STORY: ROOM SERVICE FEE

 Two Jewish merchants in olden day Europe were travelling home from fair. It was late on

Friday, but the roads were icy and muddy. To their dismay, they realized they were going to have

to stop for Shabbos somewhere along the way. With no other choice, they stopped at a nearby

town, and knocked on the first door they spotted with a mezuzah on it, mortified at showing up

uninvited to someone’s house. But Shabbos is Shabbos, and you must do what you must do.

When an old man came to the door, the merchants excused themselves for showing up so late

and uninvited. The host told them they were welcome to stay with him—but only for the price of

five-hundred rubles. The men looked at each other in disbelief—“That’s more expensive than the

Four Seasons!”—but with no other choice they forked over the money and got ready for the holy

day.

Returning home from shul that night, they found a beautiful table laden with delicacies.

Having paid so much money for the privilege, they figured they might as well get comfortable

and enjoy themselves. And what a feast it was. They shared words of Torah with their host, sang

niggunim, and ate and drank more heartily than they had in a long time. This repeated itself the

following morning and afternoon.

As they said goodbye after Shabbos, the host handed them back a purse with all the

money they paid. “This is yours,” he said simply. The men were baffled. “What do you mean?”

they asked “Wasn’t that the fee for our lodging here?”

The man explained: “When you arrived at my door yesterday, I could tell you were

uncomfortable. You didn’t want to bother me, and you didn’t want to spend Shabbos in a

stranger’s home. But I wanted to you to enjoy your stay and feel like you belong here—and the

only way I could think of was to have you pay for it! If you paid for it, you would no longer feel

like I was doing you a favor. As you can see, it worked—I saw how much you enjoyed

yourselves! Now that you’ve enjoyed Shabbos, you can take the money back—and I’ll take the

mitzvah.”

Check Out My Room

By Dov Peretz Elkins - Chabad.org A prominent rabbi of Newton, Massachusetts, attended a housewarming party at a large, beautiful home in his wealthy suburb of Boston. Guests oohed and ahhed, checking out every unusual piece of furniture, every exotic light fixture, every imported piece of handcrafted art, the thick azure carpets, the golden hand-carved door handles both inside and outside, and on and on and on. During the course of the evening, the homeowners related to their guests that they had paid the highest fee for their interior decorator, but it was worth every penny. The results were astonishing. Every decision, down to the last window treatment, was just impeccable. They could not have been more pleased. “This,” they declared, in contrast to how most people thought a home should be furnished, “is interior decorating.” About an hour passed, and the elderly mother of the hostess, who lived with her daughter and son-in-law, asked her rabbi friend to come upstairs and take a look at her room. Having left the posh living room and dining room of this large, magnificently appointed and lavish home, the elderly woman opened the door of her upstairs bedroom and pointed her finger toward the windowsill. When the rabbi looked, he was astounded at what he saw. The woman did not point, as the daughter did, to any of the furniture or decorations of the room. She pointed only to the windowsill, toward a row of charity boxes, pushkes, one for every worthwhile cause imaginable. There were boxes for hospitals, yeshivot (religious schools), orphanages, battered women’s shelters, homes for children who were blind or deaf, funds for the handicapped—you name it! One for every single Jewish institution she could find that distributed charity boxes for people to drop coins in and return when full. Before modern methods of fundraising took hold, these small charity boxes “decorated” kitchen windows in every traditional Jewish home. “Now, Rabbi,” said the elderly woman, gazing proudly at her windowsill filled with charity boxes—“this is interior decorating!”

Story: Yiskor for a living son

A Jewish observant Jew was once on a flight in the US. He struck up a conversation with the man
sitting next to him who also happened to be Jewish, by the name of Mr. Weinstein. When the
meals were served, he took Kosher, but Mr. Weinstein didn’t. He asked Mr Weinstein in a casual
way, why it was that he didn’t order Kosher? Why would he eat bacon?
Mr. Weistein pulled up his sleeve and showed his neighbor the number tattooed by the SS on his
arm. He shared how lost his family in the war, besides for one son who survived the selections
with him. But then, near the end of the war, they took his son away to another camp, and he
never ever saw his son again. That was the last straw that killed my faith. Why should I keep
Kosher? The man was startled and remained silent.
Four years passed, and one Yom Kippur whilst he man was going to Shul, he noticed an elderly
Jewish looking figure smoking, sitting on the bench. As he approached he was surprised to see it
was the same man he had met a few years earlier on the plane. Mr. Weinstein. He saw this as no
coincidence, and decided to go up to him and strike a conversation. He told him that today was
Yom Kippur, and in a few minutes they would say yizkor for all our loved ones who have passed
on. Weinstein did not want to hear from it. He said that he never been to a synagogue since the
Holocaust. “I have nothing to find there.”
But this other Jews pleaded: What can you lose? It will be a comfort for you to be with many
other survivors who remember and pay tribute to all of their loved ones who perished. You will
say a kaddish for your son. You know what? I will ask the cantor to do a special service, a Kel
Maleh Rachamim, for your son, since you have never been to shul since the Holocaust.
The man reluctantly agreed. They entered the synagogue and for the first time since the war he
said Yizkor for his beloved family.
Then the Jew who brought him in, approached the Chazan to say a prayer for his son.
The cantor began the prayer: E-l Maleh Rachamim, Shochen Meromim… Compassionate G-d,
please remember the soul of… and the cantor turned to the Jew to tell him the name of the boy
and his father’s name. The Jew said: Kasriel Menachem ben Yechezkel Shraga.
The Chazan heard the name and turned white like a ghost.
People ran over to support him.
The cantor asked who is the father of this child, and they pointed to the man, the survivor, who
just came to shul for the first time.The cantor ran over to him, screaming: Tate, Tate, Tate --- Father, father, father. As father and
son embraced.

