporters ahead of their respective countries' clash later that evening. We've seen proud Brazilians in yellow and green, Dutch fans in orange, Portuguese with red-green-yellow wigs and Spaniards in yellow and red face-paint. Wherever you go in Johannesburg, you can tell where in the world the tourists are from.


Even after their teams have crashed out of the game, fans wear their colours proudly.


As Jews, we should wear our team colours- the dress-code that shows everyone who we are- with pride. Get your yarmi and tzitzit on, so that the world will know who you support.

Lessons from the World Cup part II: "Rules of the Game"

When FIFA comes to town, they sorta take over. Locals here joke that we're living in the "Republic of FIFA" during this month of the soccer World Cup. The football federation insists on strict control over ticket sales, marketing, merchandising and more around the tournament. They take a zero-tolerance attitude and have established special "World Cup" courts that sentence offenders with lightning speed (something we're not used to in SA). 


This fixation with rules and compliance got me thinking. Imagine what would happen if a group of concerned individuals approached FIFA with the following:


"A professional soccer player will header the ball regularly during his career. Preliminary studies show that the force of the ball hitting a player repeatedly on his head may cause brain damage. We propose changing the rules of the game to allow players to use their hands to deflect the ball, rather than butting the ball with their heads. We are confident that the game will remain as exciting as always, and the players won't harm their health."


It's unlikely that FIFA deign to respond to such a suggestion. If they did reply, they'd probably say something like this:


"Thank you for your concern. Soccer is a game where the players traditionally use their feet, chest and heads to control the ball. A player may not use his hands during the game (with the exception of the goalie, of course). If you wish to play a sport where you control the ball with your hands, we recommend that you join a Volleyball league. Or, should you wish to invent a new game where players may use their hands instead of their heads to control the ball, go ahead. Just ensure that you don't call such a game soccer, because it is not soccer."


FIFA would have no qualms about telling us that soccer follows age-old, non-negotiable traditions. 


Judaism's traditions are older (and more meaningful) than soccer's. Well-meaning people sometimes try to change the rules of Judaism to suit modern needs. To them we say, "If you want to invent a new religious protocol, be our guests. Just don't call it Judaism, because Judaism played by a new set of rules is simply not Judaism."

Lessons from the World Cup part I- "It's never gonna happen"

South Africa is one big party these days. I had to complain to the electricity company the other day, and the operator was unusually effervescent and couldn't help chatting about the soccer while he was processing my complaint. Wherever you go- the malls, on the street, the airport- people smile, joke and toot their vuvuzelas. Even the notoriously aggressive taxi drivers are jubilant. People use expressions like "rebirth of our country" and "crossing the racial divide". It is nothing short of miraculous.

Upon reflection, few people were optimistic about SA's readiness to host the World Cup. Cynics sneered that we'd never have the stadiums, roads or hotels ready in time (striking builders almost proved them right). Doomsayers predicted that our disorganised airports, lack of public transport and crime-epidemic would surely scare off potential tourists. Table talk was peppered with dire predictions against a chorus of "it's never gonna happen". Everyone "knew" about FIFA's backup plan to move the tournament to Oz when Africa would fluff its first shot at hosting this spectacular sporting fest.

South Africa defied the skeptics. 

As H-hour approached, the stadiums took shape, roadworks wrapped up, hotels installed furniture as they laid paving and even the Guatrain came online. We tentatively allowed ourselves to hope- maybe we could pull this thing off after all. Still, the doubts persisted, clouding our optimism. We've been let down as a nation so many times that we battle to be positive. We've missed a good number of opportunities in the past, how could we be sure we wouldn't wreck this one too?

All that changed in an instant. Doubt evaporated in an explosion of sound and colour at 12p.m. on Wednesday, 9th June. Hundreds of thousands of black and white South Africans united in Sandton, Soweto and Cape Town to show support for their B-rated national soccer side. People danced in the streets, vuvuzela'd and toyi-toyed, grinned and embraced. Our impossible moment had arrived, sparking an unstoppable celebration that still continues.

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It's been over 2000 years that we Jews have been waiting for our "Impossible moment", for the better world that our prophets and sages promised. But, we're skeptical. It's been so long and we've been let down so many times. We "know" that life will plod along, blighted with antisemitism and a growing Jewish apathy. Moshiach would never actually come. 

World Cup 2010 reminded me that everything can go right in a nanosecond. It showed how it's human nature to doubt that change will come, even when the signs are there. Watching my neighbourhood erupt into exuberance was a foretaste of that wonderful moment that will come out of the blue and transform all of us in a flash from uncertainty to unbridled joy. May it come very soon!

Life's too easy

They urged, cajoled and warned us not to miss the once-in-a-lifetime chance to watch South Africa play in the Soccer World Cup, but I did. Even having our Mincha minyan at halftime didn’t get me there in time to see our two historic goals. South Africa charged onto the field, fired by a burning urge to score and, within 20 minutes tore through Le Bleu’s defence, throwing our country into delirious euphoria. The next miracle came quickly, seventeen minutes later, as team SA plowed on at full throttle. Unbelievably, it began to look like we would win this game and maybe, just maybe, we would even make it through to the next round. But the wind was out of our sails by the second half, we lost our burning drive and faltered on the field, conceding a goal and our chance to move on to the next round. 


Between the shouting through the screen (I’m sure the players can’t hear your instructions, but you all scream anyway), someone made a profound observation: If not for the half-time break, Bafana would most likely have kept up their winning streak. Something happened inside that dressing room. Our guys had the chance to stop and reflect on the state of the game. They had time to realise that they were doing well. They faced the danger of becoming complacent.


Today, the 12th of Tammuz, commemorates the day that the Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe was miraculously released from Soviet prison after having being indicted on the capital offence of crimes against Stalin’s Motherland (his “crime” was strengthening Judaism in that country), To live as a Jew under the Communists was dangerous at best, yet thousands of Jews rose to the occasion and kept the flame of Yiddishkeit alive under the most challenging circumstances. If you were Jewish in Stalin’s prison-State, you knew that if you didn’t fight hard to keep your family Jewish, your Jewish line would die with you.


