Saying goodbye to our boss -Rabbi Joseph I. Eisenbach
Now that Merkos Shlichus is over, though my travels to inspire other Jews have not ended, I am left with a number of pictures that never made it to post . . .
Click on the link and Enjoy!
Yes, that's an original Chagall - a lady we met had it on her wall.
Technorati Tags: Litchfield, Chagall Merkos Shlichus, Tefillin, Mezuzos, Photography
Just a picture to add some flavor to the post -taken in Meriden, Connecticut
On Friday we returned to the Kissinger Estate with a Challah for Henry. . .
This time we weren't stopped by security, allowing us to drive directly to his house.
As we approached, it occurred to me despite the immaculate grounds - dotted with trees, ponds and rolling green hills - the actual house of the former Secritary of State was in fact surprisingly small . . .
It was definitely a beautiful building, but it lacked the opulence and size that one would expect for such large grounds or famous person. It bespoke of a certain simplicity . . .
A silver Audi parked in the driveway came to our attention; inside sat a dignified lady sporting large sunglasses and teased hair.
We pulled up next to her; she rolled down her window and motioned for us to do the same.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, we are rabbis and we came here to see Mr. Kissinger. Are you Mrs. Kissinger?"
"Yes I am. If you have anything for him, you can give it to me."
We handed her a challah, explained who we were somewhat more and then thanked her for her time, asking her to wish her husband a good shabbos on our behalf.
She drove off, but as we turned around and began to go back down the gravel driveway that led up the hill and then wound through the forest, we saw that she had stopped and was motioning for us to pull up next to her.
"Who sent you again?"
"We were sent by the Chabad Rabbi here. We have calender with his number on it if you'd like."
"Yes please, I'd appreciate it."
We handed her the calendar. She turned the calendar over, and mumbled 'Lubavitch' - incorrectly putting the stress on the u - to herself.
"Thank you again. And please wish you husband a 'good Shabbos' for us."
We drove off, returning to the Chabad House to prepare for Shabbos.
Thus ended our last full day on Merkos Shlichus in Northwest Connecticut.
Note:
Shmais has an article about the trip as well.
See it here
COL also has a write up in Hebrew (with English only on the main page) . . .
Some of the facts have been embellished -see it here
Technorati Tags: Litchfield, Merkos Shlichus, Henry Kissinger, Shabbos, Challah, Photography, Shmais, Publication
The Old Mill in Gdansk from my trip to Hel
I'm planing, Iy"h on going on Merkos Shlichus this summer . . .
To go one needs permission from the staff of Yeshivah, and a signature stating that he knows a concept in Chassidus.
I said that I had a standard speech that I use, based on Chassidic concepts . . . it didn't go.
Now I have to learn two sichos: Cheilik 25 Lech Lecha, and Cheilik 36 Shemos . . .
The first one I finished speaks about the nature of a Jew -how a Jew is in essence transcends the bounds of nature, and therefore our existence is not based on logic, nor was the commandment to the first Jew, Abraham -he was told to leave himself, his nature, his habits and his logic, and step into the realm of G-d.
I have yet to learn the second, which is about bitochon -faith.
Today was the fourth day here in Litchfield, Connecticut and I've compiled a list of interesting tidbits and stories -at least interesting to me- that have transpired during my travels with Mendel, hence forth known as 'The Chief.'
This home was far different from many of the others we
had visited -it spoke of a certain class, closer to a Golden Age resort
then an convalescent home.
Inside things were different. Gone was the dimly lit cookie-cutter hall of blue doors.
Here the lights shone brightly, casting a warming glow on shelves of well-used books and smiling pictures of grandchildren.
We had entered the lives of Wolf and Aranka Z.
After introductions - how Mendel, my comrade in arms, and I were Roving Rabbis -recently ordained itinerant Rabbis traveling the Northwest corner of Connecticut searching for Jews - we begin to
learn about our hosts. They told us that they were survivors of the Holocaust; Wolf was born Sosnowiec, Poland, Aranka in Hungary . . .
Mendel leaned over to the aged Aranka,
"Megköszön I-sten." -Thank G-d
"What?" she called out, "I can't hear you."
"I said 'Megköszön I-sten'."
"Oh, Megköszön I-sten! You speak some Hungarian? I speak Hungarian -Wolf he speaks Hungarian from when he was in Hungary!"
Turning to Wolf, I said with a grin,
"Dzień Dobry!" - Hello
"Oh, you speak Polish? Jak sie Pan ma?" -How are you?
"Dzięki B-g!" -Thank G-d/ "Tak?" -Yes? We both broke out in laughter.
"So what are the Polak'en like? Have they changed in the past sixty years?"
