Though the post does not come to any conclusion (while raising an interesting question), it does remind me of a story that I heard from two different people. The same incident happened to these two people, one in a kosher Chinese restaurant in Israel, and one in a Indian Vegan restaurant in New York City: They were sitting in a position so that they could see the waiters as they were leaving the kitchen with food that was to be served to the patrons. Right next to the kitchen was a small shrine with little buddha statues. The waiter would take the dish, put it down in front of the idol, either offer a prayer or a little bit of the food to the idol, and would then pick up the food again and bring it to the patron who had ordered the food. When the people then proceeded to eat their food, they were eating food that had been used as an offering to idolatry, something that at the very least violates a Torah-prohibition.

So just remember, even if all of the ingredients are kosher, the food might be completely forbidden. (After the the incident was reported to the local rabbanut, the Chinese restaurant was closed down while the entire place was completely kashered, all of the dishes were replaced, and presumably the wait staff was given some stern instructions on what is and is not permitted to bring into a kosher restaurant).

Rabbi Frand, at his weekly shiur (broadcast via satellite from Baltimore), told over the following incredible story. He related how he had received a letter this past week from a person involved in rabbanut in Israel. The Rabbi wrote that he had been sitting on a train in Israel with a Gemarah out, and a sailor from the Israeli navy came and sat next to him. He asked him if he was a rabbi, and when the Rabbi answered that he was, he told him the following:

The sailor related that he had been stationed on a ship called the INS Hanit (spear) during the recent war with Lebanon. On July 14^th , a Friday night, the ship was stationed off the coast of Lebanon. The typical routine was for the sailors to eat the Friday night Shabbat dinner in two shifts, so that there would always be a full crew on duty. One of the religious sailors went to the captain and requested that due to the war and the need for God’s help, could they possibly all pray and eat together. Miraculously, the captain agreed to this crazy idea. The entire ship went down to the chapel and dining area leaving just four sailors on the bridge of the ship.

The sailor explained that the whole ship prayed mincha, kabbalot Shabbat, and maariv. Then they had a festive Shabbat meal, which lasted late into the evening. Fifteen sailors each said Kiddush in the manner that their fathers had, although none of them where religious. This sailor related that he had wanted to leave because he was on duty at midnight and wanted to sleep a bit before then. However, for some reason he decided to stay even as the meal dragged on and on.

Just as they where reciting the grace after meals, there was a loud boom. The ship had been hit by a missile from Lebanon. The sailors rushed out to survey the damage. Miraculously, the boat did not sink. There was a tank of fuel for the helicopters right where the missile had hit, and though that entire portion of the ship was badly burnt the fuel did not explode. The presence of a crane over the landing pad where the missile hit kept the boat from sinking.

If there had been a regular crew on duty, over twenty people would have been certainly killed. Instead, only the four men that where manning the bridge at the time where killed and the rest of the crew was spared as they where on the other side of the boat for the Shabbat meal. This sailor then went to his bunk, where he would have been sleeping at that time. His bunk was directly under the missile attack site, and everything inside was ashes! even the steel was all melted down to unrecognizable shapes.

The most incredible part was what they found in the Boiler room when they made it down there. There was a Tehillim, open to Psalm 124. The Psalm reads as follows:

“Our help is in the name of the LORD, who made heaven and earth.

“If it had not been the lord who was for us then they would have swallowed us up alive? then the waters would have overwhelmed us then the proud waters would have gone over our soul”

What would you do? You make the choice! Don’t look for a punch line; there isn’t one! Read it anyway. My question to all of you is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning disabled children, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

“When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?”

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. “I believe, that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes, in the way other people treat that child.” Then he told the following story: Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked,” Do you think they’ll let me play?” Shay’s father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

Shay’s father approached one of the boys on the field and asked if Shay could play, not expecting much. The boy looked around for guidance and said, “We’re losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.”

Shay struggled over to the team’s bench put on a team shirt with a broad smile and his Father had a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father’s joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay’s team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible ’cause Shay didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing the other team putting winning aside for this moment in Shay’s life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over, but the pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the head of the first baseman, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, “Shay, run to first! Run to first!” Never in his life had Shay ever ran that far but made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, “Run to second, run to second!” Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to second base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball, the smallest guy on their team, who had a chance to be the hero for his team for the first time. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher’s intentions and he too intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman’s head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, “Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay”

Shay reached third base, the opposing shortstop ran to help him and turned him in the direction of third base, and shouted, “Run to third! Shay, run to third” As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams and those watching were on their feet were screaming, “Shay, run home! Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the “grand slam” and won the game for his team. That day, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world.