Ironically, when those hard-nosed Russian refuseniks eventually reached the safety of Israel or the United States, many of them became secular. They quickly exchanged the Judaism that they had fought so hard to maintain in the U.S.S.R. for the easy life of the U.S.A.


We’re living through the second half of Judaism’s campaign for survival in the 20th and 21st centuries. During the first half, our zaides and bobbas fought for Jewish values with the urgency of people who knew their lives depended upon it. 


We are their priveleged grandchildren who don’t face the crisis of survival against overwhelming hatred. Our challenge is to keep pushing as hard as they did, even as we feel comfortable with our position. We’d better not do a Bafana in G-d’s grand game of making our world a holy place.a

We don't do religion

Wayne Rooney was cut off mid-interview yesterday, while discussing his faith. The English striker began explaining why he wears a cross and rosary beads, when Mark Whittle, head of media relations for the English Football Association, stopped him. “We don’t do religion”, the official declared.


Well, Mr. Whittle, I beg to differ. Besides all those players who praise G-d after scoring a goal, soccer is a religion in itself. 


You soccer people live by a strict and demanding code. Itumuleng Khune ( for the soccer-challenged, that’s Bafana’s goalie) can tell you what happens to someone who breaks one of those laws- even if it’s in the heat of the moment. 


Then there’s your dress code. Players (are they the priests in the temple of foot ball?) must wear the right uniforms, and all self-respecting supporters dress pretty much the same as they flaunt their team’s colours at games. 


Professional matches must be played at official stadiums. You could play six-a-side at your local school field, but it won’t have a fraction of the appeal of a pro-match and it certainly won’t attract global attention. 


Kick off at a game can’t be late and play may not stretch on longer than the legally allocated time. Fans know that they need to be there when the whistle blows or they will miss the action.


So, Mr. Whittle, you guys do religion. Big time. 


In fact, our religion could learn a thing or two from the beautiful game. We could learn to wear our Jewish uniforms with pride- even should our team lose a game. We could learn to appreciate that the game of life cannot work without a clear, unbending set of rules. Soccer’s pilgrims should inspire us to get together at our spiritual stadiums, because playing alone at home doesn’t grab  G-d’s attention in the same way the “real game” at shul does. We also need to learn that the team that plays better on the day, wins. Plus, we can learn how to focus on the next shot- not the scoreboard- while on the field. And we can appreciate that every move we make on the field carries a consequence for when the game is over. Lastly, we need to learn to be enthusiastic about the game we’re playing.


When we will live our religion as the soccer stars live theirs. the whole world will win gold.

This oil is slick

Volcanic ash dissipates quicker than crude oil. Well, at least that's what authorities in the U.S. are learning this week. We were all so busy gaping at the European air-travel shut-down that we missed the “minor” explosion on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. Well, now Heathrow is operational and the oil spill is no longer so minor.

The facts are staggering. Almost 800 000 litres of oil spews daily from the burst well into the ocean. Coast Guard planes have already dumped over 500 000 litres of chemicals onto the spill, which can't be great for the environment either. And the gooey slick has already overwhelmed two wildlife refuges on uninhabited islands as it threatens hundreds of species of marine and bird life in the area. Experts propose that massive oil globules could contaminate entire food chains beneath the surface. Special boats scoot out each morning to try suck oil off the sea or simply set sections of the dark liquid alight. BP is scurrying to drop a massive concrete/steel box over the burst oil-well to contain the flow. U.S. Homeland Security admitted this week that they will be dealing with a “long-term” disaster.

Basically, it's clear that oil doesn't go away easily.

Torah is called water. You need water to survive, but it’s unlikely you'll drink it for its taste. Knowing what you need to do as a Jew will keep you on the right path, but may not inspire you. Our Sages suggest adding some wine to your diet. Wine is a pleasure-drink. You can survive without it, but it makes life more enjoyable. Learning the why’s behind the what’s of Judaism helps bring your Judaism to life. (Ta’am is the Hebrew world for both reason and flavour, implying that understanding the reasons behind what you know makes it more palatable.)

Mysticism is called the oil of Torah. You shouldn’t swig oil straight from the bottle, but it does wonders for a salad and is useful to cook and fry with. Jewish mysticism on an “empty stomach” (or mind) might make you ill, but added to the Judaism you already know, it creates a paradigm shift.

More importantly, once you get that “oil” into your system, it’s unlikely you’ll ever get it out. Once you’ve tasted the inspiration of Jewish spiritual teachings, most notably Chassidus, Judaism will seep into your mind and heart. BP drillers unleashed a powerful jet of pollution that they are struggling to control. Imagine if you could unleash an equally powerful stream from your soul? Study Chassidus on a regular basis and your Judaism will gush to life.

Everybody loves a parade

You could see frost on the grass when we gathered at Yeoville Park thirty years ago. I wasn’t sure if I was shivering from excitement or simply from the cold. Luckily, they handed out wooly hats to keep us warm. They also distributed slogan-bearing placards for us to carry into the streets. Now that I think about it, I was a little young to join public action. A TV news crew covered the proceedings (we were later featured on the 8pm news) as journalists fanned out to interview members of the crowd. This was South Africa’s first ever Lag B’omer parade.

I remember the mayor speaking (not that I recall any of what he said) and the military marching band striking a high note. Kilted bagpipe players meandered between the floats that depicted Shabbos, kosher and “flying high” with Mitzvos (that full-scale model plane stood for months after at my friend’s house, and we’d hop into the “cockpit”, spin the propellor and “fly off” to imaginary destinations).

Parades are exhilirating. New Yorkers crowd Manhattan’s streets for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and thousands flock each year to Rio’s Mardi Gras. Yesterday, Cape Town hosted a different parade as our national security forces flexed their muscle ahead of the Soccer World Cup. A more chilling parade is Ahmadinejad’s annual “Army Day” military hardware display.

Lag B’omer parades are decidedly unique. Decades ago, the Rebbe launched Lag B’omer parades as a way of uniting Jewish children and encouraging greater Jewish involvement.

