Tuesday, 26 January 2016

גד אלבז וניסים ה' מלך Gad Elbaz and Nissim - Hashem Melech 2.0

Great Story. Last Cab Ride

THE LAST CAB RIDE

I arrived at the address and honked the horn.

After waiting a few minutes I honked again.

Since this was going to be my last ride

of my shift I thought about just driving

away, but instead I put the car in park and

walked up to the door and knocked..

'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened.

A small woman in her 90's stood before me.

She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox

hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody

out of a 1940's movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase.

The apartment looked as if no one had

lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters.

In the corner was a cardboard box

filled with photos and glassware.

'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said.

I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned

to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly

toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness.

'It's nothing', I told her. 'I just try to treat

my passengers the way I would want

my mother to be treated.'

'Oh, you're such a good boy, she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?'

'It's not the shortest way,'

I answered quickly..

'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.

I looked in the rear-view mirror.

Her eyes were glistening.

'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice..

'The doctor says I don't have very long.'

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

'What route would you like me to take?'

I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city.

She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.

She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now

We drove in silence

to the address she had given me.

It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab

as soon as we pulled up.

They were solicitous and intent,

watching her every move.

They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase

to the door. The woman was already

seated in a wheelchair.

'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse.

'Nothing,' I answered.

'You have to make a living,' she said.

'There are other passengers,' I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.

She held onto me tightly.

'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,'

she said. 'Thank you.'

I squeezed her hand, and then walked

into the dim morning light.

Behind me, a door shut.

It was the sound of the closing of a life..

I didn't pick up any more passengers

that shift. I drove aimlessly

lost in thought.

For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.

What if that woman had gotten an angry

driver, or one who was impatient to

end his shift?

What if I had refused to take the run,

or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review,

I don't think that I have done

anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives

revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware -

beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE

MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY

WHAT YOU DID, OR

WHAT YOU SAID. BUT THEY WILL

ALWAYS REMEMBER

HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

At the bottom of this great story was a

request to forward this - I deleted that

request because if you have read to this

point, you won't have to be asked to

pass it along, you just will...

Thank you, my friend...

Life may not be the party we hoped for,

but while we are here

we might as well dance.

Malky Sprung

Care Service Administrator

Bikur Cholim Ltd

Ground Floor

2a Northfield Road

LONDON N16 5RN

Tel: 020 8800 7575

Fax: 020 8800 7878

Email: m.sprung@bikurcholim.co.uk

This email has been checked for viruses by Avast antivirus software.
www.avast.com

Great Article By Manis Friedman

Cold Soup

By Manis Friedman

If you ask someone coming out of church on a Sunday, “Do you believe in G‑d?” the worshipper is shocked. “What type of question is that? Of course I do!” If you then ask him, “Do you consider yourself religious?” what will the answer be? “Certainly. That’s why I’m here!”

If you go to a mosque on Friday and you ask the average person there, “Do you believe in G‑d?” what will the answer be? “Definitely.” “Do you consider yourself religious?” “Well, obviously.”

This is normal. These conversations make sense.

Now go to a synagogue on Yom Kippur. Ask the Jew sitting in the synagogue on Yom Kippur, fasting, “Do you believe in G‑d?”

You cannot get a straight answer. “Umm, it depends on what you mean by ‘G‑d’.” That’s if they’re the philosophical type. Otherwise they’ll simply say, “What am I? A rabbi? I don’t know.”

So then ask them, “Do you consider yourself religious?” Have you ever asked an American Jew if they’re religious? They crack up laughing. And they assure you that they’re the furthest things from religious. “Are you kidding? Do you know what I eat for breakfast?”

Then every one of them will say, “I had a grandfather, on my mother’s side, oh, that was a religious man. But me . . . ?”

So you ask what appears to be a logical question. “Then why are you here?”

For some reason, this average Jew, who doesn’t believe in G‑d and is very not religious, will look at you like you’re crazy and say, “What do you mean? It’s Yom Kippur!”

This is not normal.

Let’s analyze this for a moment. What is this Jew actually saying?

You asked him if he believes in G‑d, and he said “No.” Or “When I was younger, I used to.” Or “When I get older, I’ll start to.”

“So you don’t believe in G‑d?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Are you religious?”

“Furthest thing from it.”

“So why are you here?”

“Because it’s Yom Kippur!”

What he’s saying is this: “Why am I here? Because G‑d wants a Jew to be in the synagogue on Yom Kippur. So where else should I be?”

So you say: “But you don’t believe in G‑d.”

He says, “So what?” and he doesn’t understand your problem.

He is saying: “Today is Yom Kippur even if I don’t have a calendar. This is a synagogue even if I don’t like it. I am a Jew even if I’m not religious, and G‑d is G‑d even when I don’t believe in Him. So what’s your problem?”

Now that can be dismissed, and unfortunately many of us do dismiss it, as sheer hypocrisy. We say, “You don’t believe in G‑d and you’re not religious—don’t come to the synagogue. Don’t come here just to show how Jewish you are.”

The Lubavitcher Rebbe has a different approach. This insanity is what makes us Jewish. This is what shows how special we are in our relationship with G‑d.

That’s called truth. It’s not about me. I don’t want to be religious. I don’t want to believe in G‑d; I don’t want to hear about this. But He wants me here, so here I am.

The same thing happens on Passover. Every Jew sits by a Seder. Ask the average Jew at a Seder, do you believe in G‑d? Leave me alone. Are you religious? He chokes on the matzah laughing. So you’re celebrating the Exodus from Egypt 3300 years ago? History is not my subject. Then why are you here? Where should I be? It’s Passover! That’s what’s so magnificent about the Jew.

