I wondered, this week, where people like Tommy Lapid come from. Why would someone want to turn their back on Jewish life so hard that they want to lead a movement to remove religion from Israel? I thought he must have been hurt, very badly, at some time in his life, and that he has lost faith in Hashem. I heard he was a Holocaust survivor, and that he thought that, along with the Jews who died, that G-d had also been lost ? at least to him. Of course, I don?t know if this is the case. I don't know Lapid personally.
It is really hard to be religious. The Jewish people are in an especially responsible position as representatives of Hashem and Torah in the first place, then those who are religious have an extra burden to show, every moment, that Hashem exists, that Hashem?s ways are just, and that Torah is the way to the truth. The moment one truly accepts the yoke of Torah, one also accepts the responsibility for showing the importance of mitzvot to everyone around them, all the time. When religious people fail, or they reject someone, the whole system can start to look fishy. Maybe that is how people like Lapid developed such an anger against religion and religious people.
It isn?t just Lapid, though. I think all of us feel this way at one time and another. At those times, we reach out and try to get strength in a tangible way: from the community, from the religious people around us, from rabbis, and from scholars. And sometimes, religious people forget how heavy their responsibility in this world can be. At any moment, their actions can and may spell the difference between a person growing up religious or growing up with an anger and resentment toward religion.
It?s almost Purim, and I started my Purim plans with a letter to a far-off congregation asking if I could find a place to stay so I and my children could attend the Megillah reading there. I have to start early in these requests, because I have to travel a long way to get there, wherever ?there? ends up being, and I will probably have to contact more than one congregation before I find some place to go. This particular congregation is four hours from my house, and I will be lucky to get over the mountain pass in the middle of March. However, it isn?t the traveling that bothers me, it is the fact that I have to ask.
I know that this is not something a lot of Jews have to think about, but ?where will we go this time?? is something I have to think about every holiday. It is also the one thing that brings me closest to saying, ?Why am I doing this? Why do I even try?? It is a humbling experience that takes me days to work up to, and plunges me into sadness. It is times like this ? just before every holiday ? that I go through a soul searching about why I am forcing myself through this, and how it would be so much easier if I didn?t chose to live a religious life.
Yes, this is me talking: the poster-child for religious Jewish pugnaciousness. On a daily basis I struggle in the middle of nowhere to eke out a Jewish life, to live Kosher, to keep my sons on the right path; but that is nothing compared to this painful holiday ritual. Every holiday I have to find some congregation to take us in. Every holiday, we are reduced to the status of beggars as I find myself explaining my entire Jewish existence to some stranger on a phone or through the mail so that we will have someplace to go. Like any person of poor circumstances, I have to plead with those who are in better circumstances to show us some mercy. There is no such thing as dignity or privacy for a beggar, and the price I pay every holiday is my personal story of teshuvah, and the story of how my sons and I survive here.
But that payment isn?t always sufficient. More often than not, we are not offered any accommodation in return. The most common response is no response. I write to a congregation or I leave a message on their answering machine, and I ask if it is possible to stay with someone there, as we live
in a place too far from a synagogue to spend the Yom Tov at our home. I patiently explain that we live in the middle of nowhere, and that we are Shomer Mitzvot. They don?t answer. They just don?t call back at all. They don?t write. I call or write again. Then, if I am persistent enough, I am finally rebuffed with, ?I?m sorry, you must understand that we have many people coming for the holiday, and we just don?t have room for your family.?
Yes. I understand. Sure.
But, what exactly is my option? Do they understand what it is like to beg for the opportunity to share in the requirements of a holiday celebration, and have to beg anew every holiday that comes up? Do they know what it is like to live in a place where no one even knows what a Megillah is, let alone how to read one?
I know it isn?t easy to spend a holiday this way. I also know that even though I have an unusual set of different circumstances that puts me in this position, I?m not the only one who spends holidays this way. There are a lot of Jews feeling like beggars before a holiday.
So, please, if you have one of those beautiful warm families and a great synagogue, can you take a minute, right now, to offer your house to a new person, a stranger, a Ba?al Teshuvah, or a Ger for the holiday? Can you pay attention the widow or widower, or that quiet single woman, or the man and his small daughter ? and see if they might need a place to be? Maybe they are also horribly lonely and painfully aware of their status as beggars to the people who have large families and beautiful celebrations. Please consider inviting new people this holiday, and making sure that everyone has an invitation from someone. If you had a guest last year, take a moment to give them a call, write them a letter, or let them know you would really like to have them back. If you are a rabbi or you work at a synagogue, and someone asks for help finding a place to stay for a holiday, make an extra effort this time.
These aren?t big gestures, or expensive gestures, but they are important gestures. Such a gesture might be enough to save an entire people. Such a gesture might mean the difference between someone maintaining their commitment to keeping Mitzvot, and becoming angry and resentful. It might make the difference between a child who wants to follow Jewish tradition, and one who grows up to try to secularize a nation. No matter where you are, it is easy to keep those around us from having to beg for a holiday, and those of us who are alone, whether we are in the middle of nowhere or just up the stairs from you, need a place to be. We really need to stop begging. We need to belong.
Now who will invite Lapid?