The earliest Lag B’omer parade must date back over two centuries earlier. The Ba’al Shem Tov, as a young man, would travel incognito to various shtetls to uplift the spirits of the Jewish community and encourage Jewish observance. He once visited a village just as a marauding gang of peasants arrived to loot and terrorise its citizens. All the Jews fled to caves in the neighbouring hills to wait out the storm. On Lag B’omer morning- much to the terror of their parents-the Baal Shem Tov gathered all the children to parade in honour of the special day. They sang and he offered them treats. As soon as they finished, the looters ran in panic from the village, leaving the goods they had planned to steal.

Nations use parades to show their might. A Lag B’omer parade is more than a simple kiddies fun day, it’s a show of Jewish might. The Rebbe often related the children’s parade to King David’s words in Tehillim: “From the mouths of babes, You have established strength, to neutralise the enemy.” He often emphaiszed that Lag B’omer is an auspicious time to garner Divine protection for our People, it’s a time when our enemies’ plans can be defused through our unity.

As Iran flaunts its strength and the world criticizes our every move, let’s get together and parade our Jewish pride and unity through the streets.

Time to pull together

Flight delays are always frustrating, but tensions must have sky-rocketed in airports around Europe over the last week, thanks to Iceland’s drifting ash-cloud.

Imagine you’ve been away on business, or even a leisure trip. You’re all ready to head home and they cancel your flight. Indefinitely. You had budgeted your stay, and even the contingency cash you have left won’t cover the extra few days accommodation. Besides, all the hotels nearby are now fully booked (you lingered in the airport, hoping they’d open the air to traffic). Europeans airports offer precious little in the way of kosher food, so you start rationing chocolate bars and the two sandwiches you packed for the flight (because they never have the kosher meals that you order). Now, Shabbos is coming and you grimace at the thought of spending it in the airport...

I chatted to a friend in London yesterday. His Chabad House hosted 120 stranded Israelis last Shabbos. A colleague in Denmark could hardly fit all his guests into his home last week. In Marseilles, a Chabad rabbi rounded up the Israelis at the check-in counters to help him distribute biscuits and sandwiches. Dalia Itzik, previous speaker of the Knesset, was one of the grateful recipients of the kosher refreshments.

We Jews are one big family. We complain about each other, criticise each other and sometimes overreact in the way we censure bad behaviour. But, when it comes down to it, we’re all family and we care for each other.

Rabbi Akivah identified one line from this week’s Parsha that he felt encapsulates all of Judaism: “Love your fellow Jew as yourself”.

We shouldn’t need an eruption (volcanic or communal) to test how well we treat each other. The first Rebbe of Chabad taught that extra love to your fellow Jew can never be a mistake. Ideally, it will draw that person closer to you. If not, at least you’ve done the mitzvah of love.

This is the time of the year when we’re meant to think of each other and how we can treat each other better. The Omer period is dedicated to self-improvement and relationship-building. Now is an ideal time to fix a faribel, volunteer to visit a hospital or aged home, or to simply lend a hand to someone you know who’s going through a rough patch (here's something practical to do right now, visit www.justiceforsholom.org/). 

Fresh minds

It was back to school this week amidst sighs of relief from the moms and groans from the kids. From day one, schoolchildren count down to their next vacation. In primary school, they dream of being in high school, where they wish school was over so they could get into varsity, where they will itch for the day to be free of study altogether. 


Many adults feel relieved that their time of hitting the books is over. Sure, you might do an MBA, take a computer course or study sales and marketing strategies, but these are temporary forays into academics in between working the “real” world. As they age, people generally study less. 


Here’s an exception: Akasease Kofi Boakye Yiadom, a Ghanaian World War II veteran, who has just graduated business school at the age of 99. When interviewed by CNN, he explained: “Education has no end. As far as your brain can work alright, your eyes can see alright, and your ears can hear alright, if you go to school you can learn.”


When I was a child, I would attend holiday camps, where the day started with Torah classes. When it was time to move on to our next activities, the staff would announce: “Learning never ends”. For a Jew it dare not end. Yiadom’s inspiration sounds like the script of those camp announcements, or the teaching of our sages in Ethics of the Fathers. Rabbi Tarfon taught: “It’s not your responsibility to complete the task, but you may not shirk your responsibility either”. His message is that you’ll never fully plumb the depths of Torah, but you have to keep delving. 


They call us the People of the Book and we’re supposed to live up to that credo. As Yiadom says, if your brain an eyes still work then you ought to use them. His example- heading back to school at 96- should inspire us. Ok, I know not everyone has time to sit all day and study, but we can all make a plan to exercise our minds regularly. 


The funny thing is that, when you start studying Torah, you quickly start enjoying it. It will take a good push to get yourself to a shiur at first, but you’ll get into the swing of it in no time. Take a step to improve your Jewish education, you will be glad you did. 


Oh, and don’t wait till you’re in your nineties to do it!

Get those bad guys!

We have a strict no-TV policy and discourage our kids from violent and gun-based games. But, boys will be boys and my five year-old has picked up some war-game ideas from his peers. Today, he built a Lego town and crowned himself its defender against the waves of  attacks from numerous imaginary armies. When he proudly updated me on his Vuvuzela-cannon victories, I masked my frustration.


Then he threw me a ray of light, the type that sometimes reassures parents that some of the values they try instill in their kids actually get through. He flashed his impish grin and explained that he had a secret weapon that would guarantee him victory in every battle. His special weapon doesn't kill  the "baddies", it transforms them into "goodies". Who needs to fight a battle when you can just zap your enemy into becoming your friend? Ingenious!


His make-believe "transformer" gun carries a great message. We were put on this Earth to make a difference, to turn the unruly jungle we live in into a tranquil garden. To do that, we need to weed out the negative and plant lots of positive. 


There are two ways to achieve this goal. One is to overwhelm our world with powerful spirituality that forces the negative into hiding. When G-d blasted His message from Mt. Sinai, he blinded evil with His brilliant light and the world became a better place. Unfortunately, when you strong-arm evil out of the way, it goes underground and regroups. Before we even left the foot of Sinai, evil was back with a vengeance and we fell for the Golden Calf. You can win the battle by being stronger than your enemy, but you will fight many more battles along the way.