Story: Cossack Horse

There was a famous Chassidic Jew from Russia called R Mendel Futerfas, a man
who spent ten years of his life in a Russian gulag for teaching Judaism.
One of the prisoners in Rav Mendel's camp was an old Cossack imprisoned because
of his loyalty to the Czar. He reminisced with Reb Mednel about the Cossack horse.
You see, the Cossack horse was different than all other horses, incomparably
different! A Cossack’s horse had a different heart.
Not only would it do anything for its master; jump into fire, over trees and even
houses. Anything. And it was stronger, faster, and braver than anything alive. But
most of all, it had a different heart.
I will explain," continued the Cossack, “How did they catch a Cossack horse? Do you
know? Well I will tell you, this is a story!"
"The Cossacks were experts at this. There was a special group that would wander
the mountains and fields on horseback looking for herds of wild horses.
Then, if they were lucky and found a large herd, say of a thousand, two thousand
horses. They would stampede them and get them all running in the direction of the

nearest river. Then they would start screaming and shooting their guns in the air
and force the herd into the widest, deepest part of the river. You see, most horses
can swim, and so they had to get over, through the current to the other side, or die.
Now, on the other side was waiting another group of Cossacks. The whole thing,
was planned from the beginning, and they would watch to see what the horses did.
There were always two types of horses; some horses would make it to the other
side and run away to live their lives. Then there were the young horses, that didn't
have the strength to cross over, so they just floundered in the middle of the river."
His voice became serious, and he sat a "But sometimes... Not always, but sometimes,
there was a third type; maybe only one or two at the most, that were sort of crazy
horses.
They would make it across, but instead of running away, they would turn around,
look back into the river to see if there were horses in trouble and then jump BACK
in to save them."
"They would swim to the young horses, grab them with their teeth and start
dragging them in. They just couldn't stand to see their fellow horses in danger.
The Cossacks would throw some paint on these special horses and chase them for
days until they caught them. Then it would take several months of hard work until
they trained them. But the main thing was the heart; it was a horse with a heart.

Story: Hope in Auschwitz

Rabbi Hugo Gryn. Hugo Gryn (1930-1996), was a Holocaust survivor, a community
leader, educator and broadcaster for the BBC, was born in Berehovo,
Czechoslovakia in a home filled with great warmth.
Hugo Gryn was 13 years old when he, among 10,000 Jews confined to the
Berehovo ghetto in April 1944. All were sent to Auschwitz on May 28, 1944.
He and his father were sent to work; his brother and grandfather were sent to the
gas chambers.
Hugo Gryn and his father, together with 2,600 Jews were later sent to the death
march from the Lieberose camp to Mauthausen. Less than a thousand survived that
march. Hugo was freed in on May 4, 1945, but his father died a few days later from
typhus and exhaustion.
Rabbi Gryn once related: When I was a young boy my family was sent to Auschwitz. For a while my father and I shared a barrack.
In spite of the unspeakable horror, oppression and hardship, many Jews held onto
what scraps of Jewish religious observance as they were able.
One midwinter evening one of the inmates reminded us that tonight was the first
night of Chanukah, the festival of lights. My father constructed a little Chanukah
menorah out of scrap metal. For a wick, he took some threads from his prison
uniform.
For oil, he used some butter that he somehow obtained from a guard.
Such observances were strictly “verboten,” but we were used to taking risks.
Rather, I protested at the “waste” of precious calories. Would it not be better to
share the butter on a crust of bread than burn it?
“Hugo,” said my father, “both you and I know that a person can live a very long time
without food. But Hugo, I tell you, a person cannot live a single day without hope.
This Menorah is the fire of hope. Never let it go out. Not here. Not anywhere.
Remember that Hugo.”

Story: The Taxis & the Minyan

I want to share with you a most amusing and heartwarming story:

A man living in Jerusalem was saying kaddish for a parent who died. Each day he would say kaddish at the daily services in the synagogue. It was his way of connecting to the soul of his loved one. Returning home one night at 3:00am from a wedding, he fell into bed exhausted. As soon as he had turned out the light, he realized that he hadn’t prayed Ma’ariv, the evening prayer. He missed the kaddish for his beloved mother. With tremendous effort, he dragged himself out of bed and started to dress.

Where to find a minyan at this time of the morning? 3 AM?

No problem. As anyone who lives in Jerusalem can tell you, day or night, you can always find a minyan at the shteibelach—the small synagogues in the Zichron Moshe neighborhood.

