There was a rabbi known for his constant preaching about the need to nurture children with warmth and love.

One time he noticed some children who were playing in the freshly laid concrete outside his newly renovated home, their little feet leaving lasting impressions. He became irritated and started chastising the children.

A congregant asked, “How can you, a person who devoted his entire life to teaching warmth to children, speak this way?”

To which the rabbi replied: “You must understand. I love children in the abstract, not the concrete.”

Who can love?

Where is the first time the term “love” is mentioned in the entire Torah? Who is the first lover in the Bible?

No, it is not Adam and Eve. It’s not even Abraham and Sarah. I am sure they loved each other, but the term “love” is not mentioned.

The first time we discover “love” in the Torah is “G-d said to Abraham… take your son, your only son [from Sarah], whom you love, Isaac, and offer him as a burnt offering.”

Note: It is not saying that Abraham loved Isaac; it is saying that G-d testifies that Abraham loves Isaac. That must have been some intense love!

Now, where is the second time love is mentioned in Torah?

It is in the following portion: “Isaac married Rebecca and he loved her.”

The subtle message being conveyed is clear. What many psychologists and spiritual and self-help books now explain is intimated in this profound sequence in the Torah. Abraham loves Isaac. Isaac loves Rebecca. He who is loved is capable of loving. Isaac was loved; hence he was able to impart love.

Fascinating: This pattern continues throughout Genesis. The third time love is mentioned is the love of Rebecca to her son. Rebecca was loved and so she could love. The fourth time is Isaac’s love to his son, and so on.

Why is this so?

When I am loved, I feel confident about myself. I cherish my own innate value. I, thus, don’t always have to take; I can also give. If I feel unloved, I have a void which I always need to fill. I am forever parasitic. I am always craving your validation, your compliments, your respect, your gratitude, your appreciation, your attention and your approval. But when I feel that my essence is good, I am a lovable being. I can suspend myself and become attentive to you. I can create space for you.

Narcissists, who are self-absorbed 24/7, usually have a tremendous void in their self-value. They never felt genuine love. Their tank is on empty. They cannot afford being there for anyone, ever.

A young woman was being interviewed and said, “I am giving up dating.” The interviewer asked what caused her to take such a drastic measure. She replied, “The last man I met talked only of himself for two solid hours. And then he looked at me and said, ‘Enough of me talking about me. Tell me what you think of me.’”

What is more, if I feel unloved, I do not value my emotions. I can’t believe that my love means anything; I delegitimize my love, because I think I am valueless and certainly all my emotions have no value. It is even deeper. If I do not value my being, then, if I love you, I actually believe that it is wrong; because, if I love something, it must be bad since I, myself, am pretty bad and worthless.

Abraham loved Isaac. He loved his essence. Thus, Isaac could love.

Some have even suggested that this may be part of the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac. At the fringe of losing his son, Abraham discovered how much he really loved him. This begins the miracle of the Jewish family, the infinite love between parents and children, which spanned millennia and has been the envy of the world.

What then do you do if you weren’t loved? The answer is what David says in Psalms 27; “My mother and father rejected me, but G-d took me in.”

You must find G-d’s unconditional love for you. You ought to discover the essential value of your being in G-d’s eyes. Birth is G-d saying you matter.

Much of our prayers revolve around this theme. G-d loves you, cherishes you, thinks the world of you, and begs of you to coronate Him as your king. He can’t think of you as too worthless if he really believes that all of history depends on you.

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the director of Chabad of North Broward Beaches, located in the Venetian Isle Shopping Center at 2025 E. Sample Rd. in Lighthouse Point. For all upcoming events, please visit www.JewishLHP.com.

Once there was a beloved emperor in a small country who was growing old and knew it was coming time to choose his successor. Instead of choosing one of his assistants or one of his own children, he decided to do something different.

He called all the young people in the kingdom together one day. He said, “It has come time for me to step down and to choose the next emperor. I have decided to choose one of you.”

The kids were shocked! But the emperor continued. “I am going to give each one of you a seed today – one seed. It is a very special seed. I want you to go home, plant the seed, water it and come back here one year from today with what you have grown from this one seed. I will then judge the plants that you bring to me, and the one I choose will be the next emperor of the kingdom!”

There was one boy named Ling who was there that day and he, like the others, received a seed. He went home and excitedly told his mother the whole story. She helped him get a pot and some planting soil, and he planted the seed and watered it carefully. Every day, he would water it and watch to see if it had grown.