Now, let’s put it all in context. Three thousand, three hundred and twenty-six years ago, G‑d asked us if we would marry Him. We had an extraordinary wedding ceremony, with great special effects—we were wowed. After the wedding He said, “I have a few things I’d like you to take care of for Me, so, please . . . I’ll be right back.” He hasn’t been heard from since. For more than three thousand, three hundred years. He has sent messengers, messages, postcards—you know, writing on the walls . . . but we haven’t heard a word from Him in all this time.

Imagine, a couple gets married, and the man says to his new wife, “Would you make me something to eat, please? I’ll be right back.” She begins preparing. The guy comes back 3300 years later, walks into the house, up to the table, straight to his favorite chair, sits down and tastes the soup that is on the table. The soup is cold.

What will his reaction be? If he’s a wise man, he won’t complain. Rather, he’ll think it’s a miracle that the house is still there, that his table and favorite chair are still there. He’ll be delighted to see a bowl of soup at his place. The soup is cold? Well, yes, over 3300 years, soup can get cold.

Now we are expecting Moshiach. The Rebbeintroduced this radical notion that Moshiach is going to come now. What makes that so radical? It means he’s going to come without a two-week notice. We always thought there was going to be some warning, so that we could get our act together before he comes. Moshiach, coming now? But now I’m not ready. I don’t want to be judged the way I am. I need a little bit of a notice.

If Moshiach comes now, and wants to judge, what’s he going to find? Cold soup?

If Moshiach comes now, the Rebbe tells us, he will find an incredibly healthy Jewish people. After 3300 years we are concerned about being Jewish, which means we are concerned about our relationship with G‑d.

Yes, if Moshiach comes today, he’ll find that our soup is cold. We suffer from separation anxiety. We suffer from a loss of connection to our ancestors. We suffer a loss of connection even to our immediate family. The soup is cold. The soup is very cold. But whose fault is that? And who gets the credit for the fact that there is soup altogether?

We are a miracle. All we need to do is tap into it. We are the cure. Not only for ourselves, but also for the whole world. Through us the healing is holistic, it’s natural, it’s organic. Our relationship with G‑d is organic. It’s not a religion that we practice—it’s us, it’s who we are, it’s what we are.

So the Rebbe tells us that the way to go is straight to G‑d. Skip all the steps, skip the Kabbalah, go straight to G‑d and be in touch with your purpose. The purpose is not Kabbalistic. The purpose is personal. G‑d needs you to do a mitzvah. He sent you into this world to be who you are, because only you can do this particular kind of mitzvah. True, the mitzvot are the same for all of us. But when you do it, it’s different, because it’s holistic. It’s with your emotions, with your past problems, with your family background, with your knowledge and with your ignorance. All that comes together and makes your mitzvah holistically unique.

So, let Moshiach come now and catch us here with our cold soup, because we have nothing to be ashamed of. We are truly incredible. When G‑d decided to marry us, He knew He was getting a really good deal.

BY MANIS FRIEDMAN

Rabbi Manis Friedman, a noted Chassidic philosopher, author and lecturer, is dean of Bais Chanah Women's Institute of Jewish Studies.

Ever Get One Of These Emails? Read On; by Rabbi Moss

Congratulations. Your e‑mail has been randomly selected to win a cash prize of $10,000,000.00 (ten million dollars). This lottery is sponsored by big computer companies to encourage Internet usage. To claim your prize, please contact claim manager Mr. James Bell, and quote ticket number 012fg25/951 within 2 (two) weeks of receiving this notification.

Again, congratulations, and we hope to hear from you very soon.

Vince Valentino,

Winner’s Notification Department

E‑mail Lottery

Amsterdam

Dear Vince,

I would like to thank you for 2 (two) things. Firstly, for spelling out the numbers for me, as I have trouble reading them otherwise. Secondly, for the kind offer to receive $10,000,000.00 (ten million dollars). But I am afraid I will have to decline. I cannot accept this prize, as it goes against my beliefs.

I do not doubt your sincerity, but I cannot believe that I have really won this prize. According to my tradition, if something is not earned, it is not really yours. The world we live in is called the “world of toil.” Nothing comes easy in this world, and if it does, then it disappears just as easily. Only what I have earned is truly mine. Even an inheritance, if not carefully guarded and actively protected, will wither away in time. To receive true blessing, I must create a vessel to contain that blessing. The vessel is my effort, and without it the blessing spills to the floor, never really becoming mine.

I know this because I have inherited a great fortune. I am Jewish. This means I am heir to 4,000 (four thousand) years of spiritual riches and moral achievement. My life is inspired by the wisdom and insight developed over 4 (four) millennia. My marriage benefits from the accumulated experience of 500 (five hundred) generations of marriages. The richness of Jewish tradition belongs to me, but I dare not take this inheritance for granted.

If I am not actively Jewish, if I do not invest in my spiritual traditions, if I do not engage my mind and heart in my Jewishness and make it my own, then it will fade. If I want to keep this grand inheritance and bequeath it to my children, then I have to work at it. I cannot rely on my ancestors’ spirituality, I need to put effort into making my own spiritual connection.

This is why we refer to G‑d as “Our G‑d, and G‑d of our fathers.” Only when we develop our own relationship with G‑d can we benefit from the relationship He had with our ancestors. When we experience Him as our G‑d, then we can also benefit from His being the G‑d of our fathers.

So Vince, I must politely decline your offer. I didn’t even so much as buy a ticket in your lottery, so I don’t feel it can really be mine.

Anyway, with my Jewish inheritance, I am rich already.

BY ARON MOSS