The second approach is to win your enemies over. When your enemy becomes your friend, you no longer need brute strength to keep safe. Judaism's goal is not to pulverize the body or starve the physical world so that we can grow our spirituality. Our aim is to transform every part of life into an ally for G-d's mission. Our objective is to turn those "baddies" into "goodies". 


My son had another trick up his sleeve: He whispered into my ear that he was actually a  superhero (I held my breath, waiting for the Spiderman routine). "Yes," he proudly explained, "I am Moshiach, and when the bad guys see me they are more scared of me than of anyone else!" 


Yep, I got some nachas today- and a good lesson that Moshiach is all about transforming the world, not beating it into shape.

Pesach takeaways

It strikes me as somewhat ironic to hear people say they’re glad to be free of the Festival of freedom. Granted, the matzah can get a bit much and Pesach is eight days of fantasizing over chocolate cake, but it remains an essentially inspiring time. Rushing from Pesach to the pizza parlour often robs us of the chance to reflect on what the festival of freedom has offered us.


Pesach marks the birth of idealism. Moses had a dream. He ignited the imagination of three million slaves and led them to a new life. Our nationhood exploded into being amidst miracles and Divine revelation- the hallmarks of Pesach. Then reality struck. In short order we went from the magic of supernature to the monotony of wandering a barren desert. Don’t think this is history; it’s life. We have our Pesach moments that fling us headlong towards model behaviour. Soon enough we have our tasteless-Matzah moments, where we wonder why we ever thought those resolutions and principles were a good idea.


As with Aaron’s sons in this week’s Parsha, it’s easy to fly off in pursuit of dreams. His sons were experts at inspiration and failures at application. Hopefully, you had a good seder (the food was good, it didn’t end too late, the kids sang nicely and you felt inspired). After Pesach, our challenge is to anchor the upliftment into real life.


So, straight after this spectacular holiday, we begin to read Pirkei Avos. Every Shabbos afternoon, for the next few weeks, we review a chapter of the teachings of our Sages. Most Talmudic literature focuses on the how-to of Judaism. Pirkei Avos coaches us in being a mentsch, it trains us to refine our character. 


Interestingly, in the opening chapter of Pirkei Avos, we find the Jewish definition of being a mentsch. Shimon the pious offers the first teaching of the book- which is meant to set the tone for whatever character refinement Avos is meant to teach us. He insists that the world stands on three pillars (his implication is that a world on two pillars will topple): Torah, prayer and good deeds. A Jew will be a mentsch with a good mix of study, contact with G-d and good ol’ kindness. 


Whatever Pesach meant to you this year, now is the time to put together an action plan. All you need to do is study something about Judaism each day or at least each week, daven and give a little more charity than you feel you should.

It depends what you're looking for...

You need to have good eyes for Pesach. I'm not talking about having decent eyesight to read the pages of Haggadah-text on the Seder nights (although that is useful), I mean you need sharp eyes to prepare for and enjoy Pesach.


First, you need eagle-eyes for the chametz-search on the night before Pesach. As you search for those ten small pieces of bread, you also seek your own character weaknesses so that you can overcome them. In other words, before Pesach, you look for- and find- problems.


On the next night, at the Pesach Seder, you search again. This time, you look for matzah (the antithesis of bread). Your search is not for just any matzah, but for the elusive afikoman. Beyond the kiddies' treasure hunt, the afikoman represents the hidden essence of your soul that you should constantly strive to reveal. Your soul's own power is unstoppable, if you can only activate it. So, on Pesach night you look for solutions.


These two searches are typical of the opposing attitudes of Pharaoh and Moses, or pre- and post Exodus mentalities. What's common to both is the life-maxim that whatever you look for, you'll find. 


When Moses told Pharaoh to let the Jews go, Pharaoh invented a most creative spectrum of excuses for them to stay put. He warned Moses to be practical and not to spoil his people's employment opportunities, he recommended that the children stay behind to avoid the stress of desert travel and he even warned that the stars bode ill for Moses' people. Pharaoh looked for excuses and he found some really good ones.  Moses looked for opportunity and he saved our nation. 


Pesach reminds us that we will find what we look for in life. Even before Pesach starts, we look for the problems with a view to resolve them. Once Pesach begins, we only look for opportunities and solutions. At Pesachtime, you need to be wary of the sophisticated and apparently well-intentioned views offered by Pharaoh and take encouragement instead from the positive outlook of Moses.


You might come up with watertight excuses for not making spiritual progress. But, then you are Pharaoh's slave. Alternatively, you could look for opportunity and leap into action. Then you follow Moses to free yourself from the shackles of your own self-doubt, called Egypt.

Vote for fairness in the Rubashkin case

Four cups of marriage

Last night's wedding was part one of three pre-Pesach nuptials. Standing in front of the chupa, I noticed that the wedding and Pesach have a few things in common. A Jewish wedding ceremony is an orderly, step-by-step process, much like the 15-step programme of the Pesach Seder (seder means "order"). Both ceremonies are punctuated with wine. On Pesach night, you must drink four cups of wine and the bride and groom each sip wine twice under the wedding canopy, essentially making "four cups" in that process too.

It made me think that the Four Cups offer a good template for successful marriage.

Cup 1: Dedicate
The first cup of the Seder is used to say Kiddush, the traditional prayer that blesses the holiday. Kadesh means "sanctify". Before we start the Pesach process, we declare that will be a holy or spiritual experience.

Marriage also begins with sanctity. The ritual where the groom places a ring on his bride's finger is called "kiddushin", meaning that he consecrates her as his bride.

Step one of a successful marriage is to start off on a holy-footing. A new couple should appreciate that a life built on a sense of higher purpose and solid values has the greatest chance for success.