After about three weeks, some of the other youths began to talk about their seeds and the plants that were beginning to grow. Ling kept going home and checking his seed, but nothing ever grew. Three weeks, four weeks, five weeks went by — still nothing.

By now others were talking about their plants but Ling didn’t have a plant, and he felt like a failure. Six months went by, still nothing in Ling’s pot. He just knew he had killed his seed. Everyone else had trees and tall plants, but he had nothing. Ling didn’t say anything to his friends, however. He just kept waiting for his seed to grow.

A year finally went by and all the youths of the kingdom brought their plants to the emperor for inspection. Ling told his mother that he wasn’t going to take an empty pot. But she encouraged him to go, and to take his pot, and to be honest about what happened. Ling felt sick to his stomach, but he knew his mother was right. He took his empty pot to the palace.

When Ling arrived, he was amazed at the variety of plants grown by all the other youths. They were beautiful, in all shapes and sizes. Ling put his empty pot on the floor and many of the other kids laughed at him. A few felt sorry for him and just said, “Hey, nice try.”

When the emperor arrived, he surveyed the room and greeted the young people. Ling just tried to hide in the back.

“My, what great plants, trees and flowers you have grown,” said the emperor. “Today, one of you will be appointed the next emperor!”

All of a sudden, the emperor spotted Ling at the back of the room with his empty pot. He ordered him to come to the front. Ling was terrified. “The emperor knows I’m a failure! Maybe he will have me killed!”

When Ling got to the front, the Emperor asked his name. “My name is Ling,” he replied.

All the kids were laughing and making fun of him. The emperor asked everyone to quiet down. He looked at

Ling, and then announced to the crowd, “Behold your new emperor! His name is Ling!” Ling couldn’t believe it. Ling couldn’t even grow his seed. How could he be the new emperor?

Then the emperor said, “One year ago today, I gave everyone here a seed. I told you to take the seed, plant it, water it and bring it back to me today. But I gave you all boiled seeds which would not grow. All of you, except Ling, have brought me trees and plants, and flowers. When you found that the seed would not grow, you substituted another seed for the one I gave you. Ling was the only one with the courage and honesty to bring me a pot with my seed in it. Therefore, he is the one who will be the new leader!”

This is a metaphor for life. Each of us was given his or her “seed,” his or her body, psyche and soul. The saddest thing you can do is try to mimic other people because you dislike your own seed; to live your life based on other people’s expectations, so that you gain their approval and feel successful, even if that means repressing your own seed and using the seed of another. Only when you become completely honest with your own condition and reality, confessing that your seed has grown nothing, can you truly make something of yourself and become a genuine source of leadership and inspiration to yourself, and others.

The Baal Shem Tov said “G-d desires your heart” – your raw, naked truth, more than anything else. It is what your children need most, too. No fancy toys or fun trips — those are good but it is not what they really need. They need your sincerity and your truth.

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the director of Chabad of North Broward Beaches, located in the Venetian Isle Shopping Center at 2025 E. Sample Rd. in Lighthouse Point. For all upcoming events, please visit www.JewishLHP.com.

The ham sandwich

A Jewish rabbi and a Catholic priest were good friends. At a picnic one day, the priest was eating a ham sandwich.

“You know,” he said to his friend, “this ham sandwich is delicious. I know you’re not supposed to eat ham, but I don’t understand why such a good thing would be forbidden. When will you break down and try it? When will you stop being so stubborn about your ancient laws and just start enjoying life. Will you ever become integrated and taste ham?”

To which the rabbi replied, “Sure, at your wedding.”

And this is the theme I wish to discuss with you today.

The Dalai Lama

Rabbi Ben Zion Krasnyanski, the Chabad rabbi on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, was once present at a large spiritual seminar in Manhattan, with many a Jewish Buddhists in the crowd. One man asked him, “Rabbi, I know that you believe that for a Jew to find spiritual fulfillment, he ought to search for it in Judaism. And I resent that. Why would you not tell a Jew that there are many paths to attain meaning and enlightenment, Judaism being only one of them? Take Buddhism for example. It is, I maintain, a legitimate spiritual path for the Jew. Look at the Dalai Lama, the head monk of Tibetan Buddhism. He is an awesome fellow, beloved, peaceful, enlightened, gracious, tranquil and happy. Why would you not encourage Jews to use his path for spiritual meaning? Would it be so bad if we Jews were as fine and wonderful as the Dalai Lama?”