That night there was a miracle. Zichron Moshe was totally deserted; no one was there; nary a hobo, nada.

Taking out his cellular phone, he dialed the number of a large taxi company.

“Hello! Can you please send six taxis to the shteibelach in Zichron Moshe?”

“Adoni (my dear sir)! It’s three o’clock in the morning! You think I have six taxis? What do you think I am, a magician? …I only have five.”

“Okay. So send five!”

He dialed another number. “Hello, please send five taxis to Zichron Moshe…”

“Your crazy? Atah meshugah. I only have four!

“okay so send four.”

Within twenty minutes, there was a procession of nine taxicabs parked neatly outside the shteiblach.

“Adoni,” said one of the drivers, “Why do you need nine taxis? There’s no wedding here, no Bar Mitzvah, nothing.”

“I want you all to turn your meters on and come inside with me. We are going to pray together the evening prayer — arvit ”

“I will pay each of you just as if your giving me a lift. For every minute you are here, I will pay you.”

Dusty yarmulkes (skullcaps) emerged from the glove compartments of the taxis, some woken from a hibernation that stretched back to their owner’s own bar mitzvah.

It wasn’t easy. Despite being obviously fluent in Hebrew, the drivers had no idea how to pray: what and when to answer; when they should pray aloud and when in silence.

It took them quite a while. But the kaddish man, showd them exactly what do do. They had the most incredible, moving prayer at 3:30 AM in Jerusalem, and he said kaddish after his mother.

When they had finished, everyone went out to the taxis; the meters in the cars were pushing upwards of 90 shekels each car. The drivers turned off their meters and the man pulled out his wallet. He would dash out around 800 shekel to all the drivers to pay them for their time.

“How much do I owe you?” he said to the first taxi driver in the line.

“Adoni, what do you take me for? Do you honestly believe I would take money from you who just gave me such an opportunity to help my fellow Jew say kaddish?

He moved down the line to the second driver. Identical reaction. “Do you know how long it is since I prayed?” you want me to take money from you?

And the third and the fourth, all the way down the line to the ninth…

Not one would take a penny.

They embraced and they drove off to a new morning in the holy city of Jerusalem!

Story: Rabbi Levi Yitzchak - Looking for Chametz

Looking for Chametz

I then went on to tell a story about one of the greatest Chassidic masters, Rabbi Levi Yitzchok of Bardichev:

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak (1740-1809) spent his life acting as the self-appointed character witness for the Jewish people, engaging in a constant dialogue with G‑d, pointing out the unique qualities of every Jew he met.

It was the afternoon before Passover, and Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was wandering through the streets of the Jewish quarter seeking out local smugglers. From one he quietly asked for a quote on contraband tobacco, from another he enquired about the availability of smuggled brocades and embroideries. No matter the merchandise he sought, everything was available for the right price.

However, when he started asking his newfound acquaintances to supply him with some bread or whiskey, those very same businessmen who had previously proved so accommodating balked. "Rabbi," said one, "are you trying to insult me? The seder will be starting in just a few hours and no Jew would have even a speck of chametz left in his home or business."

Not one merchant was able to come up with even a crumb of bread or dram of alcohol. No matter the price offered, not one merchant was willing or able to come up with even a crumb of bread or dram of alcohol. The town had converted into a chametz-free zone.

Thrilled with the results of his failed quest, the rabbi looked up to heaven and declared: "G‑d Almighty, look down with pride at Your people! The Czar has border guards and tax-commissioners dedicated to his commands. The police and the courts are devoted to tracking down and punishing smugglers and black-marketers, and yet, anything one could possibly want is available. Contrast this with the faith and fidelity of Your Jews. It has been over 3,000 years since you commanded us to observe Passover. No police, no guards, no courts and jails enforce this edict—and yet every Jew keeps Your laws to the utmost!

"Mi k'amcha Yisrael – Who is like Your nation, Israel?!" Rabbi Levi Yitzchak exclaimed.

Story: Shlomo Karlebach & The Hunchback - Favors in the night....

A Story:

One of the greatest Chassidic masters of pre-war Poland was Rabbi Kalonimus Kalman (1889-1943), the Master of Piaseczno. He would say that children at five years old already need a mentor: they need somebody to connect their souls to heaven. So in his Polish city if Piaseczno he founded one of the largest Jewish schools in Poland, gathering around him a kingdom of children. He ran a school with thousands of children, and he was their father, their mother, their best friend. In 1940, Rabbi Klonimus Kalman was deported with his family by the Germans to the Warsaw ghetto. There he wrote a most precious book called "The Holy Fire", Eish Kodesh, which recounted the teachings he gave in the darkness of the ghetto. He buried the book in a milk barrel underground the ghetto. In 1943 He was short near Lublin.  His entire family too was exterminated. After the war, his manuscript was discovered by a construction worker in Warsaw and was given to the Warsaw Jews. In 1957, someone finally realized what it was; it was sent and published in Israel in 1961. 