Cup 2: Communicate
Pesach is all about telling the Exodus story. It's no good to sit quietly and read the history on your own, Pesach is an interactive experience of question and answer, a parent sharing the past with his child. According to the famed kabbalist Rabbi Isaac Luria, Pesach is comprised of two words: Peh sach, the mouth tells. Seder night is all about conversation and communication.

Marriage thrives on intra-couple communication. When you tell our spouse what's on your heart and mind or even when you simply share what happened during your day, you enhance you relationship. Talk to each other and your marriage will blossom.

Cup 3: Appreciate
After reading the Exodus story and enjoying a sumptuous meal, we thank G-d for the food He provides and the miracles He performs.

As a couple settles into the steady rhythm of marriage, they run the risk of taking each other for granted. She cooks each night and he brings home a salary; she gets the kids ready and he maintains the garden. When you notice your spouse's input and show appreciation, you add tremendous value to your relationship. Thank you's go a long way in enhancing marriage, especially when you offer them for those "ordinary" things that "all couples do". Remember also to thank G-d each day that you have someone significant at your side.

Cup 4: Anticipate
We end our Seder and drain the final cup with a wish for a better tomorrow. "Next year in Jerusalem" is the fervent hope of every Jew as our Seder draws to a close.

No matter how wonderful your marriage is, as they say in Yiddish "if good is good, surely better must be better".

Pesach's coming...

Pesach and panic seem cosmically interwoven. I bet the yiddelach of the shtetl were a whole lot calmer about their Pesach prep than their post-modern grandchildren are today. Back then, they cleaned their two or three rooms, kashered their handful of utensils and got to work cleaning chickens, boiling schmaltz and baking Matzah. Today, we moan about the price of macaroons and the shortage of potato chips as we phone-order exaggerated meat and fish deliveries so we can lay out a spread that nobody will finish.

Shtetl dwellers would sometimes buy new shoes, a jacket or a skirt for Yom Tov. Your elter-bobba never dreamed of a new wardrobe for her wedding, let alone for Pesach. You can be sure they didn’t fuss over the Seder decor either (a bunch of spring flowers would have been a treat).

What they did have in their claustrophobic, fire-trap little homes was Yom Tov spirit. Our ancestors had little, yet they shared a lot. Somehow, they always managed to dish up an extra ladle of soup for an unexpected guest. Their guests didn’t sit at place-marked seats and often were neither family nor friends. In all likelihood, your great-zeida would bring home some vagabonds each Seder night.

Pesach is around the corner and our frenzied preparations are hitting fever-pitch. We want to impress our Seder guests, inspire ourselves and leave our children with warm Pesach memories. And there’s nothing wrong with that- Pesach should be uplifting, enjoyable and memorable. To play Pesach right is to feel empowered and liberated at the end of it.

But, if Pesach breeds stress, leaves you on edge or turns into an “outdo the Cohens” exercise, then you have become a slave to Pesach.

Rosh Chodesh was on this past Tuesday. Tuesday is the one time during Creation when G-d said “it is good” twice. The Talmud explains that it was “good for the heavens and good for the people”. Practically, this means that Tuesday represents the balance between personal spiritual bliss and helping others feel good. When Nissan- the month of Pesach- starts on a Tuesday, it reminds us that a real Pesach is as much about helping others feel good as it is about making ourselves feel good.

You may know someone who doesn’t feel good- perhaps they’re battling financially and can’t make a Seder like they used to; maybe they’re alienated from their family and will spend Pesach alone; possibly they’re disinterested in celebrating Pesach in the first place. If you know such a person, involve them. Helping someone else experience and enjoy Pesach- even if it’s challenging to do- makes your Pesach worthwhile.

Always trust your Instruments

We drove up to Bela Bela (formerly Warmbaths) on Tuesday evening to join the South African Shluchim Conference. We dodged the M1 parking lot and snaked along the Old Pretoria Rd. and back on to the N1 Polokwane. Most of the journey was straight forward and our directions indicated we should take the "Settlers" turnoff. Once off the highway, we traveled down a potholed country road, swallowed by the inky night.

We must have driven for twenty minutes without finding the T-junction that our map showed as being five minutes away. Seeing as the "straight-forward" directions were not so straight forward, we pulled out the GPS to guide us. "Turn right" it announced, we veered into a tiny rural suburb (the single-pump petrol station had closed by eight, which wasn't very reassuring). Through the suburb, "turn right", onto a country road "turn right". Our GPS had taken us on the lengthiest U-turn imaginable.

Our map had suggested we were only 30km from our destination, the GPS warned it would take an hour to get there. We began to wonder if the GPS knew what it was doing. A quick vote in the car revealed that we would trust the GPS.

Our headlights lit a narrow section of the endless road as we wondered if the GPS might take us to Botswana. But, we soon drove through the town of Bela Bela and found the gravel road that lead to the lodge we were staying at. We arrived at the precise time the GPS had indicated.

Driving home, we decided to let the GPS guide us out to the highway. Soon enough, we were back in that little town and following the logical path back to the highway. Again, the GPS concocted a convoluted route, which we followed, knowing it would include a "three right turns" stunt. I guess our GPS has spiritual leanings; it took us right past the old kosher butchery, a remnant of Warmbaths' thriving Jewish community. The "slaghuis" has a pig painted on the facade, but stil retains the "Kosher" signs from the old days.

As we neared Pretoria, the traffic thickened again and we were tipped off that there would be major delays. GPS came to the rescue again, suggesting an alternative route that slipped us past the gridlock, through back suburbs and back onto the free-flowing highway.

We often think we know the best routes to take in life- how to make money, what will bring us happiness, how to raise wholesome children. You can easily get lost on the road of life and land up at a destination that looks nothing like where you wanted to be. Pull out your GPS- your G-d positioning system. Hashem knows the routes, the shortcuts and the places of interest that get you home safely. You only need to follow His prompts.

LET'S BE HONEST NOW...

It’s time to debunk some myths. These perceptions are common to most people- you may well have mulled them over yourself- but it’s time to say it like it is: “They’re false!”

