Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

#Shmini #תשפא

(Some of these ideas were shared during the drasha in shul on the first day of Pesach.)

​A few days before Pesach, I wrote an article in defense of my grandmother and yours. The basic idea that I wanted to convey is that our grandparents understood that there is a deep value in commitment, dedication and hard work. Especially, in the performance of mitzvos. It's a value that has fallen out of fashion in Yiddishkeit as we have endeavored to find more frictionless avenues for mitzvah observance (many for good halachik and hashkafik reason.)

In that article, the example I gave was of the voluntary acceptance of chumros in preparing for Pesach on the part of our grandmothers. The reason for this example was in part because of the timeliness of it. But also because this subset of the Jewish people – our maternal ancestors – are often robbed of any agency in our retrospective of history. This is true on the right and left.

On the extreme right, our mothers are often portrayed as saintly: Accepting the challenges of poverty and pain with unimaginable grace from which we could only hope to be inspired. They are rarely given the credit for struggling with their challenges.

On the extreme left, these same women are viewed as ignorant victims of a patriarchal society that intentionally sidelined female voices.

#Tzav #תשפא

Over the past few weeks, in shiurim, on social media, and in polite conversations, I have noticed a significant uptick in trash talking our grandmothers.

Specifically, we seem to be maligning that our grandmothers would spend weeks and months with palpable anxiety over the upcoming Chag HaPesach, and the crumbs they would need to find and destroy.

As we all now know, none of that was necessary. Our generation, with our unparalleled access to information, knowledge and wisdom, can safely assure our matriarchal ancestors that their efforts were in vain. Bedikas Chametz is simply not the same as spring cleaning. It never was.

And if only they would have been as wise, knowledgable and educated as we are, they too could have entered the Chag with more sleep and less stress.

#Vayikra #תשפא

When I was in 11th grade, I was privileged to spend a few weeks learning in the Yeshiva Gedolah of Johannesburg as part of their winter vacation program.

Like many teenagers, I was trying to figure out a system of priorities in life and Yiddishkeit. I realized, already then, that it's not always intuitive to understand what's important, what's extraneous and what's incorrect. This challenge is constantly compounded by multiple factors: community standards, family customs and differing opinions.

Even today, I'm working to establish rubrics and perspectives through which I should see the world. I imagine that this will be a life long project.

But I recall that winter that I approached the Rosh Yeshiva, Rabbi Azriel Goldfein זצ״ל and asked him what he thought about me taking on the custom of Chalav Yisrael. He looked at me intently and then asked: “If you decide to eat only Chalav Yisrael, what will that mean when you spend Shavuos at your aunt? Will you be able to eat her cheesecake?” “No, I suppose not,” I replied. “Do you think that will upset her?” “Probably.” “Well then, it seems that you have a choice to make. Are you going to be Machmir to observe Chalav Yisrael, or are you going to be Machmir to have Derech Eretz for your aunt?”

“Always remember,” he concluded, “There is no such thing as a Chumrah (a stringency) that doesn't come with a Kulah (a leniency) somewhere else.”

#Vayishlach #תשפא

When the Maggid of Mezritch was a young boy of 5 or 6 years, he once came home from cheder and saw his house burning down and his mother crying bitterly. To comfort her he said, “Mommy, please don’t cry, Hashem will give us a bigger, nicer home.”

His mother replied, “Berele, I am not crying because of our home, but because of our Shtar Yuchsin, the document of our ancestry, which describes our beautiful family tree. Now, because of the fire, we no longer have it.”

Upon hearing this, young Berele said, “Please don't cry: if our old yichus letter was destroyed, with Hashem's help, a new yichus will start with me.”

Indeed, the Maggid (whose Yahrzeit is 19 Kislev) built an empire of Torah and Chassidus, imbued with this spirit: Regardless of whatever has been, we begin again now.

Truthfully, however, we have a far more complex relationship with our pasts, both nationally, and personally. It is neither simple nor advisable to neglect our rich and often fraught histories. For Yaakov Avinu, his past catches us with him this Shabbos.

#Vayetzei #תשפא

Rabbi Yisrael Salanter, the brilliant and renowned founder of the mussar movement, once found himself in a wagon traveling to a speaking engagement with a group of jews, who did not recognize him.

As the journey began, he took out sefer and began to learn. But he became distracted by the conversation around him.

“Did you hear about so-and-so?!” One man asked. “No! What happened?” “Well he and his wife...”

Rav Yisrael Salanter, who did not enjoy talking about other people, noticed that one of the horses drawing the wagon was particularly fine. He pointed it out to his companions, who agreed with his estimation, and the conversation quickly moved from one to another – each man telling his best and worst horse stories.

As the wagon arrived in the city, throngs of people gathered to meet Rav Yisrael Salanter. When the travelers realized who their companion was, they turned to him in shock. “Holy Rabbi, for the last two hours we have been talking, laughing and telling stories about horses – surely their was a better use for your time?!”