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Michelle Nevada lives in a small town in rural Nevada. She can be contacted at [email protected].
************
Spend Passover with Arutz Sheva at a resort in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv or Kfar Pines (near Hadera). Click here for info.
It is really hard to be religious. The Jewish people are in an especially responsible position as representatives of Hashem and Torah in the first place, then those who are religious have an extra burden to show, every moment, that Hashem exists, that Hashem?s ways are just, and that Torah is the way to the truth. The moment one truly accepts the yoke of Torah, one also accepts the responsibility for showing the importance of mitzvot to everyone around them, all the time. When religious people fail, or they reject someone, the whole system can start to look fishy. Maybe that is how people like Lapid developed such an anger against religion and religious people.
It isn?t just Lapid, though. I think all of us feel this way at one time and another. At those times, we reach out and try to get strength in a tangible way: from the community, from the religious people around us, from rabbis, and from scholars. And sometimes, religious people forget how heavy their responsibility in this world can be. At any moment, their actions can and may spell the difference between a person growing up religious or growing up with an anger and resentment toward religion.
It?s almost Purim, and I started my Purim plans with a letter to a far-off congregation asking if I could find a place to stay so I and my children could attend the Megillah reading there. I have to start early in these requests, because I have to travel a long way to get there, wherever ?there? ends up being, and I will probably have to contact more than one congregation before I find some place to go. This particular congregation is four hours from my house, and I will be lucky to get over the mountain pass in the middle of March. However, it isn?t the traveling that bothers me, it is the fact that I have to ask.
I know that this is not something a lot of Jews have to think about, but ?where will we go this time?? is something I have to think about every holiday. It is also the one thing that brings me closest to saying, ?Why am I doing this? Why do I even try?? It is a humbling experience that takes me days to work up to, and plunges me into sadness. It is times like this ? just before every holiday ? that I go through a soul searching about why I am forcing myself through this, and how it would be so much easier if I didn?t chose to live a religious life.
Yes, this is me talking: the poster-child for religious Jewish pugnaciousness. On a daily basis I struggle in the middle of nowhere to eke out a Jewish life, to live Kosher, to keep my sons on the right path; but that is nothing compared to this painful holiday ritual. Every holiday I have to find some congregation to take us in. Every holiday, we are reduced to the status of beggars as I find myself explaining my entire Jewish existence to some stranger on a phone or through the mail so that we will have someplace to go. Like any person of poor circumstances, I have to plead with those who are in better circumstances to show us some mercy. There is no such thing as dignity or privacy for a beggar, and the price I pay every holiday is my personal story of teshuvah, and the story of how my sons and I survive here.
But that payment isn?t always sufficient. More often than not, we are not offered any accommodation in return. The most common response is no response. I write to a congregation or I leave a message on their answering machine, and I ask if it is possible to stay with someone there, as we live
in a place too far from a synagogue to spend the Yom Tov at our home. I patiently explain that we live in the middle of nowhere, and that we are Shomer Mitzvot. They don?t answer. They just don?t call back at all. They don?t write. I call or write again. Then, if I am persistent enough, I am finally rebuffed with, ?I?m sorry, you must understand that we have many people coming for the holiday, and we just don?t have room for your family.?
Yes. I understand. Sure.
But, what exactly is my option? Do they understand what it is like to beg for the opportunity to share in the requirements of a holiday celebration, and have to beg anew every holiday that comes up? Do they know what it is like to live in a place where no one even knows what a Megillah is, let alone how to read one?
I know it isn?t easy to spend a holiday this way. I also know that even though I have an unusual set of different circumstances that puts me in this position, I?m not the only one who spends holidays this way. There are a lot of Jews feeling like beggars before a holiday.
So, please, if you have one of those beautiful warm families and a great synagogue, can you take a minute, right now, to offer your house to a new person, a stranger, a Ba?al Teshuvah, or a Ger for the holiday? Can you pay attention the widow or widower, or that quiet single woman, or the man and his small daughter ? and see if they might need a place to be? Maybe they are also horribly lonely and painfully aware of their status as beggars to the people who have large families and beautiful celebrations. Please consider inviting new people this holiday, and making sure that everyone has an invitation from someone. If you had a guest last year, take a moment to give them a call, write them a letter, or let them know you would really like to have them back. If you are a rabbi or you work at a synagogue, and someone asks for help finding a place to stay for a holiday, make an extra effort this time.
These aren?t big gestures, or expensive gestures, but they are important gestures. Such a gesture might be enough to save an entire people. Such a gesture might mean the difference between someone maintaining their commitment to keeping Mitzvot, and becoming angry and resentful. It might make the difference between a child who wants to follow Jewish tradition, and one who grows up to try to secularize a nation. No matter where you are, it is easy to keep those around us from having to beg for a holiday, and those of us who are alone, whether we are in the middle of nowhere or just up the stairs from you, need a place to be. We really need to stop begging. We need to belong.
Now who will invite Lapid?
--------------------------------------------------------
Michelle Nevada lives in a small town in rural Nevada. She can be contacted at [email protected].
************
Spend Passover with Arutz Sheva at a resort in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv or Kfar Pines (near Hadera). Click here for info.