Shay didn’t make it to another summer and died t! hat winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making his Father so happy and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

AND, NOW A LITTLE FOOTNOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people think twice about sharing. The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces.

If you’re thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you’re probably sorting out the people on your address list that aren’t the “appropriate” ones to receive this type of message. Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference. We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the “natural order of things.” So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up that opportunity to brighten the day of those with us the least able, and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it’s least fortunate amongst them. You now have two choices: 1. Delete 2. Forward

May your day be a Shay Day sunny today & always

Monday night we received orders to pack up and move to Gush Katif, the main bloc of Israeli communities in the southern Strip. We arrived at my old stomping grounds as the sun was setting, except this time I was there to forcibly evacuate Israelis, not to protect them. we entered Rafiah Yam at night, the southern westernmost town in Israel. All of its residents had already evacuated, and the army was to use it to house its soldiers. We waited around in the dark for a while, then our Mem-pay (Company Commander) sat us all down and began to speak.

He told us that he had volunteered us for a special mission, and that it was voluntary on our part to participate. The pre-Army yeshiva in Atzmona had decided that it would voluntarily leave at 11pm, and hour before the midnight deadline. They wanted a company of officer cadets to escort them, and that was our job. For those of you who haven’t heard of it, Atzmona is a legend. The name itself means ‘toward strength’, and the yeshiva has produced hundreds officers and commandoes over the years, who go on to become leaders in Israeli society. It is not only a physical place; it is a spiritual and educational path. When you hear that someone learned at Atzmona, you automatically have a sense of reverence for the person. The head rabbi, Rafi Peretz, is a combat pilot who preaches the importance of unity of the Jewish people and sacrifice for the community. Even though he had worked for years to build the academy, and despite the loss in front of his eyes of five of his students at the hands of a terrorist while he gave a lecture, he was willing to lead his students out peacefully instead of taking the risk of creating a fracture in the unity of the nation by resisting his army. Even in its darkest hour, Atzmona was able to be an example for everyone.

On the bus ride on the way, a cadet who had learned there before the army and watched two of the students die in the attack stood to talk a little about his experiences there. He told us that when they would finish their morning run on the dunes, led by Rabbi Peretz of course, they would all gather round and sing a song from Isaiah ‘those who run will not tire’. While we were waiting to go in to Atzmona, we circled up and sang the song that the cadet taught us-its usually a happy and uplifting song but we sang it solemnly. We drove on in and encountered some early teenage girls who had established a makeshift roadblock on the way to the yeshiva. We thought that they might hold us up for a bit, but they opened it for us and sang “we love the IDF”. But when we got off the buses and lined up to march to the yeshiva, a group of young boys started hurling slogans at us and demanded that we refuse our orders. Not nice, but it’s to be expected. We reached the gate of the academy when one of our officers told us that they weren’t ready for us yet inside, so we turned around and marched back to the bus, giving the little protesters a momentary victory.

After a half hour we marched back in the dark, and walked to the outside of the study hall/synagogue. We could see inside the windows, about 30 yards away, and the place was packed inside. They were nearing the end of their last prayer, and almost everyone was crying and swaying. After the prayer ended, we heard them sing the Hatikvah , the Israeli national anthem. Then they got into a circle (Jews do that a lot) and started singing. And what was their first song? In a resounding display of not everything in the world happening by coincidence, they started with the very song from Isaiah that we had sang while we waited for permission to enter. We stood there in the night and watched and listened to them sing, until one of our officers told us to go in and be with them. On the way in, the commander of the southern region, Gen. Dan Harel, passed me on his way out. I didn’t know what to expect when I walked in, whether they would be angry at us and refuse to talk to us, or whether they would let us help them in their time of grief. I was happy to find it was the latter. The scene upon entering was unforgettable- the entire hall was one large circle of men with arms around each others shoulders, soldiers and students and rabbis, all singing. The commander of Givati was there, as was the commander of the officers school. Many students were sitting there in shock on the benches, not believing that their most fervent prayers had not been answered. Many bawled aloud in each others arms. Two students went to kiss the Torah scrolls up front for the last time. The singing and crying went on for twenty minutes, with the rabbi going around and comforting each one of his students. He was smiling. Finally, he told them all the time had come to leave for the last time. Slowly they started to file out. i didn’t know what to do, so i went to a number of them and simply told them “thank you”- for what they had done, for being willing to live there for the rest of us. after the room emptied, the students started taking their bags down to the buses waiting for them to take them to their families homes. I saw the commander of Givati, Col. Eyal Eisenberg, and Rabbi Peretz with their arms around each other. Col. Eisenberg was crying and the rabbi was whispering something to him. they stayed that way for several minutes. I offered to help one of the students help with carrying his things to the bus, and he accepted. His name was xxxx, from Kibbutz Yavneh, and he was going to enlist in the elite Sayeret Matkal unit in a number of months.