To Do a Favor

The famous Jewish composer Rabbi Shlomeleh Karlebach related this story:

When the book Eish Kodesh came out after the war was over, I couldn’t believe its beauty, it so pierced my heart. I asked everyone, “Where are those kids? The precious children who heard these teachings every week in Warsaw? I’d love to speak to them.” I was told that nobody survived.

But one day, a few years ago, I was walking down rechov Yarcon, a street near the beach of Tel Aviv. And there I saw a hunchback, he looked so broken and crushed. His face was beautiful, so handsome, but his body was misshapen. He was sweeping the streets. I had a feeling this person was special and so I said, “Shalom, peace unto you.”

He replied to me in the heaviest Polish “Alaichem shoolem.” I asked if he was from Poland. And he says, “Yes I’m from Piaseczno.” And I couldn’t believe it—Piaseczno. I asked if he had ever seen the holiest Kalonimus Kalmun, Piaseczno’s master. He said to me, “What do you mean, have I seen him? I was a pupil in his school from the age of five until I was eleven. When I was eleven, I went to Auschwitz. I was so strong they thought I was seventeen. I was whipped and hit and kicked and never healed---that is why I look the way I do now. I have nobody in the world. I’m all alone. My entire family was murdered.” And he kept on sweeping the streets of Tel Aviv.

I said, “My sweetest friend, do you know, my whole life I’ve been waiting to see you, a person who saw the Master of Piaseczno, a person who was one of his children. Please, give me one of his teachings.”

The hunchback glared at me. “Do you think you can be in Auschwitz 3 years and still remember teachings?!”

“Yes, I’m sure of it,” I said. “The Master’s teachings—how could you forget them?”

And so he said, “Well, wait.” He went to the water fountain to wash his hands. He fixed his shirt, put on his jacket, and then said to me one more time, “Do you really want to hear it?”

“I swear to you, I’ll share the teachings all over the world.”

So he began. “I want you to know that there never was such a Shabbos as this one in our childhood town of Piaseczno. We danced, hundreds and maybe thousands of children, and the master was singing a song to greet the holy angels, and at the meal he would teach between every course. After every teaching this is what the master would said:

“‘Kinderlach, gedenkt zshe, de gresteh zach in der velt iz tuen emetzen a tovah – Children, remember! The greatest thing in the world is to do somebody else a favor.’”

In Auschwitz

The hunchback sighed. “You know, my parents are gone, my whole family, no one exists anymore. And so I was in Auschwitz and all alone and I wanted to commit suicide. At the last moment I could hear my master say, “Kinderlach, children…do somebody else a favor. Do somebody a favor.’”

He looked me directly in the eyes. “Do you know how many favors you can do in Auschwitz at night? People are lying are on the floor crying, and nobody even has any strength to listen to their stories anymore. I would walk from one person to the other and ask, ‘Why are you crying?’ and they would tell me about their children, their wives, people they’d never see in this life again. I would hold their hands and cry with them. Then I would walk to the next person. And it would give me strength for another day. 

“When I was at the end again… I’d hear my Rebbe’s voice. I want you to know I’m here in Tel Aviv and I have no one in the world. And I take off my shoes, go down to the beach, I go up to my nose in the ocean, ready to drown, and I can’t help but hear my Rebbe’s voice saying, ‘The greatest thing in the world is to do somebody else a favor. Remember, my precious children, the greatest thing in the world is to do somebody else a favor.’”

He stared at me again for a long time and said, “You know how many favors you can do on the streets of the world?”

And he kept on sweeping the street.

It was the end of summer and I had to go back to the States for Rosh Hashana. But when I returned to Tel Aviv, I went searching Yarcon, looking for my holy hunchback. I couldn’t find him. I asked some people, who told me, “Don’t you know? He left the world just after Sukkos.”

Story: Rabbi Shimon ben Shatach& the valuable precious stone

The Midrash tells a story...The sage Rabbi Shimon ben Shatach found a precious stone of great value hanging around the neck of a donkey he had bought from a non-Jew. Refusing to yield to the requests of his disciples who urged him to keep the treasure Providence had sent him, he returned the stone, saying, 'I bought a donkey, not a precious stone.' The Arab witness to the Sage's integrity thereupon exclaimed: 'Blessed is the G-d of Simeon ben Shatach.’

G-d's name becomes sanctified when those who claim to have a relationship with Him act in such a manner that makes it evident how faith transforms a life. Simeon ben Shatach would not have endangered his reputation nor violated the national law if he had decided to keep the stone. In returning the stone Rabbi Simeon moved a man to say: 'If this behavior is the child of faith, then faith is worth having. '

THE FABLE OF THE PORCUPINE...

THE FABLE OF THE PORCUPINE...

 It was the coldest winter ever...

 Many animals died because of the cold.

 The poor little porcupines, realizing the dire situation they were
in,decided to group together, this way, they covered themselves; but,
the quills of each one wounded their closest companions even though
they
 gave off heat that would save to each other.

 After awhile, they decided to distance themselves one from another
and soon they began to die...alone ...and frozen.

 Even though they are little animals, they had to make a life or death
choice... either accept the quills of their companions or disappear
from the earth!