“Indeed,” said Rav Yisrael, “but just after I took out a sefer, you began to talk about other people. And Chazal teach out that one speaking Lashon Hara is likened to killing a person. I decided that it'd be rather be guilty of to killing horses, than people.”

Many might argue that the sensitivity and dedication of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter belongs to a bygone era of tzadikim. We can tell the story, maybe even aspire to such lofty heights, but we understand that there are levels beyond us, reserved for only the most transcendent and cautious.

But I disagree wholeheartedly.

#Toldos #תשפא

I was speaking with a friend about a week ago, who was complaining about the challenges of working from home. Children banging on the door, work spaces constantly violated, and the ever looming temptation of the kitchen...

But more than all of that, he related, he was spending far more time with his family than ever before. “You know,” he says, “I always made sure to spend quality time with my family. But quantity time is much more difficult.”

#ChayeiSara #תשפא

In the past week we have said goodbye to two more Gedolei Olam – Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks and Rabbi Dovid Feinstein. This compounds the loneliness, the pain and the isolation we have all felt in the past nine months. But in the wake of their passing, we are left asking the same painful question yet again: Who will replace them?

Of course, no one is ever replaceable. The candle might burn from one shabbos to the next. The challah might, once again stay fresh all week long. But for Avraham Avinu, Rivka will never replace Sarah. How could she?

But in the wake of her passing, Avraham knows that his and her legacy must continue beyond their lifetime. Avraham slowly, tragically comes to terms with his own mortality. And the reality that the task of bringing the entirety of humanity to a recognition of Hashem is bigger than one lifetime.

And so his goal, and the goal of every Jewish parent since, is to perpetuate this truth by cheating death – by having children.

For Avraham, the stakes are incredibly high. If Yitzchak fails, then the world fails. In no uncertain terms, humanity depends on Yitzchak finding a Shidduch that will partner with him in this mission.

#Vayera #תשפא

Reb Levi Yitzchok of Berdichev was well known as possessing a an extreme love for the Jewish people, but also for being both brilliant and somewhat eccentric.

Berdichev was a town with more than a few non-observant Jews, and was often host to enlightened Jews, who reveled in opportunities to catch a frum Jew on some hypocrisy in their behavior, or inconsistency in their understanding of Torah and mitzvos. Many of these maskilim were exceedingly learned, well versed and brilliant in their own right. Which made them all the more dangerous to an unsuspecting minyan goer...

There was a certain maskil that had heard rumors of the brilliance of the Berdichever, and relished in the opportunity to challenge him on issues of faith and mesora and authenticity.

He arrived in town dressed as a regular Jew, and armed with well developed arguments, he asked for an appointment with the Rebbe. He was informed that the Berchiver was davening. No matter, he said, I wait on the side of the small Beis Medrash. And what a sight it was to behold. The Rebbe was eccentric beyond belief. His davening began in one corner of the room and he appeared to jump and dance with little rhyme or reason from one corner to the other.

The Maskil began to chuckle to himself. How naive the chassidim could be to think that such a person, with his oddities could possess any philosophical sophistication. Perhaps it was not worth the time to come.

One end of the room to the other, he davened and danced. And the maskil looked on, slowly drawn into the seemingly strange movements of the Rebbe. Little by little, as if in a trance, the Maskil began noticing the patterns of his arms and legs. What appeared to be random eccentrics gave way to a complex choreographed performance, with an audience of two. The maskil and Hashem.

His mind gradually emptied, his breathing relaxed. His eyed fixated on the dance. Until as if all at once, the Rebbe's face was directly in front of him. Broken out of the reverie, the Rebbe grabbed him by his collar and firmly asked: “And what if you're wrong?”

All the walls had finally come down. The Maskil stood in that little room and cried and cried. Echoing over and over in his mind: “And what if you're wrong?”

#LechLecha #תשפא

“Avraham in the Idol Shop” is amongst the most cherished medrashim of our formative kindergarten parsha classes. It's a story of good old fashion Jewish smarts, of mesirus nefesh, of boldness and audaciousness.

Do you remember the first time you heard the story? And the punch line that he blamed it on the biggest idol. Brilliant! Look at him go! Smashing those idols, proving their worthlessness. Standing up to his parents, society and king. Every child leaves their kindergarten class thinking “when I grow up, one day I too will be like Avraham.”

But careful eyes will notice that there’s a major problem with the story. Because Avraham himself never grows up to be like Avraham. This is a one time event. Indeed, the Avraham that we meet in Lech Lecha is decidedly not an idol smasher.

And so the Chasam Sofer (ריש לך לך) questions: Why does Avraham destroy the idols in his home town of Ur Casdim, but never in Eretz Yisrael? Surely it would be his sacred duty to inform all those around him of the importance of ridding the Sacred Land of Israel of traces of Avodah Zara?

And yet he doesn't. This is not a result of weakness. Avraham is no push over. He goes to war against four armies and wins. And yet, never again does he wield the axe of destruction.

What changed?