"Nope . "
"You mean they're still foolish? I remember they would curse a Jew whenever they had the chance! Oddly though, when a Jew passed away they would stand by the funeral with great reverence, doffing their hats and making other signs of respect! They could never make up their minds if the hated or respected us!"
We laughed some more. Wolf, the more vigorous of the two was very outspoken about the need to learn about the past, about the Holocaust. He spoke of a world gone mad, as seen through the eyes of a young man, only nineteen years of age, but told now with the wisdom of one who had seen over three quarters of a century . . .
After his older brother Meyer had been taken by the Nazis as a slave laborer for the German war-machine as it marched ever deeper into the Russian interior during the dark days of 1941, Wolf knew that he would be next. Bidding farewell to the two rooms he, his parents and three remaining siblings had been sharing as 'home' since being forced to leave their own house, Wolf went into hiding. Life in the cellars was difficult, racked with constant fear of discovery, but after he was found, things would become decidedly worse.
"At one point I was transferred to Klattendorf
where I made steel rods for a private firm. We were given very thin
soup and a small piece of bread each day. Then I got lucky. They sent me to work in the pig houses!"
Wolf said, an ironic smile on his face,
"There I could find a few rotten scraps, pieces of potatoes and carrots, to eat. Rods you couldn't eat."
But even this 'haven' would not last; in the waning hours of the war, Wolf and the other Jewish prisoners were sent on a death march to Bergen-Belsen. When the British finally arrived on April 15, he had been reduced to only eighty pounds. A desire to live, however, burned inside his skeletal
frame.
As we spoke the sky began to pour -a deluge of rain, so thick that it was difficult to see out the window- broke forth from thick clouds. Thunder roared through the air, then was silenced once more by the heavy dance of corpulent rain drops inundating the ground with their aqueous steps.
This was no mere summer's rain - these were the sky's tears for the past. The two survivors spoke about the past; of lost family and spilled blood. Of rebuilding a new life, first in Sweden and then later in America, of working for the first time, not as slaves, but as free people and ofIn truth, our outlooks were not two discordant opinions, but rather two ways of looking at the same problem. Wolf and Aranka saw things through the lens of the past, all that the journey of their lives had led them to. We, young and idealistic, saw how the path that Wolf and Aranka had taken must not end, nor cycle back unto itself, but rather move on to a greater future.Our conversation ended, and I chanced a look outside. The rain stopped . . . and the sun came out.
Technorati Tags: Twitter, Blogging, Firefox, Technology, Merkos Shlichus, The Holocaust, Survivors, Waterbury, Judaism, Short Stories, Poland
In general it's worth noting that my posts about the people we've visited experience a great deal of lag . . . Yesterday's post was written almost a week after it happened. So the fact that today's post reports events from only Monday is a good sign . . . I think -though the sudden drop in visitor activity here (both in comments and hits) means either my posts have become more boring, or they've all gone on vacation.
Anyhow.
Today's couple, known as Mr. Dovid and Mrs. Freida have the distinct merit of being the first couple to invite us to their home -though due to various complications we weren't able to meet until the other day.
Dovid sat on one side of the living room, while Freida insisted on standing next to the couch that Mendel and I were sitting on -on the opposite side of the room.
It soon became clear that our dear friends were quite different in character; for while Dovid sat on his chair stoically taking in the conversation, Freida spoke a mile a minute . . .
Freida: So I went to a restaurant that had this great food, it was really great, so great that you should go there -but you can't go there because it isn't kosher, but maybe they'll make it kosher, so then you can go there and enjoy it. But anyhow, there were so many people there, from all over the world, and we all enjoyed it because we were all good people who were enjoying good food, which was very good -I mean you came in hungry and if you wanted to eat, you could eat, because the food was just that good.
Mendel: I see
Freida: So I think what needs to be done is that poor people should be able to eat in this restaurant . . . they would like the food and it would make them feel good and turn them into mentchin -you know if we gave them a nice meal, and maybe haircut and shave -unless they didn't need a shave, like if it was women . . . unless she was a hairy women who needs a shave . . .
Mottel: So Dovid, what do you think of all of this?
Dovid: What I can't hear you?
Freida: He said what do you think of all of this?
Dovid: I still can't hear you -I'm old you know.
Freida: What did you say, Dovid? I couldn't hear you . . .
Dovid: What was that? I don't have my hearing aid in today!
One of the ubiquitous Israelis at a shopping mall kiosk.
We bumped into Orin yesterday, and as the saying goes -'Have Tefillin, will travel.'
DALED AMOS TAGGED ME...
Each player lists 8 facts/habits
about themselves. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning
before those facts/habits are listed. At the end of the post, the
player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their
blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been
tagged and asking them to read your blog.
ame up -particularly in light of Mr's W.'s illness.
-- The home of Letters Of Thought --
The truth is the beginning, middle, and end of all