MYTH 1: IF HASHEM WOULD... I WOULD

We’re all waiting for that special miracle in our lives. G-d is a nice idea. We understand- in theory- that we should do all those things that He wants us to do. But, if He would just drop in and say “hi”, you know, show us a sign that He’s around and that He cares, then we’d commit to doing whatever He wants. “If I make that deal, I’ll give more charity”; “When my mother recovers, I’ll start keeping Shabbos”. 

History proves that this idyllic theory doesn’t work.

Hashem took the Jews out of Egypt. For 210 years, they had dreamed of living Egypt and I’m sure they uttered their fair share of pledges of what they’d do when the grand day would arrive. They got more than they bargained for- Exodus, splitting the Sea, living off heaven-sent fast food and enjoying climate control in the harsh desert. To top it off, Hashem Himself spoke to them, telling them exactly what he wanted.

It didn’t help. Just weeks after history’s greatest Divine revelation, as they stood there at Sinai, the Jews turned their back on G-d and made a Golden Calf. 

Commitment comes from commitment, not from inspiration.

MYTH 2: YOU’RE ON A LOSING WICKET, YOU MAY AS WELL GIVE UP

We’d all like to be inspired and consistently grow in our Yiddishkeit. You imagine the goals you need to attain in your Judaism and what it will take to achieve them. You set off confidentaly to make the minyan, learn Torah regularly, keep kosher or avoid speaking badly of others. You get off to a flying start,

But, then you oversleep one morning, watch the soccer instead of the shiur, grab a Steers burger on impulse or blurt out some hot gossip. Before you know it, you’ve lost sight of our goals, promises to self and spiritual direction.

That’s understandable. Your biggest mistake would be to say “Oh well”, throw up your hands in despair and go with the flow. 

The Jews messed up terribly when they made the Golden Calf. Rather than despair, they turned 180 degrees, fixed their act, got new Tablets and even brought about a new Yom Tov- Yom Kippur. Bouncing back from failure is more powerful than straight success.

Are we living in the past?

Israel is such a diverse little country that you can choose between a wide range of touring options. You could snorkel in the Red Sea, enjoy Tel Aviv's nightlife and still get your picture taken at the Western Wall. Or, you might jeep through the Negev, hike Masada and float on the Dead Sea. If you're a history buff, you'll love the museums and marvel at the multi-layered archeology buried in Israel's sands.

We chose the religious sites trip, visiting Israel's four holy cities. First stop was Jerusalem's Old City and the Western Wall, or Kotel. Bemused tourists looked on as every shade of Jew came to find solace, connection or inspiration at this ancient Wall.

I've always had a bittersweet relationship with the Kotel. I stand there in awe of our holiest site, the portal to G-d. But, I stand frustrated at being on the outside. That stone wall is an unmoving barrier, a constant in-your-face reminder that we are children locked out of our father's house. Those bright, cracked stones recall what was, but is no longer. How can you possibly be happy standing there?

Next on our holy cities circuit was Chevron, city of the Patriarchs and original seat of David's throne. On the way down, our guide spoke Yinglish as he pointed out the ancient Judean hills that now sprout modern Jewish settlements. We soon arrived at Rachel's tomb (now a veritable fortress to protect visitors from the less-than-friendly neighbouring Arabs), where we stopped to daven. We then proceeded to Chevron. Standing at the burial sites of our Patriarchs and Matriarchs while uttering the words "G-d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob" in the Amidah was moving.

A few days later, we traveled north and visited the holy gravesites in the remaining holy cities of Tiberias and Tzfat. Our holy-site tally included the graves of Rabbi Akivah and his pious wife Rachel, Maimonides, sages of the Talmud and Kabbalists of Tzfat, along with prophets and biblical characters. I have photos of lots of graves.

Early on in our whirlwind grave-hopper tour I started to get that Kotel  feeling again. Each burial plot commemorated someone who used to walk on Israel's holy soil; someone who once-upon-a-time inspired our nation. It was easy to start thinking that all the good stuff lies buried in history.

My awakening came at the Arizal's grave. Rabbi Isaac Luria was the 16th Century Kabbalist who brought Jewish mysticism to the people. I had spent this past year researching his life and teachings, so standing at his resting place was more than just "another" grave. He was alive for me; I could sense his presence. In his proximity, my eyes opened. I wanted to go back and start again- to re-experience all the other graves, not as markers of who our nation's heroes used to be, but as places where you can connect with them today.

The righteous never die, even as they leave our world. Once you enter their domain, your soul enmeshes in theirs. You could make the tourist mistake, snap a photo, say a Psalm and move to the next "point of interest" on your rental car's GPS. But, when you stand quietly and think of whose space you've entered, everything changes. You are no longer visiting a spiritual museum, you've entered a dynamic soul-hub. Your prayers take wing here; your heart is unlocked. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Rachel or Maimonides and Rabbi Meir Ba'al Hanes don't linger in the past, they remain linked to us, they look out for us, they inspire us still today.

Israel is not the Land of the Past, it is alive in the present.

As the sun peeked over the Kotel  the next morning, I wound my Tefillin around my arm. I no longer felt stonewalled by G-d, standing on the outside reminiscing about what was. Our prayers reverberated in my mind with G-d's eternal promise of renewal, of a restored Jerusalem- the promise of Moshiach. The Kotel  represents the glory we used to enjoy. It also represents the promise of greater glory to come. Jerusalem is the city of the future.

Rainbow nation

A cool breeze soothed us into Shabbos spirit as we walked towards the Jaffa Gate into the Old City. Mamilla mall was quiet, the GAP and Ralph Lauren stores closed. All you could hear was the echoing footsteps of dozens streaming through towards the Western Wall.

We entered through the Jaffa Gate and joined the faithful throngs who walked through the Arab shuk. "Shabbat shalom!", the non-observant security guards manning the security checkpoint before the Wall warmly announced as we arrived. We passed through the metal detectors and stopped. Dozens of steps would lead us to the plaze, but the scene below was riveting. The Kotel was alive. It pulsated with the rhythm of thousands as they swayed, prayed and danced. The mens sectioned thronged in black, peppered with green IDF uniforms and flecks of white, gold and casual-wear. The women's section was a celebration of colour.

