Sacred Memories – The meaning of empty shoes.

      

 Empty Shoes

One of the most poignant monuments in the Unites States Holocaust Memorial Museum is the mountainous display of empty shoes. Thousands and thousands  of ownerless shoes; old people’s shoes, young people’s shoes, sturdy shoes, torn shoes, large shoes, little shoes and even infant shoes. All are empty; their bearers never to walk again.

This jarring image brings the Holocaust home with a vengeance. It does not just tug at the heart, it figuratively tears it apart. Each one of these  shoes was worn by a vibrant, breathing, creative human being. The souls that inhabited the shoes were cruelly driven from the Earth before their time; the shoe, forlorn and alone, is left to bear witness. The image is jarring precisely because the shoes remind us that we too bear witness. We are living testimony to a vibrancy that would have been. The emptiness of these shoes invokes our sacred responsibility to fill a yawning gap that never should have been.

The shoes are jarring for yet another reason; they proclaim the sanctity of this place. Where six million die there is horror. Where innocent souls  are shattered there is tragedy. Where human beings are transformed into gruesome piles of bones and charred flesh there are no answers. There is no room for musing, no room for understanding; travesty numbs the mind.

 There can be no thought; there can be only reverence. Six million souls demand stillness and respect; acknowledgement of  G-d’s infinite vastness.  

 The room is sacred; the memories are holy. As G-d said to Moses, “Remove your shoes, you tread on hallowed ground.”

It might have been a fitting tribute for all visitors to remove their own shoes and leave them beside this display. We are not more worthy than they; our shoes no more deserving than theirs. Yet we don’t do that, and for good reason. Our creed does not celebrate death; we mourn it. Our response is not to join the ranks of despair, but to commit to ever more vibrant life. We are determined to move forward; we are determined to fill our shoes and in the process to fill theirs too. Their memory is hallowed, their death tragic, but we aim to sanctify it, by allowing it to energize us in life.

 Priestly Shoes

      When Jewish priests ascend the synagogue’s podium to bless the congregation they too remove their shoes. The blessing of the Jewish people is a sacred affair and the priests dare not tread on this hallowed ground with shoes. Yet, the image of their shoes lined up against the wall evokes a completely different response. What is the difference between the empty shoes of blessing and the empty shoes of death? Don’t they both denote holiness?

Rabbi Pesach Crone offers the following response.(1) The shoes of the priests will soon be worn again; they will carry their bearers to yet another mitzvah (good deed). One will carry its owner to Bible studies, the other to visit the ill, yet another to offer charity and another to pray to G-d. These shoes are temporarily bare while their owners bless the children of Israel; the other shoes will remain empty forever.  Never will they carry their owners to the performance of a good deed; never will they enable their owners to worship G-d. A life story has ended abruptly; a symphony of good deeds was silenced before it reached its crescendo.  Those lives will never be reclaimed, but the music of their worship need not stop. It is up to us to continue their song, to pick up where they left off. This is perhaps the most poignant message of the empty shoes.

 

 Six million lives forever gone, twelve million shoes forever empty, but the music of these souls need not end. We can perpetuate their memories through our prayers and good deeds. We might perform a mitzvah in their memory or pray on their behalf. We might give to charity in their honor or dedicate our spiritual growth to their inspiration. In this way, their shoes  will take up the walk; their rhythmic sound of falling footsteps will echo once  again. The flow of their good deeds will spring back to life.

     

Kaddish

This, suggests why the preeminent Jewish memorial prayer, the Kaddish, contains no mention of the deceased’s name. The Kaddish is  not only about remembering, it is also about restoring. Every life is a tribute to the creative power of G-d. As we recognize our debt of gratitude to the Almighty we sanctify His Divine name. Our passing leaves an undesired and unintended, but very real, hole in the sanctification of the Divine. It is left to the living to fill this gap.

 

When our loved ones recite Kaddish in our memory, our soul’s sanctification of G-d continues. The Kaddish does not contain the name of  the deceased because it is not about the deceased; it is about G-d who was sanctified through the life of the deceased and after life through Kaddish. Furthermore, through the Kaddish the deceased continues to live, albeit on a higher and holier plane. 

 

It is our destiny to walk in their footsteps. It is our responsibility to resume the song that was prematurely muted. It is our sacred duty to honor the empty shoes by restoring the vibrancy of their owners’ souls.