I called my former lieutenant, xxxx, who was a product of Atzmona. He couldn’t believe it when i told him that it was gone, it just didn’t register for him. He was angry too, and told me that the country was no longer a good place, that i should go on back to Boston. Of course, he didn’t really mean it, but the fact that he was saying that meant that he was wounded deeply by the process. i asked him if there was anything i could do, and he told me in a tired and broken voice that if i could bring him some sand from Atzmona, that would mean a lot to him.

And then the buses left and were gone, and the yeshiva, which had until minutes before been a place of spirit and learning and most importantly, life, for years was quiet and empty.

I felt like we had killed something.

Then it was midnight, and from then on, there would be evacuation by force.

A story tells of two friends who were walking through the desert. During some point of the journey, they had an argument, and one friend slapped the other one in the face. The one who got slapped was hurt, but without saying anything, she wrote in the sand:

“TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE”

They kept on walking, until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath. The one who had been slapped got stuck in the mire and started drowning, but her friend saved her. After she recovered from the near drowning, she wrote on a stone:

“TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SAVED MY LIFE”

The friend, who had slapped and saved her best friend, asked her, “After I hurt you, you wrote in the sand, and now, you write on a stone, why?”

The other friend replied: “When someone hurts us, we should write it down in sand, where the winds of forgiveness can erase it, but when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone, so no wind can ever erase it.”

LEARN TO WRITE YOUR HURTS IN THE SAND AND TO CARVE YOUR BLESSINGS IN STONE.

You might walk past it a thousand times – even tread directly upon it – and yet you would probably never take note of it. Amid the silent hills and grassy quietude of Mt. Herzl, a gentle spring wind blows over the grave of one Baruch Shapiro. Barely an echo of his name remains. But the story of Baruch Shapiro, now itself buried by the years, begs to be retold.

For his story mirrors the struggle of a whole people, encapsulating what it means to live – and die – as a proud Jew in the modern State of Israel. Baruch was the last remaining son of Chaim Shapiro, native of Cracow and survivor of Auschwitz. By a combination of faith, strength, and luck, Chaim lived through the unspeakable hell of the death camp, emerging from it along with his son Baruch. Chaim’s wife and five other sons were less fortunate. They perished together with the multitudes of Jews we now refer to as the Six Million.

In a pitiful state, confused and shattered, father and son came here, along with thousands of other remnants of the ovens, to build a new life and restore hope. But their dream of piecing together a new beginning would have to be delayed. Arriving on the shores of Palestine, young Baruch – now 18 years old – was handed a gun and a uniform, and drafted into what would become the Israel Defense Forces.

There were those who planned to finish what the Nazis had begun, and a new war was about to erupt. Chaim watched his son go off to war along with the other young men, and he tried to put his fears and foreboding out of his mind, busying himself with the difficult task of hewing out a place in the gritty new country now battling for its first breaths of air.

It was in the latter stages of the War of Independence that Baruch Shapiro fell, on the road to Ierusalem, defending the capital. He had distinguished himself throughout the war, and died guarding his post from enemy advance. When a young captain informed Chaim of the death of his son, the father uttered not a word. He simply nodded silently and folded the official notification over and over in his hand.

Many hundreds of friends and comrades came to Baruch’s funeral. The chief of staff was also there, for he had heard of the young man’s distinguished service in his unit. An overwhelming sense of loss had pervaded the day, for those assembled knew of the unique circumstances of the Shapiro family and wished to demonstrate their solidarity with the aging father whose family line had come to a sudden, tragic end.