I had forgotten how spectacular the Kotel is on a Friday night.

Mesmerised, we made our way into the crowd. Inside the human sea, you could distinguish its varied currents. Just ahead, to the left was a huge contingent of Chassidim, their peyos swinging as they davened in ecstasy. To our right, a Shlomo Carlebach minyan, singing every word of the ancient prayers. Immediately to their left modern Orthodox Jews chanted a traditional Lecha Dodi. Behind my left shoulder a man in white, his eyes tightly shut, led the services word for word, loudly and clearly. Directly behind us was a group from Judea, knitted kippot on their heads and determination in their eyes. Even further back American students on the Birthright tour marveled at their first taste of the Kotel's Shabbos magic. On the right two dozen paratroopers danced in a circle, M16's bouncing on their backs; privates with arms on their commanding officer's shoulders.

It was a dizzying array of diversity. So many Jews; so many differences. Each group sang its own tunes and used its own siddur. You could tell their affiliation from the nuances of their garb and head-coverings. A thought flashed through my mind: "We're all in the same place, celebrating the same Shabbos. Why do we all have to do it differently?"

A soldier whirled by, joy splashed across his duty-weary face as the Chassidim next door proclaimed the Shema and a father lifted his son onto his shoulders. Yes, each group was distinct, but there was a comfortable peace within that diversity.

We all faced the same direction as uttered the same fundamental declarations of a shared faith, while celebrating the same Shabbos. Every group reverberated with energy, yet respected the goings on of others around it. Friday night at the Kotel is a reminder that we can live a different brand of Torah Judaism from the next community, yet we can still stand together.

In Judaism, unity does not require uniformity.

A blessing on your head

It had been almost ten years since my last visit to Israel. Naomi and I were supremely excited to travel there for ten days at the end of last month (I'll admit that holidaying sans kids added to the anticipation).

In the near-decade since last time, nothing has changed and much has changed. Kissing the mezuzah on the way in to the airport made us feel right at home. Ben Gurion International has experienced Extreme Makeover since I last saw it- it's big, modern (with the traditional Jerusalem stone touch) and efficient (our suitcases made it out before us). New highways crisscross the country (all in excellent condition) alongside high-speed trains that run between the burgeoning major cities.

We were based in Jerusalem (where else?), which is a slick, modern city superimposed over ancient cultures and historic structures that beckon from in between the high-rises, all set against the backdrop of Eternity. Even the smaller towns (like Tsfat) have had a facelift. You feel growth and development everywhere.

But, nothing's changed.

Israelis still drive recklessly, have poor manners, walk right into you on the street and chain-smoke. Security remains a concern, yet the populace lives. Despite disproportionate global condemnation, Ahmadinejad's nuclear jihad, Syria's agitation and Hizbolla and Hamas' ongoing belligerence (not to mention the volatility of Israeli Arabs), Israelis laugh and go about their business. Six-year-olds walk their baby siblings to school (even in such hotbeds as Hebron) and take late-night buses.

Back in Joburg, people lock themselves up at night. 9PM is the unofficial curfew for many and fear of crime s more paralysing than violent crime itself. We could learn something from the Israelis.

There's something else we could learn from them.

You cannot be a Jewish tourist in Israel. As soon as you arrive there, you are considered family. You'll be jostled on the street like anyone else; they'll offer unsolicited advice on your clothes and shopping choices (like the woman at the Machane Yehudah market who told Naomi which pomegranates she should put back and which she should keep). Israelis will yell at you (as our taxi driver did when it took more than 30 seconds to load our luggage) or call you- a perfect stranger- motek/ sweety. Or they'll flit back and forth between both attitudes in one conversation (like our taxi driver). They treat you like family with no holds barred.

(We passed an altercation on Ben Yehudah Street on Friday, a street vendor was screaming at two heavily armed policemen. A friend noted that every second person in Israel carries a weapon, yet they bawl each other out in the streets. Normal people would never confront someone who is armed, but Israelis are family and know that a screaming match goes no further than that.)

What touched us most about Israelis- and this is a great lesson for us all- is how they dish out blessings. We entered shops and they returned our "Shalom" with "uvracha". Before Shabbos they wished us and they added a timely "Chag Sameach" for Tu Bishvat (an almost non-event outside Israel). On the way out of shops, restaurants, taxis and our hotel, we were wished success, a safe trip and a string of other brochos. All from strangers- or rather family we'd never met before.

According to the Talmud even a simpleton's blessing is potent. Proffering sincere blessings rather than the pleasantries that Westerners habitually exchange creates a positive environment and a healthy attitude towards the next person. It also brings blessing because G-d treats us as we treat others.

Give someone a blessing today.

The stuff the military is/ should be made of

Jews are eternal optimists. We've weathered many storms and survived unimaginable national nightmares while maintaining the undying belief that the world will become a better place. We've always hoped that this global improvement would come quickly, but never before have we seen so much evidence that it's on our doorstep. Now, we're 100% convinced that Moshiach is bo longer a dream, but a reality that's unfolding in front of our eyes.

A key change that's coming with Moshiach is world peace. To be precise, it's not simply about nations burying the hatchet, it's about them converting that hatchet into a tool for life enhancement. Isaiah, the prophet, expressed it clearly when he said "they will beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning forks".

Note: Isaiah didn't just predict that Peoples would kiss and make up. Peace treaties have been around forever and don't indicate anything out of the ordinary. Using weapons technologies- or the weapons themselves- to help people, now that should pique your curiosity.

Truth be told, it's happening all the time.

Internet, lasers and satellite were all developed by the military, but are used today by you and I. Scientists split the atom so wars would be won, and today nuclear power stations lights up our lives . Russian ICBM's have largely shed their warheads and now launch satellites and scientific payloads into Space.

Haiti's recent earthquake draws attention to yet another element of sword-to-ploughshare conversion. In the last week, the USA has effectively invaded the poor Carribean country. Some 10 000 U.S. troops have poured into the area, an armada of warships (including the carrier USS Carl Vinson, one of the world's largest warships) have sped to the area and US spy drones crisscross overhead.