To which the Chabad rabbi responded “You have just defined the Dalai Lama in powerful adjectives: fine, wonderful, awesome, beloved, peaceful, enlightened, gracious, tranquil and happy. I would love to accept all these titles about him. But we Jews have a sacred tradition which dates back 4000 years. We do not believe any compliments about any man in the world, no matter who he is, until we first consult the man’s wife. We believe that only the wife of a man really knows him and if she consents to all the compliments about her husband, then we can accept them. Only the wife is a “valid witness” in Judaism. So as much as I would love to accept all your words of praise about the Dalai Lama, as a rabbi I must adhere to the Jewish rule and I must first speak to Mrs. Dalai Lama and hear what she has to say about her husband. Here is the deal — If she agrees to all of these titles, then, yes, I confess you are right. Buddhism is the way to go. But if Mrs. Dalai Lama disagrees, then, I stick with Judaism and you must also stick with Judaism.

To which the man responded, “Primitiveness, rabbi, has just emerged in full splendor. How old- fashioned and isolated can you be? I knew that ultra orthodox Chassidic rabbis are out of touch with reality, but so out of touch? Do you not know that the Dalai Lama may never get married? He is to remain a celibate for his entire life! By definition of his being, the Dalai Lama he could never have a “Mrs.!”

“Ah,” responded the rabbi with a smile. “That is exactly the point! He is not allowed to have a Mrs.”

“You see,” the rabbi said, “The path of Buddhism, and many similar paths, fascinating and meaningful as they may be, demand that the head monk remain unmarried.”

In 2008, a reporter interviewed the Dalai Lama, and asked him, does he not desire intimacy, marriage, family? The Dalai Lama said: “People marry, soon after, they divorce. Again, they marry, and may divorce again. Those who marry always have trouble…. If you live together, happy, and get old, there is the issue of who goes first, who dies first. Human attachment to your children and partner becomes an obstacle to peace of mind. The attachments are a trap… Monks are detached. One of the practices in all major religions is detachment. Don’t have too much attachment, and you’ll be content. You have it in Catholicism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, all major religions.”

But the Dalai Lama knew not to mention Judaism because Judaism’s approach is different. In Judaism, the deepest spiritual fulfillment is attained only through deep and powerful concrete relationships here on earth. The Kabbalah explains why. Before creation G-d was alone. There was nothing but G-d, nothing but divine truth, light and purity. So why did G-d decide to create you and me? G-d was the ultimate Monk, fully detached and fully one and integrated. It is Niravana all of the time, one in all and all in one. So why did G-d disturb the silent peace and create a chaotic universe?

Because He wanted a relationship. So He made Himself vulnerable and He suspended His infinity to create space for the universe. So in Judaism, we touch the purpose of creation when we, too, come out of our cocoon and we connect with people deeply; when we turn the “I” into a “we,” when we create space for each other and we learn to love deeply and passionately.

So, on the holiest day of our calendar, the high priest who enters into the most sacred space on earth, may not be a spiritual bachelor. He must be a married man. You know why? Because it is in marriage where you must learn to be in a perpetual relationship, not only on your terms, but also on another person’s terms. For a marriage to work, you must be concerned with your partner 24/7. You must become one. And it is in our oneness with other people, that we emulate G-d who created the world in order to enter into a relationship with us.

Ham we may not eat, but marriage — oh yes! So if you’re looking to make a New Year’s resolution – emulate G-d by working on your relationships.

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the director of Chabad of North Broward Beaches, located in the Venetain Isle Shopping Center at 2025 E. Sample Rd. in Lighthouse Point. For all upcoming events, please visit www.JewishLHP.com.

I want to tell you a story about a little boy and a summersault.

When Sholom was 10 years old he was given a new suit that he was very proud of, especially its beautiful gold buttons. It wasn’t very easy to come by a new suit in 1930s Moscow, and certainly not one as nice as this one. Sholom wore his suit for the Jewish High Holidays that year and was extra careful to keep it nice and clean.

The climax of the High Holidays is on Simchat Torah when our joy knows no bounds. What was Simchas Torah like in Moscow during the height of Stalinist terror? If you would imagine that it was quiet and solemn, that would be an intelligent guess, but you’d be forgetting about Yonah.

That Simchas Torah Yonah had drank plenty in honor of the holidays and he was out in the streets dancing. He even grabbed a strangers to dance and drink with him. I’m not sure that we can even fathom the audacity and chutzpah!

To see Yonah make merry in the streets, you would never know that it was a Jewish community living under the state-run terror campaign and that arrest and even execution were a regular part of life. It was the Jewish Holidays and Yonah was in another world, a world in which Stalin and his secret police simply didn’t exist!

Then, Yonah took his joy to new levels and starting doing somersaults in the streets! A crowd gathered around him and Yonah got all the community Jews to do the same – somersaults in the streets.