Yitagadal veyitkadash shmei rabbah….

 

 Footnotes

1) His moving essay, “Soulless Shoes,” can be found in a book called In The Spirit of the Maggid.

 

Rabbi Eliezer (Lazer) Gurkow, currently serving as rabbi of

congregation Beth Tefilah in London, Ontario, is a well-known

speaker and writer on Torah issues and current affairs.

The Art of Growth

by Rabbi Avi Shafran

Human nature isn’t a dichotomy.

 

I don’t often ride the New York subways, but not long ago I found myself leaving a train deep beneath Brooklyn, at the borough’s cavernous Atlantic Street station. And I was surprised to be greeted, amid all the usual squalor and bustle, by a large and exquisite reproduction of “The Starry Night,” Vincent Van Gogh’s eerie painting. I’m no art aficionado, but the famous rendering of a haloed moon and stars in a swirling blue firmament has always moved me. What in the world – or underworld – though, was a copy of the painting doing on a subway station wall?

 

Then, turning to find the track I needed, I found myself face to face with an unmistakable Monet pond-scene. Nearby, I noticed with increasing amusement, were cubist visions by Picasso, Warholian soup cans and various other copies of paintings, drawings and photographs whose originals hang in museums.

Or, as I discovered, a museum – New York’s Museum of Modern Art. The posters were part of an advertising campaign to lure subway riders to visit the originals.

Clever, I thought, and a nice touch for a famously unrefined environment. Then my thoughts drifted.

The reproductions before me were, at least to untrained eyes like mine, virtually indistinguishable from the originals. I’m sure the textures of the brush strokes are evident in the actual paintings; and they alone, after all, were produced by the artists’ hands. But great pains had been taken to present subway patrons with top-notch copies of the MOMA possessions; and the results, had they been hanging on a museum wall, could probably have fooled most people.

Yet the originals are, well, authentic, and priceless; and the copies, mere copies, worth only their printing costs (and copyright fees).

People, too, I ruminated, can be real or ersatz. Some are just what they seem. Others, though, are, in effect, cheap copies, pretending to be what they project, but lacking authenticity of character, the brush strokes of the soul.

There are, for instance, genuine leaders dedicated to advancing the interests of those they lead, and shameful imitations, demagogues donning mantles of power for their own personal gain. There are true scientists, open to wonder and dedicated to discerning natural truths; and there are counterfeit ones, duly credentialed, but without the sense of objectivity that underlies the genuine pursuit of truth. There are deeply religious people, who understand that there is a greater Power than any temporal one, whose will human beings must strive to discern and follow. And there are charlatans, pretenders to spirituality, sometimes obvious, other times not. It is no different in the observant Jewish community, where there are sincere men and women pledged to the laws and ideals of the Jewish religious tradition, but also people who dress the part, but whose clothes are just costumes.

But those are the extremes; human nature isn’t a dichotomy. There are also leaders who want to do what is right, but succumb at times to doing what’s best for themselves; scientists who are basically objective, but occasionally allow their biases reign; religious people whose deepest desire is to serve G-d, but who are vulnerable to laziness, jealousy and anger.

That describes many of us, I think. But we aren’t fakers for the fact. There is a great difference between pathology and imperfection, between being hypocritical and being human.

The Talmud relates how, for a period of time, under the leadership of the illustrious sage Rabban Gamliel of Yavneh, the study hall was open exclusively to students whose “insides were like their outsides” – who were precisely what they purported to be, righteous scholars.

Rabban Gamliel’s successor, however, loosened the requirement – for the better, the Talmud implies.

So it would seem that even those of us who are less than perfectly coherent need not despair. My revered mentor, Rabbi Yaakov Weinberg, of blessed memory, noted that the Talmud’s wording is instructive. We are not exhorted to bring our “outsides” into line with our “insides” – to achieve spiritual purity and then adopt its signifiers – but

rather the other way around. We are permitted, even required, to outwardly emulate those more spiritually accomplished than we, to embrace acts of observance and goodness, even if our souls are not yet as pure as our clothing. “A person is acted upon,” in the words of Sefer HaChinuch, “by his actions.”

And yet, the “insides like outsides” ideal clearly remains the ultimate goal, not only for scholars, but for us all. We may not yet have achieved – and, as the imperfect creatures we are, may never achieve – full coherence, but we must strive for it all the same. The only excuse for not being there is that we’re trying to get there. And as long as we are honestly working toward our goal, our efforts bring us closer.