But, this is the sort of invasion we're glad to see. History is replete with belligerent, colonial or expansionist invasions by foreign nations. With wars in Afganistan and Iraq, it's refreshing to see a Superpower flex its muscle to save lives and create contingencies to help a floundering nation.

Probably the most telling chapter of the story is the unmanned Global Hawk drone that was already en route to Afganistan before the Pentagon diverted it to become an eye in the sky for rescue workers in Haiti. Humanitarianism outdoes war in this episode, reminding us that our world's slowly getting it.

There's some Moshiach-flavour to the Haiti relief efforts. Hopefully there's enough to remind us to bury our personal hatchets too.

After all, the world's becoming a better place. We need to make sure our personal world is in sync.

Special thanks to Aryeh Pels for drawing my attention to these developments. 

Haiti- what can I do?

Haiti must be punch-drunk by now. The Western hemisphere’s poorest country is wracked by TB and sees some 30 000 malaria cases each year, while less than half of the population has access to health care. Political violence has been the norm in Haiti for most of its history and a series of four serious hurricanes destroyed much of that country’s infrastructure in 2008.

This week’s devastating earthquake rattled Haiti’s wobbly foundations, displaced millions and killed around 100 000.

Modern governments pull together in troubled times. The Dominican Republic ignored historical tensions with neighbouring Haiti and rushed to assist. Brazil, France, the USA, Britain, South Africa and many others have scrambled rescue teams and aid to help the beleaguered nation. It is heart-warming to watch nations pull together to help a People in crisis.

Consider, though, that Haiti’s tzorres didn’t begin with this week’s earthquake. These people live a daily humanitarian crisis. Hundreds quietly die there each day for lack of food or medicine. No drama surrounds their deaths, so no cameras capture them, so there is no urgent response. Haiti needs a long-term relief programme as much as it needs emergency intervention.

Nations behave just like people do. We also rally together and put our differences aside in the face of disaster. But, when people around us struggle with their chronic issues- the silent nigglings of life, not the explosive tragedies- we get on with our own lives. We grow impassive to their strain and often lapse into apathy or even antipathy.

A Jew is meant to read the world, hear its messages and respond in kind. We can do little to ease the difficulties of Haitians, but we should consider what we can do to alleviate the troubles of a family or community member.

We need not wait for a crisis, we can step in to help at any time.

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Muslim Attacker Bites Rabbi at Vienna Chanukah Lighting - News Briefs - Israel National News

Crazy world!
Muslim Attacker Bites Rabbi at Vienna Chanukah Lighting - News Briefs - Israel National News

Space race

“Charlie Buttons” is an eccentric who’s been part of the landscape of “770” for as long as anyone can remember. He wanders in wearing denim dungarees and a cap that sports various badges and buttons, and he always has a strange slogan to share. He targeted last week’s message at the thousands of Shluchim who had converged on Crown Heights for the annual Shluchim Conference. “I’m going to be a Shluchim (sic) on the Moon,” he happily announced up and down the Shul.

Many feel that Charlie already lives in Outer Space, but he’s an unlikely candidate for running the first lunar Chabad House. Make no mistake- there will be one. As soon as the first Jews settle on the Moon, you can bet Chabad will be there.

Space travel has historically been limiting- it costs a fortune and you have to be in prime health to make the journey. But, as the Shuttle fleet is set to retire, NASA is now looking to develop a cheaper way to get people into space. One radical concept that they’re seriously considering is the Space Elevator- a system that anchors a satellite to Earth’s equator, allowing us to move payloads up and down the 40 000km of cable. Clearly, there are many obstacles to this project, but they’re pursuing it seriously.

NASA’s inspiration for the Space Elevator may have come from this week’s Torah portion. In it we read how Yaakov dreams of a ladder linking Heaven and Earth on which angels climb and descend.

Yaakov’s dream-ladder is still in place- even if you can’t see it. It links us to G-d, allowing us to shoot our bundles of wishes up to Him and He to deliver blessings to us. Kabbalah calls it the ladder of prayer. When you start your prayer journey, you’re rooted on terra firma, but as you delve into its meditative embrace, you can break life’s gravitational pull and soar heavenward.

It may still take NASA years to hook us up with a Space Elevator system, but the cable that connects us on High is in working order, can carry any load and operates faster than NASA will ever be able to. With that technology at our disposal, we really should use it more often.

My Zaida was a rabbi

A very religious Jew traveling through Europe stopped overnight at a B&B. He noticed a mezuzah on the door and wondered if he could rely on the kosher standard of the institution. He approached the bare-headed owner, who was manning the front desk and asked if he served kosher food.

“Look there,” the proprietor announced, indicating an aging photo of a man with a tangled white beard, “That was my father! Surely, you can rely on the kashrut of my food!”

The guest smiled slightly and replied: “If this was your father’s establishment and he had a photo of you hanging on the wall, I’d feel more comfortable eating here.”

Jews love to tell you about their pedigree, how frum their father or grandfather was or how their grandmother chaired the ladies’ guild back in the “old country”. “Oh, you’re a Hurwitz, are you related to the famous Kabbalist Rabbi Horowitz?” (When I introduce myself, I usually: “Is that a Jewish surname? I’ve never heard of it before...”)

Rabbi Dovber, the successor to the Ba’al Shem Tov, watched his house burn down when he was a young boy. His mother was devastated and he tried to console her, arguing that valuables are replaceable. But, she explained that her family tree, tracing their pedigree to King David had gone up in flames and could never be recovered. Little Dovber grinned and assured her that he would make sure to start a new famous family tree.

It’s each man for himself in Judaism. You can’t ride on the achievements of your parents, nor can you blame your failings on theirs.

Avraham’s father was an idolator, yet he became the father of monotheism. Rivkah’s family were crooks, yet she became one of the most pious people ever. Even Moshiach’s lineage is embarrassing. His original ancestors include Moab, a child born from the incest of Lot and his daughter.

Don’t tell us who you parents were; show us who you are.