 Wisely, they decided to go back to being together; this way they
learned to live with the little wounds that were caused by the close
relationship with their companions, but the most important part of it
was that the heat that came from the others allowed all to survive.t

 Therefore, the best relationship is not the one that brings together
perfect people, but the best is when each individual learns to live
with imperfections of others and can admire the other person's good
qualities.

 The moral of this story:
LEARN TO LOVE THE PRICKS IN YOUR LIFE!!!

A Tattoo in the Mikavh

 A baal Teshuvah immersing in a Mikvah on Erev Yom Kippur slipped just
before he reached the water, he slipped and lost his balance. Trying to
catch his fall, he let his hand off his arm, revealing a lewd tattoo.
Completely ashamed, he stood frozen in his spot. Everyone was at a loss for
words to comfort him until an old man said, "Look here, my boy, I also have
a tattoo." He pointed to the row of numbers etched in his skin. "This is in
case I forget what those monsters had planned for me. It seems we've both
come a long way."

It's not where we are coming from, but where we are going that matters.
Furthermore, all Jews can connect with one another, despite outward
differences. In essence, all Jews are one, and we can reveal this inner
bond.

Yizkor Story: Life is a play

Yizkor Story:

I was visiting  Jewish patients in S. Francis Hospital some months back,
when I walked into  the room of an elderly Jew named Irving, a holocaust
survivor, who was  obviously quite sick, surrounded by his entire family. I spent
some time with  him. We talked about the horrors of his youth, and how he
managed to continue  on living. He told me it was his mother?s words to him
on the last night  before we were separated. ?She sat me down and said to me:
Life is like a  play. (My mother loved the theater). Every one of us plays
a part. Not just  us, but our parents and grandparents, they?re parents and
grandparents, all  the way back to Abraham and Sarah. They?re all part of
this production. Each  of us plays a part, And then, when your part is over,
you go backstage. You?re  not gone, you?re still there, looking, cheering,
helping out in any way you  can from behind the scenes?

And then mama grabbed my hand, looked  me in the eye, and said: ?Yisrolik?
le, I don?t know what?s going to happen,  how long we?ll be together,
whether I?ll survive this. But one thing I ask of  you, If you survive. Don?t
give up, play your part. You might feel sad and  lonely, but I beg of you- don?
t give up. Play your role as best you can. Live  your life to the fullest.
I promise you, you won?t be alone. Tate un ich, babe  un zeide, mir velen
aleh zein mit dir oif eibig, Daddy and me, grandma and  grandpa, we will be
with you forever, we?ll be watching you from backstage.  I?m sure you won?t
let us down and you?ll play your part.? It was those words  from Mama that
got me out of bed on many a difficult morning.

By  the time the man finished the story, there wasn?t a dry eye in the
room.

A few days later the man passed away. At the shiva, the  family kept
repeating the story about the play. It was clear they took comfort  from knowing
their father was still there, behind the scenes. Still, there was  a profound
sense of pain and loss.

They asked me to say a few  words. So I got up, turned to the family, and I
said: There is a postscript to  the story. What happens at the end of the
play? All the actors comes back out?  Right? Everyone comes out on the stage
to give a bow.  It is a basic  Jewish belief that all the neshomos, every
soul will come back and be with us  once again, right here in this world. I
assure you, I said, with G-d?s help,  you will soon be reunited with your
father.?

My dear beloved  friends, my fellow yiden, we?re about to say the Yiskor
prayer. Remembering  our loved ones whose souls join us right here in shul. Let
?s promise to make  them proud.Let?s make this the year when each of us
reaches our potential,  when each of us lives each day to the fullest, When we
realize the beauty of  every moment. when we appreciate the G-dly purpose
we have been privileged to  be a part of.

And while we?re at it, let?s ask our loved one?s  to send an email or put
in a phone call to the producer, Or maybe even pay Him  a visit. Tell Him,
please. We?re ready for Moshiach. We?ve done our job.  Enough with the
yiddishe tzoros, shoin tzeit, it?s time already. The Rebbe  told us to prepare
for Moshiach, that we?re this close to completing the task  for which we were
chosen. We?re ready for the time when ? lecho tichra kol  berech ? all
creations will bow to you, We?re ready for the final bow. We?re  ready for the
time when G-d will call this place His  home.

"I eat pork on Shabbat."

There is a rabbi in Israel, Yechezkel Sofer, who taught a Talmud class for

professors at Hebrew University. One particular professor, for years,

refused to come. One day the rabbi meets the professor and says to him,

"Why don't you join the class? Your colleagues come; it's in your building

right down the hall."

The professor responds, "Oh no, I don't belong in the class. We have nothing

in common."

The rabbi says, "What do you mean we have nothing in common?"

"You don't understand", says the professor, "I eat pork on Shabbat."

The rabbi says, "Only on Shabbat, not during the weekday?"

The professor says, "Specifically, spitefully on Shabbat!"

"Ah, in that case" says the rabbi, "You should come to the class.

 We do have something in common."

The professor asks, "What do you mean?"

The rabbi says, "I celebrate Shabbat and you celebrate Shabbat. I do it in a

traditional way. Your way is not so traditional."