How fortunate are we humans. A copy of a Van Gogh cannot ever, no matter how hard it tries, grow into the real deal.

Shavuot: Rising Above the Senses

A few place names set the scene for the whole of Judaism. Moriah, Jerusalem, Sinai, Masada – they evoke overwhelming thoughts and emotions. Shavuot, of course, turns the spotlight on Sinai. The greatest event in history took place there, but the rabbinic sages were adamant that it was and remains a rather ordinary mountain, unimpressive in relation to the majestic peaks elsewhere.
The place was not as important as the message; the lesson mattered more than the locale. After the Six Day War, we were able see the mountain that is reputed to be Mount Sinai close up, and the rabbinic notion that this was no grand, remarkable peak was proved over and over again.
So if we cannot and do not concentrate on the venue, what of the message with which it is associated?
The message is Revelation – God revealed Himself to Moses and the assembled multitude of Israel. A difficult concept, for God is infinite and non-physical, and yet He was able to communicate with finite, physical mankind. Of course, nothing is impossible for God, but our human reason cries out to understand how the Revelation could have happened.
“No man can see Me and live,” says God (Exodus 33:20); and yet human beings perceived something of Him, even if it was with the mind’s eye and not in the normal sense, and they lived. The people said to Moses, “You speak to us and we shall hear: let not God speak to us, lest we die” (Exodus 20:30), and yet God did speak to them, and they did not die.
“The people saw the thunder” (Exodus 20:15); the rabbis remarked, “They saw that which is normally heard, and they heard that which is normally seen.” It seems that the demarcation between the senses fell away. All five senses combined in a unique experience. There was no longer a dividing line between sight and hearing, smell and touch, feeling and any of the other senses. Man rose above his normal self. His elevation removed him from the constraints of earthly life. His ecstasy brought him into higher realms. For a moment, man was in Heaven, and lived. Moses had feared that the moment would bring destruction: “Let them keep away, lest they break through to see God, and many will perish” (Exodus 19:21) – but they survived.

There may be a parallel in a story told of four rabbis who entered “the garden (of spirituality)” and only one – Rabbi Akiva – “entered in peace and emerged in peace.” (Chagigah 14b) The miracle of the Revelation at Sinai is that a whole people entered in peace and emerged in peace. What actually happened we cannot discern with the regular apparatus of human reason and logic, but our ancestors knew that they had perceived a glimpse of God and had heard His voice.
What Sinai teaches us is that earth-bound mortals, however rarely, can reach out to the Ineffable and rise above the limitations of their physical senses. It teaches us, too, that in an ethical sense we can rise above the defects and drawbacks of being human, and achieve a world in which love, truth, peace and justice are actualities and not just dreams.

Rabbi Dr Raymond Apple AO RFD is Emeritus Rabbi of the Great Synagogue, Sydney. He is now retired and lives in Jerusalem, where he publishes OzTorah, a weekly email list and website with Torah insights from an Australian perspective.

The Music of Israel – The House of Harrari

Micah Harrari, a Levite and master craftsman, originally built the first harp in the land of Israel in 2000 years, for his wife Shoshanna as a birthday gift. She had longed for a harp of her own for many years, seeking an instrument to connect her soul to the true source of music – a sacred instrument to be used for creative expression, devotion, and prayer.

Basing his designs on the information found in the Bible, Talmud, and archeology, this first harp opened they way for many more to follow spreading the mystical sounds of David’s harp from the streets of Jerusalem to the four corners of the world.

Built in a small workshop in the Jerusalem forest, each harp is individually designed to combine the patterns of antiquity with the personal visions and ideas of each client, creating true Temple quality heirlooms of prayer and healing for the mind, body & soul. Their healing sound is meant to give wings to the “new song” within our souls.

Because they are built in the Holy Land, inspired by the Ruach HaKodesh, these harps are more than lovely instruments, they are spiritual tools that help to join heaven and earth.