Yonah noticed a 10-year-old boy standing cautiously off to the side. The boy was dressed in an obviously brand new suit with shiny gold buttons. There were no dry cleaners in 1930 Moscow. One tumble in the muddy street and that beautiful suit would never be the same. Yonah, the master educator and mentor knew exactly what the boy was thinking and also knew exactly what had to be done. You also know, yes?

This was what we call now days “a teachable moment.” You cannot plan for a “teachable moment;” you cannot engineer it. It is just an opportunity that arises where a teacher suddenly has a perfect, fleeting chance to endow the student with a lesson he or she will never forget. The teachable moment must be seized by the teacher or lost forever. Yonah knew what the suit meant to the boy, but Yonah also knew what the boy would need to learn in order to survive and thrive as a person living in dark times. Wanting to keep your suit nice and clean is the normal thing for a boy that age to want, but there are times when a person just has to do the abnormal thing – a somersault in the muddy streets even if it ruins your suit would be a great way to break free from the chains of communism.

“MACH A KULAH” (do a summersault) Yonah shouted at the boy. All eyes were now on him “ DO A SOMERSAULT” they all shouted with joy. There was no way out of this. The suit was about to get ruined. Ten-year-old Sholom took a plunge. It was a silly, crazy, defiant act, and it was very necessary – the defining moment of a young man’s education. Everyone cheered as Sholom tumbled head over heels in the muddy street!

Sholom survived the war, started a family and became a Rabbi and business man always teaching and inspiring along the way.

Sholom is my grandfather. He would eventually marry Yonah’s niece — my grandmother, Pesia. Incidentally, Yonah and his wife never had children. He eventually was caught by the KGB and passed away while in prison.

My grandfather, Rabbi Sholom, passed away this week at 89 years old in New York. He was surrounded by children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who are all proud Jews, and we are living the life he got dirty for. That “teachable moment” will forever be passed on through his family, most of whom are Rabbis and teachers across the globe.

You see getting dirty never felt so good! When you know getting dirty will help defy the challenges we face in this world so that we can be a free charitable and loving people, then getting dirty is just a pleasure.

MAY HIS MEMORY BE A BLESSING!

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the director of Chabad of North Broward Beaches, located in the Venetain Isle Shopping Center at 2025 E. Sample Rd. in Lighthouse Point. For all upcoming events, please visit www.JewishLHP.com.

Just a few decades ago, there lived a great symphony conductor, an Italian maestro named Arturo Toscanini (1867-1957), who led concerts all over the world. He was one of the most acclaimed musicians of the late 19th and 20th Century, renowned for his intensity, his perfectionism, his ear for orchestral detail and sonority, and his photographic memory. Toscanini had a biographer who would interview him periodically over the years as a part of a major book he was writing on his life.

The following is a story I heard about Toscanini: One evening, the biographer called Toscanini and told him that he would be in town the next night and asked if could come to the house to interview him. Toscanini answered that he could not because he would be doing something special that would require absolute concentration; he could not be interrupted.

“Maestro,” the biographer said, “if I may ask, what are you doing that is so special?”

Toscanini replied, “There is a concert being played overseas. I used to be the conductor of that symphony orchestra but I could not be there this year. So I’m going to listen to it on a shortwave radio and hear how the other conductor leads the orchestra. I don’t want any interruptions whatsoever.”

“Maestro, it would be my greatest pleasure to watch how you listen to a concert played by an orchestra that you used to lead and I promise I won’t say anything. I will sit on the other side of the room, quietly,” said the biographer

“You promise to be perfectly quiet?” Toscanini asked, to which the biographer replied that he would.

Toscanini answered, “Then you can come.”

The next night, the biographer came and sat quietly while Toscanini listened to the concert, which lasted almost an hour.

Finally, when it ended, the biographer remarked, “Wow, wasn’t that magnificent?”

Toscanini said, “Not really.”

His biographer asked, “Why not?”

Toscanini explained, “There were supposed to be 120 musicians, including 15 violinists but only 14 of them played.”

The biographer thought he was joking. How could he know from 6000 miles away, over shortwave radio, that one of the violinists was missing? The biographer had his doubts but didn’t want to say anything and went home.

The next morning, though, he had to find out for himself, so he called the concert hall overseas, asked for the music director and inquired as to how many musicians were supposed to have been playing the night before versus how many had actually shown up. The concert hall director told him that there were supposed to have been 120 musicians, including 15 violinists, but only 14 had shown up!