After the conversation the Professor began attending the Talmud class.

He had re-discovered something about his Jewish identity.

This professor had survived the Holocaust as a young boy and saw Jewish life

in Europe destroyed. When he arrived in Israel, he threw his Judaism away.

He was angry with G-d and wanted to get back at Him. So he ate pork on

Shabbat. Why specifically on Shabbat? He wanted to punish G-d in the most

hurtful way. He figured that eating pork on Tuesday is one thing, but doing

it on Shabbat was really bad -because Shabbat is a holy day.

Upon reflection, the professor realized that his rebellious act showed that

he too believed in Torah and Judaism and that Shabbat was still a holy day

for him. That is why he ate pork on Shabbat. Not because Shabbat is an

ordinary day but because it's the holy day.

Story: The Grandmother who called at her own Shiva

Heard from Rabbi Shmuel Hendel in Kfar Chabad, told to him by Rabbi EliyahuSegal of Rishon L'Tzion.

An elderly lady living in a nursing home in New York passed away. Her children, who always visited her and took care of her, did their duty and did a proper Jewish Tahara and burial.

On the 5th day of sitting shiva, the phone rang and the daughter sitting shiva answered the phone. On the other end of the phone was her mother, whom she just buried. The daughter, in shock, immediately fainted.

The phone rang again and it was her mother again, complaining that no one came to visit her that week. The family then rushed to the nursing home and it turned out there was a mix-up at the nursing home and it was her roommate that passed away and not their mother. This means that the wrong family buried the person… imagine hoe everybody felt about this crazy mistake. So now the nursing home had the grim job of informing the children of the other lady that their mother died 5 days ago. The nursing home called and was trying to break it to these children slowly, but before they could even tell the children what happened, the children callously answered, “If this call has anything to do with our mother, we are not interested.”

The children said, “All day long our mother wastes her time and just prays and prays and says Psalms.” The children then added, “And the one thing she prays for is that when she dies she should have a proper Jewish burial. But,” the children cruelly said, “We will outsmart her and when she dies we will spite her and make sure she will not have a proper Jewish burial! We don’t believe in all these religious myths. Cremation is far cheaper and more appropriate.”

The nursing home then explained to them it was too late as she already received her proper Jewish burial!

Look at the power of prayer and to the extent G-d will turn the world around to answer a prayer. Here this pious lady only prayed for one thing, a proper burial. Knowing it was almost impossible, due to her children’s apathy and selfishness, yet she didn’t give up. So G-d orchestrated this whole mix-up to respond to the prayers of this woman.

Story/Joke Quaterback - Sid Luckman & His Shtetel Minded Father

You know the story about Sid Luckman. Sid was one of the best Football Quarter Back players ever. Born in Brooklyn, he became a 6-time All-Pro Football QB. He led the Chicago Bears to 4 NFL titles and is shrined in the Football Hall of Fame.

His parents were immigrants, and they knew nothing about football. They came from the Shtetl.

And so, when he was about to play in his first professional game, he thought that it would be only appropriate to invite his parents to watch him play football and get a little bit of “nachas.”

He didn’t want them to be placed up in the stands somewhere, where they would be completely lost. So he had them sit on the bench with the players. In the middle of the game, Luckman drops back, and a line backer comes through the line, and starts to chase him.

Sid is fast. He scrambles with that ball; he’s running down the sideline with all his energy and might, and a couple of huge 6-foot tall, muscular, powerful fellows are running after him...

He runs right in front of his parents. It looks like he is running for his life. At which point, his father yells out in great fear:

“Sid, give them the ball, I’ll buy you another one...“

Parable - Throwing 17,000 shekels off the roof

. Lesson from the Economic Crisis

“From a narrow place I call out to you, oh G-d; answer me from an expansive place.” – The first of seven verses resided before the blowing of the shofar.

We are experiencing an economic crisis. Some of us have endured difficult times. We all hope and pray that this year brings all of us much success and abundant prosperity. Yet we ought not to allow the financial challenges of these past years to slip away without teaching us one important lesson about life.

I will illustrate it with a story:

About ten years ago a rich Israeli businessman who we will call Jerry was on the top of the world. He was a multi-millionaire, toured the globe enjoying the best hotels, restaurants, cars and anything that money could buy. He was a self-made-man who loved his creator (i.e. himself). He was arrogant, cold, tough, and boatful. But a number of years ago, like many others, he made some big investment mistakes, and began to lose his fortune. In just months every penny he had saved and slaved for was gone and he was a pauper. And after he liquidated all his assets and even sold his house to pay his debts he still owed 17,000 shekels to the Israeli Revenue Service.

He asked an old friend for a loan. He went up to his friend’s office at the 49th floor of the Azrieli center in Tel Aviv.  His friend gave him 17,000 shekel and the man left the office.

With nothing better to do he decided to walk around and have a look. After a few minutes of strolling he noticed a set of stairs leading up to a large metal door, which he ascended and opened the door. A cold autumn wind blew into his face. It was the door leading to the roof, 'why not', he thought to himself as he went out.