The House of Harrari builds two types of Biblical Harps, the Nevel and the Kinnor. Each harp is individually handmade using the finest of musical hard woods from Israel and around the world.
And now we have added a new member to the family. A new type of Kinnor, brother to our other Kinnor David, its designs also based on a different coin of the Bar Kochva period ( 2000 years ago), that shows another of the Kinnorot that was most likely used in the Temple.
We call this one ‘Elijah’s harp’. Easy to play, with an amazingly strong and beautiful tone and resonance

This is taken from an advert on

http://www.harrariharps.com/files/home.php

where there is information on how to order a ready made harp or to have one made for you.

The Diaspora Matrix 04 May 2009

For me, the most poignant event of this year’s Israel Independence Day was attending the memorial ceremony at my children’s religious grade school. Two of my sons, along with a large cast of other 10-12 years olds, told stories about brave Israeli soldiers who had fallen defending our cherished homeland, the greatest sacrifice and sanctification of G-d that a Jew can make. Others acted out the famous battle of Givat HaTachmoshet, one of the decisive battles of the Six Day War. After the profoundly moving two-minute long siren that is sounded all over the country, the children paraded with Israeli flags around the auditorium in tune to the rousing Israeli melodies of the school band.Thank you, G-d,” I said quietly.

“Thank you for taking me out of America. Thank you for erasing all of the American garbage and tapes and TV shows in my head. Thank you for making me realize that George Washington isn’t my real forefather, and that the Boston Tea Party has nothing to do with my past.\”

\”Thank you G-d for rescuing me from a false identity and a foreign land. Thank you G-d for bringing me to the Land of the Jews and teaching me the true meaning of Torah, which isn’t just performing individual mitzvot, like kashrut and Shabbos, but helping to build the Jewish Nation in its Holy Land. Thank you G-d for giving me healthy, wonderful children who are all growing up as Jews through and through, celebrating Israel’s independence, and not someone else’s, and honoring Jewish soldiers who died in the realization of a 2000 year old dream and not cowboys, wrestlers, and movie stars.”

Only an immigrant who lives in Israel can appreciate the incredible difference between religious kids who grow up in Israel with their Diaspora counterparts. My children are a different species of child, a totally different breed. Sure they like candy and Coke and playing basketball like all children, but their heads are completely different.

The wars they learn about are Jewish wars. Their war heroes are Israeli. Their flag is the Star of David – not the Stars and Stripes of someone else’s country. Their songs of patriotism are Israeli. They celebrate Israel independence and not the Fourth of July. The history they learn is the history of Abraham, Moses, Joshua, and King David, Rabbi Akiva and the Macabbees. Instead of growing up being American kids who are Jewish, they are Children of Israel, just as we are called in the Bible.

Say what you will, Jewish life in the Diaspora is like M&M’s, Jewish on the inside and sugar coated on the outside. For example, whether Jewish children in America be completely secular, reform, modern Orthodox, or Haredi, their souls may be Jewish but their heads are sugar coated with the gentile culture that surrounds them. They think like Americans, speak like Americans, act like Americans, dress like Americans, identify with America, like American things, think Washington DC is their capital, and celebrate the Fourth of July.

Here in Israel, I meet a lot of wonderful, young Jewish Americans who come for a year of study. No matter what religious group they belong to, or how many years they’ve been in yeshiva, their heads are 100% pasteurized, homogenized American. Religious-wise they are all good, well-meaning Jews, but their heads have been grafted with all of the history and folklore of America, from Betsy Ross to Sylvester Stallone and jokes about Obama. Who isn’t familiar with the silly giggles and loud juvenile chatter of American Jewish girls on Israeli buses? “Oh cool, oh colossal, oh Julie, what a freak out, hee hee hee!” While Israeli kids their age are going into the army or some other meaningful national service.

Thank G-d my kids are growing up in Israel. Thank G-d for opening my eyes that being Jewish means being absorbed in Jewish history, and celebrating Jewish independence, and living in the Jewish Land, and performing the mitzvot in the place they were meant to be performed, and actualizing the goal of our prayers by living a life of Torah in the Land which You gave to our Forefathers.

Thank you G-d that my children are growing up as Children of Israel, and not children of America or Australia or France. Thank you G-d that my children will marry Jews. Thank you G-d for enabling me to understand the amazing difference between being here in Israel, Your chosen Land, even with all of the challenges and difficulties, rather than living out an unreal Matrix identity in some gentile foreign land.

Thank you G-d for rescuing me from the Matrix and for bringing me home.

by
Iyar 7, 5769, 5/1/2009