The biographer was amazed. He returned to Toscanini and said, “Sir, I owe you an apology. I thought you were just making it up the other night. But please, tell me, how could you know that one violinist was missing?”

“There is a great difference between you and me,” Toscanini answered.” You’re a part of the audience and to the audience everything sounds wonderful. But I’m the conductor, and the conductor knows every note of music that has to be played. When I realized that certain notes were not being played, I knew without a doubt that one of the violists was missing. The music is perfect because of all the pieces coming together in unison.”

Are you that violinist which constantly doesn’t show up?

There are always unity events, community events, school events, city events and the list goes on … but how many of us think “if we don’t go, what does it matter?”

Think for a moment as Toscanini – if you were trying to unite your children, if you were trying to make peace amongst your children than would it matter if one did not show up? Of course it would; it would ruin the whole song!

It reminds me of the tradition of baking challah bread, which is to be eaten on Sabbath. Part of the commandment of “taking challah” (a portion of consecrated dough) it is derived from the following passages: “And it will be when you eat of the bread of the land, you should bring an offering to G-d. The first of your kneading bowl you shall donate to G-d as an offering…” (Numbers 15:19, 20)

In the details pertaining to taking off a portion of dough, the law stipulates that the flour and water have to be properly kneaded so that it is a single dough. The portion cannot be separated while the batter is still loose, leaving the necessary flour still attached to the edges of the bowl.

The flour most commonly used for bread is derived from wheat, a grain that symbolizes independence. Each granule has its own compartment separated from the rest. Independence and self-reliance are not necessarily negative traits unless they become a source of arrogance, an unhealthy ego. But we do not eat the wheat as is. It is refined and processed until it becomes flour. The external, superficial trappings of ego are crushed allowing the beneficial parts to remain.

The other main ingredient in dough is water. Water is a unifier, it binds things together, and its purpose is to bring life and nourishment to everything. Our daily bread is symbolic of the need to reach out and help people discover their own individual shining souls, the need to connect with others in order to bring them within our community.

Just as the dough is not ready for the portion of “challah dough” to be given as an offering until the flour and water are kneaded together well, a person cannot rest comfortably in their own environment and imagine that things are fine while there are others that are left outside and not included in the community.

Join our Mega Challah Bake on Wednesday, Nov. 16 at The Chabad Jewish Center, 2025 E. Sample Rd. in the Venetian Isle Shopping Center. For more info and to R.S.V.P., please visit www.JewishLHP.com.

We have different names, different colors, different shapes and different sizes. We eat different foods and enjoy different sports. We have different houses of prayer and we have different books of prayers.

Are we really that different? There seems to be a never-ending cycle of hate and war throughout the world based on these differences. There also seems to be an ever-growing divisiveness within our own communities. How do we change that? Are humans really just different, separate beings that will always clash? Does being human mean being different? What is it that divides us and what is it that can unite us?

I propose we go back to the beginning …

When G-d created the first human being, the Bible describes it like this: “And the Lord, G-d formed man of dust from the ground, and He breathed into his nostrils the soul of life, and man became a living soul.” [Genesis 2:7]

So what divides us is the physical body. We are different people with different histories. Let me explain what unites us with a story: The story is told of an opera singer who was known for his readings and recitations from the Classics. He always ended his performance with a dramatic recital of Psalm 23. Each night, without exception, as the actor began his recitation, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…” The crowd would listen attentively and then rise with thunderous applause, in appreciation of the actor’s ability to bring the psalm to life.

One night, just before the singer was to offer his customary recital of Psalm 23, an old man from the audience spoke up. “Sir, would you mind, if tonight, I recite Psalm 23?”

The actor was surprised by this unusual request. However, he invited the old man to come onto the stage to recite the psalm, curious to see how the ability of this man weighed against his own talent.

Softly, the old man began to recite the words of the psalm. His voice was parched and weak, and his tune pretty lousy.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want … Though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff-they will comfort me. Only goodness and kindness shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the House of the Lord for many long years.”

When he was finished, there was no applause. There was no standing ovation as on other nights. All that could be heard was the sound of weeping. The audience had been so moved by the man’s recitation that every eye was tearful.

Amazed by what he had experienced, the opera star queried, “I don’t understand. I have been performing Psalm 23 for years. I have a lifetime of experience and training —but I have never been able to move an audience as you have tonight. And frankly, you have a horrible voice and can barely carry a tune. Tell me, what is your secret?”

The old man humbly replied, “Well, sir, you know the psalm … but I know the Shepherd.”

My dear friends, get to know the Shepherd within each and every one of us!

