“if I knew how to sign my name I would have become the shamash"

An immigrant got off the boat in NY. With no language and no contacts, he went looking for a menial job at the local Lower East Side synagogue. He applied to be the shamash (sexton) of the shul. Following a positive interview, he was given a contract to sign. Instead of signing his name he placed an X on the dotted line. “No, that will not do,” said the employer, “we need you to sign the contract with your full name.” “I can’t,” the greenhorn immigrant blurted out, “I don’t how to write.” “Well, in that case, I am sorry but we cannot hire you. The job requires someone who can write in English.”

Dejected, he left and went off searching for opportunities. Resourceful as he was, with a pinch of desperation, he eked out a job. Over the years, with diligence, ingenuity and persistence he climbed the ladder and ultimately became a very prosperous man. He became known in town for his enormous wealth, and was greatly respected by his peers and above all, by the banks that readily issued him the loans he requested.

One day, a new bank manager was going over this fellow’s latest loan application, and notices that instead of a signature there is an X at the bottom. The manager calls him up and says, “my dear sir, you forgot to sign the application.” “I did sign it with an X,” he replied. She was bewildered. “Why do you sign with an X and not with your name, if I may ask.” “Well,” he sheepishly replied, “I never learned how to sign my name.” The bank manager smiled and remarked: “Now listen here. You made so much money without knowing the language. Just imagine how much more successful you would have become had you received an education and learned to sign your name.”

“Madam,” the gentleman calmly said, “if I knew how to sign my name I would have become the shamash in the local synagogue…”

Our Grandchild Comes Home

Our Grandchild Comes Home                                                                                                                         

There was a very secular Jews living in Tel Aviv, who had absolutely no interest in anything related to Judaism. He was a self-proclaimed leftist anti-religious type of fellow. One day he was walking passed a shul in Tel Aviv and there was a Jew standing outside the shul yelling "Mincha! Mincha!" We need one man. The fellow continued walking. The Jew ran after him and explained that they needed a tenth man for the minyan. He replied, "I'm not interested." But the Jew was persistent (perhaps he had Yahrtzeit...). He kept begging and begging, until finally against his better judgment, the secular Jew fellow allowed himself to be pulled into the synagogue for the afternoon prayer service.

As hard as it is to believe, unfortunately, there are many Jews in Eretz Yisrael who have never witnessed, let alone, participated, in a minyan, in a prayer service, they never even witnessed other people praying. This Jew was one of them. He grew up in a very secular home. His grandfather was observant, but his parents have become completely secular and they never ever took him to a shul.

The fellow sat in shul watching people say Ashrei, say Kaddish, and then everyone stood up to daven Shmoneh Esrei, the Amidah. Shul goers  have seen this all our lives, and think that it is no big deal to see people standing, "shuckling" (rocking back and forth), quietly reciting the standing prayer. But the first time a person sees this, it can be an amazing sight when suddenly Jews who don’t stop yapping, stand in silence, sway back and forth, and talk to G-d.

This secular Israeli was taken aback by what he saw during those 15 minutes of praying Mincha in the Tel Aviv shul. He left the synagogue immediately after Mincha, but he decided that he would have to look into the matter further. He began studying Judaism seriously and ultimately got very involved in Jewish life and observance.

The story began circulating in town. One friend was scoffing about this to this man’s father. “What happened to your son? He is a clever and educated man. How did he get brainwashed in 15 minutes?”

The father, himself a very secular Jew, responded that there was much more to the story than what meets the eye.

You see, he said, “my own father, the boy's grandfather, was a deeply religious European Jew. He came to Tel Aviv many years ago, and lived his life as an observant Jew in Tel Aviv. I, like many of my generation of young sabras, abandoned Jewish observance completely. We were determined to form a new generations of Jews, good Zionists, but completely secular. Nationalism replaced spirituality.

“But you see, my father davened every single day in a specific shul in Tel Aviv. He davened with devotion and concentration, while we mocked his sincerity and faith which was inconsistent with the modern age. Do you know in which shul he davened? It was the very shul that was lacking one man for a minyan for Mincha the day my son passed by and was pulled in.

“I know that it was the intense prayers of my father which called his grandson back to this very same synagogue… it was not only 15 minutes that he spent in a shul; it was 15 minutes in a shul soaked with my father’s tears, blood, sweat, faith, and self-sacrifice for Judaism. That is what did my son in…”

    

Special Needs Baseball

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its


dedicated staff, he offered a question:



'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection.



Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.



Where is the natural order of things in my son?'



The audience was stilled by the query.



The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'



Then he told the following story:



Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a fatherI also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.



I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'



Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.



In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.



In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.



In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again.



Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.



At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?



Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.



However, as Shay stepped up to the

plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.



The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.



The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.

As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.



The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman.



Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.



Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.



Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first!



Run to first!'



Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.



He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.



Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'



Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.



By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.



He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.



Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.



All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay,

all the Way Shay'



Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third!



Shay, run to third!'



As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'



Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team



'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.



Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

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!”

Big Sitting Shiva - Joke

A Jewish boy comes home to his mother and tells her he has met a wonderful girl, and they are to be married.




"Oh, that's nice" says Momma. "And what is this girls name?"



The son tells her that his fiancee is a Native American and is called Little Running Deer.



"That's nice, honey" says Momma, trying to keep a straight face.



The son then tells his momma that he wants to be called by his "new" Native American name too, and that from now on she should call him "Swift Flying Arrow".



"OK, honey, whatever you wish" says Momma.



Then the son says, "You should get a Native American name too, Momma".



"I've already got one," replies Momma. "It's Big Sitting Shiva"

Story: Mute Boy

Mute Boy


After the war a rescuer who was looking for hidden children survivors came

across a 11-12 year old boy who was raised in a non Jewish home and was

known as a mute. No one had ever heard him speak. The boy when he saw this

man was Jewish asked him"is the Gerer Rebbe still alive?" The rescuer

reassured the child that the gerer Rebbe was alive in Eretz Yisroel. The

boy lifted his shirt and showed him under his clothing wrapped around his

frail body was a pair of teffilin. These teffilin my father gave me the last

day I saw him when he gave me to this non Jewish family to be saved and he

told me that I should wear them when I have my bar mitzvah. I wrapped the

teffilin around my body in order that I should never lose them or be

separated from them. "Why have you acted mute all this time"? asked the man.

The boy replied "the non Jew who took me in as his own told me that if

anyone asked my religion I would have to say I was a non Jew. I decided that

I could not do that and from then on I would never talk in order that I

should never ever have to say that I was not Jewish. Since that day I have

never spoken to anyone you are the first person I have spoken to. Please

take me to see the eretz Yisrael I want to see the gerer Rebbe."



The vows the untruths we say in our actions and our deeds we act as maaranos

etc.hiding jewishness

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\\