During the brief ceremony, Chaim remained silent. He listened impassively as the appropriate Psalms and prayers were recited and as Baruch’s commanding officer eulogized him as an exemplary soldier. But when the flag-draped body was lowered into the grave, Chaim Shapiro suddenly began to sing, quietly at first, then more loudly. He sang “Am Yisrael Hai” over and over. Then he began to dance, grabbing some of Baruch’s friends and pulling them into a Hora. The crowd looked on in horror, sure the father had lost his mind. Clearly the enormity of the loss of his last remaining child had finally pushed him over the brink. Those standing closest to Chaim tried to calm him down, to console him. The Chief of Staff put his arms around him and urged him to sit down. But Chaim pushed the general away, and carried on singing and dancing.

After several minutes, the elderly man turned to the crowd and began to speak: “I am sure you think I have gone quite mad,” he began “But I assure you that I am in complete control of my faculties. I know you think it outrageous that I should sing at my boy’s burial, but I want to explain why nothing could be more appropriate.”

The crowd stood mesmerized. “You see,” the father went on, “When the rest of my family were murdered in Poland by the Germans, their lives ended in silence. They vanished, in the wink of an eye. They were snuffed out like candles, and no one saw or heard. No one took notice of who they were, what they had done, or what their lives had meant.”

“To live and die in Poland was an empty and barren experience, containing only sadness and regret. It was a waste of precious life. But this son,” Chaim continued, pointing at the grave, “This son is different. Baruch lived to walk upon the holy earth of Eretz Yisrael, and he died defending Jerusalem — Jerusalem! a place we never dreamed we would see in our lifetimes. Baruch gave his life for all the people of Israel, so they could be free, and safe, and independent.”

“That is not the waste of a life. It is the celebration of a life – and that is why I sing today, as I say Shalom to my son. And that is why all of you should sing with me.”

With that, Chaim Shapiro began to sing “Am Yisrael Hai” once more, and the assembled throng began to join in, until every voice in the cemetery was raised in a surrealistic song of sadness and joy, the tears of each emotion mingled on every face. For a long time they sang thus together, until the hills of Jerusalem themselves seemed to be joining in the chorus.

You might walk past the grave of Baruch Shapiro a thousand times – even tread directly upon it – and probably take no notice. A gentle wind blows on the grave, and the story of Baruch Shapiro is no more than a fading memory, a distant echo. But the epic story of the Jewish people goes on, unabated. It is a story written in the blood of our young men and women, on pages of pain and heroism, engraved in stone with quills of iron will. That story describes a profound stoicism and suffering, one that that cannot be contained. It must inevitably burst out into song and dance, until we all affirm: Am Yisrael Hai.

Note: A message that many people will agree should be an ideal, but only a few will only put into practice. However, I do not know where such a concept of Ahavat Chinam comes from. Does anyone have any sources?

It was the night of the geulah
And in every single shteibel
Sounds of Torah could be heard
Coming from every kind of Yeidel.

This one in English,
Some in Hebrew, some in Yiddish
Some saying p’shat
And some saying a chidush.

And up in shamayim
The Aibishter decreed:
“The time has come
For my children to be freed.”

Rouse the Mashiach
From his heavenly berth.
Have him get in his chariot
And head down to earth.”

The Mashiach got dressed
And with a heart full of glee
Went down to earth & entered
the first shteibel he did see.

“I’m the Mashiach.
Hashem has heard your plea.
Your geulah has come
It is time to go free!”

They all stopped their learning.
This was quite a surprise.
And they looked at him carefully
With piercing sharp eyes.

“He’s not the Mashiach!”
Said one with a grin.
“Just look at his hat
At the pinches & brim!”

“That’s right!” cried another
With a grimace & frown.
“Whoever heard of Mashiach
With a brim that is – down?”

“Well,” thought Mashiach,
“If this is the rule,
I’ll turn my brim up
Before I go to the next shul.”

So he walked on right over
To the next shul in town,
Sure to be accepted
Since his brim was no longer down.

“I’m the Mashiach!” he cried,
As he began to enter.
But the Jews there wanted to know first
If he was left, right or center.