Ah it was beautiful! From here he could see far into the distance; the Judean hills in one direction, the wide, vast Mediterranean sea on the other. He just stood there, thinking and trying to enjoy the weather when suddenly a loud thud behind him broke his thoughts; a quick glance revealed that the wind slammed the door shut. He decided it was time to go back.

He went to the door and tried to open it but it seemed to be locked. He tried peering from all sorts of angles to figure out the latch but he couldn't. So he began to pound on the door and when that didn't work, to kick at it. For sure someone would hear.

But no one did. The wind was getting stronger and colder now and he wasn't really dressed for this. He looked around for some object to hit the door with, to attract attention and get out but there was none. He still had a good hour before dark; people were probably still in their offices so he pounded, kicked and yelled but there was no response.

When he took out his black berry he discovered that the battery was dead. Totally dead! Of all times for this to happen!

But he didn't lose his composure. He had to work fast. He went to the edge of the building, peered over the small protective fence and began waiving his arms and yelling to the people far below which, after just five minutes, he realized was totally futile. There was no way that anyone would notice him from 49 floors below. But he had to remain calm. It was his only chance. Soon it would be dark and really cold. And there was nowhere to get protection from the wind, which was getting colder by the minute.

Suddenly he had an idea. The money! He had 17,000 shekels in his pocket. For sure if he threw a 200 shekel note down people would look up to see where it was coming from… and see him.

He pulled out a stack of bills, removed one, looked over the fence and threw it. He watched as it floated crazily in the wind and finally, after several minutes, landed on the other side of the street, someone stopped, bent down, picked it up and continued walking.

This time he took out five bills, 1,000 altogether and let them drop… but it was the same thing. No one noticed them until they hit the ground, then they picked them up, looked around for more and kept going.

He knew what he had to do! It was his only chance! He took all the money from his pocket, tore the band that held it neatly in a pack and with a yell, threw it below as hard as he could. With his last optimism he gazed as it scattered far below him. He removed his shirt and began waving it frantically for someone to notice. But he couldn't believe his eyes; not only did no one look up or hear his cries for help; they were all arguing down there about who saw which bill first!

He looked around on the roof, the sun was setting, it was still light enough to see, but he saw nothing……. only the sky.

His eyes filled with tears, suddenly he felt small, he needed help; he was sure that G-d would help him. The sky said so. A second ago he didn't even believe there was such a thing but now it was obvious… he wasn't alone. He yelled out, "HaShem! HaShem! (G-d)…. help! Help me!"

Suddenly his eye caught a medium sized sack of small pebbles. Why didn't he see it before? But there it was! He dragged it to the fence, took a handful, said a prayer, threw it over the side and began waving his arms and looking down again.

Sure enough, this time it worked! People began cursing; looking up pointing and screaming at him. Probably all of them called the police because in just moments the door burst open, police with guns drawn stormed through, put handcuffs on him and took him to the station. He was saved!

It took some serious explaining. He was lucky that no one was really hurt from his pebbles and, of course, he lost the 17,000 shekel and still owed the taxes. But after a few days they accepted his story and let him out.

At that moment he discovered a deep lesson: the people on the street, were just like him. All the time money was raining down the people never looked up… they looked only down, for more money. But as soon as they started feeling the pebbles hurting them they looked up to see where they were coming from.

How true of life. When we have everything we need, we sometimes take it for granted and we never look up. We can become insensitive to the plight of others; we feel we don’t need anybody. We are on top of the world. Only when we feel the “pebbles” falling on us, does it make us look up… look up beyond ourselves… see that there is something that transcends our egos, there is a higher source, to whom we are responsible.

This is the meaning of the above verse: We tend to call out to G-d “min hamatzar,” from a narrow place. Yet we ask of Him to answer us with expansiveness, with prosperity. Once we have learnt the lesson, let us all be blessed with tremendous wealth, so we can utilize the Divine gift to help people.

Just Stay - Story

Just Stay

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.

"Your son is here," she said to the old man.

She had to repeat the words several times before the patient's eyes opened.

Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The  Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man's limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.

The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed.. All through the night the young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the  old man's hand and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile.

He refused.. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and  of the night noises of the hospital - the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.

Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night.

Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had to do,  he waited.

Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.

"Who was that man?" he asked.

The nurse was startled, "He was your father," she answered.

"No, he wasn't," the Marine replied. "I never saw him before in my life."

"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"

"I knew right away there had been a mistake,

but I also knew he needed his son, and his

son just wasn't here.

When I realized that he was too sick to tell
whether or not I was his son,
knowing how much he needed me, I stayed."

I came here tonight to find a Mr. William Grey.
His Son was Killed in Iraq today, and I was sent to
inform him.. What was this Gentleman's Name?


The Nurse with Tears in Her Eyes Answered,
Mr.. William Grey.............


The next time someone needs you ... just be there. Stay.


**************

WE ARE NOT HUMAN BEINGS GOING THROUGH A
TEMPORARY SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE.

WE ARE SPIRITUAL BEINGS GOING THROUGH A TEMPORARY HUMAN EXPERIENCE.