What unites us is our Creator, our Shepherd, our G-d. Get to know the shepherd and you will get to know the song of life. When we sing the Psalm, it will bring unity — peace, love and tolerance!

We humans were created with a body and a soul. The soul was given in order to bring unity, not to divide us! So, if we see another human, we must realize his uniqueness, which is his soul, is a part of G-d, our G-d, and that’s exactly what unites us!

So, next time you want to hate or divide, just stop and think that what makes us human is not the body, but the soul!

[Malachi 2:10] –Have we not all one father? Has not one God created us? Why should we betray, each one his brother, to profane the covenant of our forefathers?

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the Director of Chabad of North Broward Beaches located at 2025 E Sample Rd in Lighthouse Point.For all upcoming events, visit www.JewishLHP.com.

“Ki Hoadam Eitz Hasode” – a Man is likened to a tree, (Deuteronomy 20:19.)

But Why? Why are we compared to a tree? Isn’t there a more befitting metaphor?

There are people who only leave an impact when there is no major heat, warmth and passion in their lives. When the game is waning and there is not much action going on, they become sensible. In the morning and evening hours, when they are very young or quite old, when things are quiet and calm, they are ready to give of themselves to others and invest in eternity. As long as the sun in their life is burning hot, they are too caught up in themselves to reflect on how they are impacting others.

“When are you coming home dad?” our children ask us. And the answer: When the sun begins to set. When I get older, and finally make it, when I retire, then I will begin to spend time with my children, with my soul, with my G-d, with my spouse.

The problem is that those who needed our shade and our comfort during those days, don’t needed as much now when the sun has began to set. They missed the opportunity…

However, there is a life which can be likened to the shadow of a tree. Under the branches of a tree, you can always find shade and comfort. No matter if its morning, midday or evening, the tree always casts its healing shade and invites every passerby to bask in its tranquil and reinvigorating environment.

This represents the type of person who never ceases to remember that he or she is an ambassador of G-d at this very moment to bring light, clarity and love to the people around him and her. No matter where he or she stands in life – if the sun is just rising, or its fully aglow, or it is on its way down – this person never fails to be a leader, to serve as an agent of love, hope and trust. This person does not get drunk on his own accomplishments, but remembers his duty to those around him, the loved ones, to community, to our nation, and to our world.

The Talmud relates the following story:

An old man was planting a tree. A young person passed by and asked, What are you planting?

A carob tree, the old man replied.

Silly fool, said the youth. Don’t you know that it takes 70 years for a carob tree to bear fruit?

That’s okay, said the old man. Just as others planted for me, I plant for future generations.

Friends, are you and I “planting” something in our lives which our grandchildren will be able to look at and say, “Thank you grandpa; thank you grandma?” That is why the Torah compared us to the tree in the field.

Is your jar full?

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous “Yes.”

The professor then produced two cans of beer from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

“Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life.

The golf balls are the important things — your G-d, your soul, your family, your children, your health, your friends, your passions, your conscience — things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, your car. The sand is everything else — the small stuff.”

“If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you.

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to build a relationship with your soul, with your spouse. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

When he had finished, there was a profound silence. Then one of the students raised her hand and with a puzzled expression, inquired what the beer represented.

The professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of L’chayim’s.”

As we approach the High Holidays we must take inventory of our deeds. We must realize that to be a tree is to give shade to those around us no matter what type of leaves or fruits we may or may not have.

Join a community, help others, give of your time, give of your money; just make sure your sharing your shade.

Join us for the High Holidays at our new location. Call to reserve: 347-410-1106. Email: tzvidechter@gmail.com.

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Elul, the last month of the Jewish year, is a time of paradox.

The Jewish calendar distinguishes between two qualities of time: “mundane” work days, and “holy” days, such as Shabbat and the festivals. Shabbat is a day we are not involved with all material endeavors, a day devoted to the spiritual pursuits of study and prayer. The festivals likewise transcend time, each providing its unique spiritual quality to the journeyer through calendar and life.

In this respect, the month of Elul resembles the “holy” portions of the calendar. Elul is a haven in time, a “city of refuge” from the ravages of material life, a time to audit one’s spiritual accounts and assess the year gone by, to prepare for the “Days of Awe” of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur by repenting the failings of the past and resolving for the future, to immerse oneself in Torah study, as well as prayer and charitable activities. Elul is the opportune time for all this because it is a month in which G-d relates to us in a more open and compassionate manner than He does in the other months of the year. In the terminology of Kabbalah, it is a time when G-d’s “13 attributes of mercy” illuminate His relationship with us.

And yet, unlike Shabbat and the festivals, the days of Elul are workdays. On Shabbat, the Torah commands us to cease all materially constructive work. The festivals, too, are days on which “work” is forbidden. Regarding the month of Elul, however, there are no such restrictions. The transcendent activities of Elul are conducted amidst our workday lives in the field, shop or office.

Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi explains the paradox of Elul with the following metaphor: The king’s usual place is in the capital city, in the royal palace. Anyone wishing to approach the king must go through the appropriate channels in the palace bureaucracy and gain the approval of a succession of royal secretaries and ministers. He must journey to the capital and pass through the many gates, corridors and antechambers that lead to the throne room. His presentation must be meticulously prepared, and he must adhere to an exacting code of dress, speech and mannerism upon entering into the royal presence.

However, there are times when the king comes out to the fields outside the city. At such times, anyone can approach him; the king receives them all with a smiling face and a radiant countenance. The peasant behind his plow has access to the king in a manner unavailable to the highest ranking minister in the royal court when the king is in the palace.

The month of Elul, says Rabbi Schneur Zalman, is when the king is in the field.

When the farmer sees the king in his field, does he keep on plowing? Does he behave as if this were just another day in the fields? Of course not. Elul is not a month of ordinary workdays it is a time of increased Torah study, more fervent prayer, more generosity and charity. The very air is charged with holiness. We might still be in the field, but the field has become a holier place.

On the other hand, when the farmer sees the king in his field, does he run home to wash and change? Does he rush to the capitol to school himself in palace protocol? The king has come to the field, to commune with the processors of his bread in their environment and on their terms.

In the month of Elul, the essence and objective of life becomes that much more accessible. No longer do the material trappings of life conceal and distort its purpose, for the king is paying a visit. But unlike the holy days of the year, when we are lifted out of and above our workday lives, the encounter of Elul is hosted by our physical selves, within our material environment, on our workingman’s terms. — (Based on an address by the Chabad Rebbe on August 25, 1990.)

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the Director of Chabad of the North Broward Beaches. New location coming soon. For all upcoming events, please visit www.JewishLHP.com.

A government official was arrested for accepting a bribe from a contractor. A friend who went to visit him in the lock-up asked, “How are you going to get out of this mess?”

The official replied calmly, “I got into trouble for accepting a bribe; I will get out of it by giving it.”

Five daughters petition

It is a puzzling story—the tale of the five daughters of Tzelafchad, recorded in the portion of Pinchas.

Tzelafchad was a Jewish man, of the generation born in Egyptian slavery, liberated by the Exodus, and granted the Land of Canaan as Israel’s heritage. Although that generation did not merit to take possession of the land themselves, when their children crossed the Jordan River to conquer it, they did so as their fathers’ heirs. Each family received its share in the land in accordance with its apportionment among the 600,000 members of the generation of the Exodus.

Tzelafchad had five daughters but no sons. The laws of inheritance as they were initially given in the Torah, which recognized only male heirs, in which sons inherit from their fathers and they are responsible to fully support the widow and daughters as long as they do not marry. In this case, there were no sons to inherit Tzelafchad’s portion in the Land. The daughters refused to reconcile themselves to this situation, and approached Moses with the petition.

They stood before Moses and before Eleazar the Kohen and before the chieftains and the entire congregation at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting, saying, “Our father died in the desert, but he was not in the assembly that banded together against G-d in Korah’s assembly, but he died for his own sin, and he had no sons.”

“Why should our father’s name be eliminated from his family because he had no son? Give us a portion along with our father’s brothers.”

So Moses brought their case before G-d.

God spoke to Moses, saying: “The daughters of Tzelafchad have a just claim. Give them a hereditary portion of land alongside their father’s brothers. Let their father’s hereditary property thus pass over to them.”

The correct decision for this question requires no more than simple logic. What else should be done with the piece of land belonging to Tzelafchad? Should it be transferred to someone who is not related to him? It would not make sense to have his brothers receive it, because, as mentioned according to Torah law, orphaned daughters need to be supported by the brothers until they marry, during which time they live in their father’s estate now inherited by the brothers. In our case, when there were no brothers, and all of the women were single, where would they live? Who would support them? If they do not inherit any part of the land or their father’s possessions, they will remain homeless and destitute. That is senseless. Logic dictates that the daughters should inherit their father’s piece of land — and logic is the way we deduce the intricacies of Torah law. Why then did Moses feel it necessary to bring this seemingly obvious ruling directly to G-d and not even begin to seek an answer?