PLEASE PASS THIS ONE ON AND GOD WILL BLESS YOU!

THIS IS WHAT WE ARE PUT ON THIS EARTH TO DO ANYWAY. RIGHT ?

HAVE A GREAT DAY AND BLESS SOMEONE ELSE IN SOME LITTLE WAY TODAY!

Yehuda Avner & The Rebbe - " You need to light the candel"

- Mr. Yehuda Avner was an advisor to five Israeli Prime Ministers and was


an Israeli ambassador to the UN. In 1977 he met with President Carter, and

then Menachem Begin sent him to report to the Rebbe. He sat with him for

several hours and they discussed many subject, several of which he refuses

to tell anybody about.



At midnight, the Rebbe saw that Yehuda Avner was tired. He put his holy

hands on Mr. Avner and asked him why he’s not a Chossid. Mr Avner replied

that there are people in his family who see powers in the Rebbe which the

Rebbe himself doesn’t even realize.



The Rebbe then told Mr. Avner what his job entails:



“You open up a cupboard and you see a candle inside. But in reality it is

not a candle. It is but a lump of wax and a string through the middle. When

does it become a candle? Only when you put a flame to it, then it becomes a

candle and it fulfills the purpose for which it was created.”



And immediately the conversation moved on to the next subject.



At 2:10am, Yehuda and the Rebbe finished the meeting and when Mr. Avner rose

to leave, he turned around and asked the Rebbe “Has the Rebbe lit my

candle?”



The Rebbe replied “No. I have only given you the match. You need to light

your own candle!”

The Dancer

The Dancer


....Some of you may have heard of a woman by the name of Gillian Lynne. She's a ballerina and choreographer, famous for many Broadway productions (such as Cats, and Phantom of the Opera).



When Gillian was in school, in the '30s, she was hopeless. She couldn't concentrate, she was fidgeting. Now they'd probably say she had ADHD. The school wrote to her parents and said, "We think Gillian has a learning disorder." So her mother took her, aged eight, to see a specialist in a big oak-panelled room, and she was led and sat on a chair at the end, and she sat on her hands for 20 minutes while this man talked to her mother about all the problems Gillian was having at school, disturbing people, late homework, and so on.



Finally the doctor said, "Gillian, I've listened to all these things that your mother's told me, and I need to speak to her privately. Wait here, we won't be very long," and they went and left her. But as they went out the room, he turned on the radio on his desk. As soon as they were outside the room, he said to her mother, "Now, just stand and watch her." And sure enough, the minute they left the room little Gillian was on her feet, moving to the music. They watched for a few minutes and he turned to her mother and said, "Mrs. Lynne, Gillian isn't sick, she's a dancer. Take her to a dance school."



The rest is history. She went to dance school - full of people like herself, and ended up a multi-millionaire, responsible for some of the most successful musical theatre productions in history.



Gillian's story is the story of the Jewish soul. She herself was unaware of the talent which lay latent within. Only after being recognised by a professional and after being educated in the correct way - did she blossom to fulfil her real potential.



Our neshama too has latent potential. Our neshama also wants to "dance," needs to dance - but we usually don't let it do the things it wants to do. We carry it round with us to places it does not belong, seeing things it does not want to see, eating things it does not want to eat, and we are often surprised when do not feel content: when our lives sometimes feel empty or unfulfilled.



On Rosh Hashana we focus on our neshama. Like Gillian we need to let our soul hear the music and let it dance. Bring it to shul, bring it to a Torah class, and help it to reconnect with its source. Let it light Shabbat candles, and lay tefillin, give charity and visit the sick. Let it get re-accustomed to the Hebrew letters in the siddur, so that the words of the prayers flow naturally .... etc etc\\

Why Should I buy Tefillin?

Why Should I buy Tefillin?


In answer to a number of emails sent to me privately – in case anyone is wondering if the historical/holocaust emotional stuff really works let me tell you of something that happened to my son R’ Eli Gutnick here in Melbourne this past Elul.

Eli is our sofer here in Melbourne and he regularly speaks to Bar Mitzvah boys and their fathers about Tephilin – shows them how they’re made etc. After addressing one school group during this past Elul one very sceptical father talks to him and finishes with “Give me one good reason that will convince me, a totally non-practicing Jew, to fork out money to buy a pair of tephillin for my son.”

Without saying a word Eli takes out his iphone and brings up the famous picture of the barefooted yid standing next to a line of bodies (he was reportedly reciting Kaddish) He is wrapped in a Tallis and broken-open tephillin are prominently on his head and arm. A group of grinning and laughing Nazi soldiers are standing around him posing with the Jew they are about to murder.


The father looks at the picture for a good few minutes then looks up at Eli and says “How much is your most expensive pair....?”

It’s an appropriate thought for Yizkor – with the usual lesson that we who say Yizkor should reassure the neshomos of our parents and Kedoshim who join us for those special moments that we and our children are Thank G-d able to put on Tallis and Tephillin and pledge greater commitment to do so and to generally carry on the heritage we have received from them. We need to be able to tell them proudly that we are part of assuring that “Am Yisroel Chai....”.