Moses’ Integrity

If we are to look at how they presented their case, they prefaced, “Our father died in the desert. He was not among the members of Korach’s party who protested against G-d, but he died because of his own sin without leaving any sons.”

This detail is the key to it all. Korach staged a ferocious rebellion against Moses. He saw Moses as his arch-enemy and attempted to rally up the entire nation against Moses. Korach claimed that Moses was a power-hungry demagogue who craved nothing but absolute control and authority. The moment Moses heard the daughters say that their father was not part of Korach’s mutiny he felt that his psyche has just become bias toward them and their father. This was a verbal bribe, subtle as it may be, and he might not be fully objective in his decision.

The Lesson

This is the level of self-awareness G-d asks of us. Don’t be perfect, but be accountable. Don’t be flawless, but be honest with yourself. Realize how subjective and bias you may be on any given issue, perhaps beyond realizing it. Thus, always retain your humility, allow yourself to be challenged, listen to another perspective, and be open to the truth that you may really be wrong.

If Moses at the peak of his life felt that no matter his standing, a small compliment from five sisters can alter his objectivity and distort his sense of truth. Certainly you and I must ask ourselves, “Maybe there is another perspective?” “Maybe my wife has a point?” “Maybe my mother-in-law is in the right?” Okay, let’s not push it… but “maybe my husband has a point?” “Maybe I need an outside opinion?”

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the Director of Chabad of the North Broward Beaches. New location coming soon. For all upcoming events, please visit www.JewishLHP.com.

A friend recently shared with me the following personal story: My business had run so successfully for the last 10 years, I thought I was headed for an early retirement. But the last six months have completely shattered that hope. My business went down big time. I went from being CEO of a large company to searching for part-time work in the classifieds online. Almost overnight, my fortunes made a 180 degree turn and I can no longer enjoy the luxurious lifestyle I once had. I no longer own a holiday home. I sold my yacht and am struggling to be able to hold on to the family home.

But with all this going on, something weird has happened. Everyone around me expected me to fall apart. I had been a workaholic. My business was my life and seeing that go down should have meant that I go down with it. But I didn’t. In fact, just the opposite happened. With less work on my plate, I now have more time to spend with my family. And guess what? I enjoy it. I have gotten to know my 8-year-old daughter better than ever, because I have the space to listen to her. I used to be at the office until 10 or 11 p.m., but now I am home to put the kids to bed, read them a story and give them a goodnight kiss. I used to eat Chinese takeout at my computer every night, but now I sit and eat with my family, hearing about their day and sharing mine with them. I have even started taking walks with my wife like we did when we were newlyweds.

I have come to realize what is really important and where my time and energy should really be spent. Thank G-d I went broke. Otherwise I’d be so rich, and yet so poor. I might have had everything, but I would have had nothing…

This is the white cheese that sometimes comes from the black goat, and the white egg that the black hen lays. We have all seen it, in our own lives and in the lives of those around us. The illness that brings us a deeper perspective in life, the relationship breakdown that allows us to find true love and humility, the passing of a loved one that gives us new appreciation of our short time in this world and the spirituality of life. What the soul understands is that there are two forms of light – light that appears as light and light that appears as darkness. The good times are good. The tough times are there for us to make them good. “Problems are only opportunities with thorns.”

Henny Youngman said: “You know why Jews don’t drink? It interferes with their suffering.” But he was wrong — on two counts. First, many Jews do drink… Second, we don’t want pain. We would rather not have to go through the tough times. We don’t seek out suffering, even if it will make us stronger. We would rather learn the lessons and gain the inspiration we need through pleasant and comfortable means, not through pain. It would be wonderful if all eggs could be born from white hens. But the reality of life is that we all have our share of challenges, difficulties and trials. And as long as that is the case, the human response to life’s challenges is to make them a springboard for positive change.

It is during this time of year, the three weeks of mourning for the Jewish Temples, that we focus on this powerful idea. Destruction is a step toward rebuilding and failure is a chance to regroup and get our strength back. We all go through black times. We all get knocked over and we all fall. But “failure is not falling down, it is staying down.” As Jews, we know that we must get back up, shake off the dust and keep on “laying eggs.”

The Three Weeks, from a Jewish perspective, are like the Black Hole in modern physics, which is filled with endless light, but does not allow it to escape its pull. (A black hole is a region of space in which the gravitational field is so powerful that nothing, including light, can escape its pull.) Our job is to penetrate the black hole and reveal its inner light, the light of Messiah.

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the Director of Chabad of the North Broward Beaches. New location coming soon. For all upcoming events, please visit www.JewishLHP.com.