“Your clothes are so black!”
They cried out in fright.
“You can’t be the Mashiach,
You’re much too far right!”

“If you want to be Mashiach,
You must be properly outfitted.”
So they replaced his black hat
With a kippah which was knitted.

Wearing his new kippah,
Mashiach went out & said,
“No difference to me
What I wear on my head.”

So he went to the next shul
For his mission was dear.
But he was getting a bit frustrated
With the Yidden down here.

“I’m the Mashiach!” he cried
And they all stopped to stare.
And a complete eerie stillness
Filled up the air.

“You’re the Mashiach?”
Just imagine that!
Whoever heard of Mashiach
Without a black hat?”

“But I do have a hat!”
The Mashiach then said.
So he pulled it right out
And he planked it down on his head.

Then the shul started laughing
And one said, “Where’s your kop?
You can’t have a Mashiach
With a brim that is up!

“If you want to be Mashiach
And be accepted in this town,
Put some pinches in your hat
And turn that brim down!”

Mashiach walked out & said,
“I guess my time hasn’t come.
I’ll just have to return
To where I came from.”

So he went to his chariot,
But as he began to enter,
All sorts of Jews appeared
From the left, right & center.

“Please wait, do not leave.
It’s all THEIR fault!” they said
And they pointed to each other
And to what was on each other’s head.

Mashiach just looked sad
And said,” You don’t understand,”
And then started up his chariot
To get out of this land.

Yes, it’s very wonderful
that you all learn Torah
but you seem to have forgotten
A crucial part of our mesorah.”

“What does he mean?
What is he talking about?”
And they all looked bewildered
And all began to shout.

Mashiach looked back & answered,
“The first place to start
Is to close your mouths
And open up your heart.”

“To each of you, certain Yidden
Seem too frum or too frei
but ALL Yidden are beloved
In the Aibishter’s eye.”

And on-his way up he shouted:
“If you want me to come,
Try working a little harder
On some AHAVAS CHINAM!”

CYZF Toronto 1992.
This may be freely reproduced an distributed under the following conditions:
1) That it is reproduced exactly as it appears here, including the heading, all 30 stanzas, and this note;
2) it is distributed free of charge;
3) it is not used by any organization for promotional purposes. Any breach of these conditions shall constitute gezel and a breach of copyright.

In the Warsaw ghetto there was a Rebbe, the heiliger Reb Klonimus Kalman. He wrote a book and knowing prophetically that he would not survive, he put the manuscript under one of the stones in the ghetto where it was found after the war.

He had a yeshiva not of young people but of children. He was accustomed to say, “My followers eat on Yom Kippur. You know why-they are not bar mitzvah yet.” A great Rabbi would come to him, or an old man and a little girl of four or five. He would say to the older man, “You’ll make it without me. This child needs me.” With older people he would spend five minutes; with children all night. He had thousands of kids. He was their father, their mother, their best friend. After the war, there was nobody left.

My whole life I was hoping and dreaming to see one of these people. A few years ago I was walking on the Yarkon in Tel Aviv and I saw a hunchback -a street cleaner. Do you know that sometimes we are all little prophets? Our heart tells us something. I had a feeling this person was special. He was a real hunchback. That as his face was very handsome, but every part of his body was disfigured. And I said to him. “Hey, shalom aleichem my friend.” And he answered me in a very heavy Polish-Yiddish Hebrew, “Aleichem shoolum.” I said to him in Yiddish, “Mein zeisse yid, my sweet yiddele, where are you from?” He said, “I’m from Piaseczna .” I said “Piaseczna . Gevalt! Did you ever see Reb Klonimus Kalman?” “What do you mean, did I ever see him? I was a student in his yeshiva from the age of five to eleven. I was in Auschwitz for five years. I was eleven when I got there. They thought I was seventeen; I was so strong. They beat me up so much I never healed. That’s why I look this way. I have nobody in the whole world, really nobody, ” I said to him, “You know something-my whole life I have been waiting to meet one of the students of Reb Klonimus Kalman, Would you be so kind to give me over one of his teachings?” He kept on sweeping the street, “You really think that after five years in Auschwitz, I remember the teachings?” I said, “Yes-the words of the heileger Rebbe penetrate you forever.”

He stopped sweeping. He looked at me and said, “Do you really want to know?” He touched me so deeply and although you shouldn’t swear, I said to him “I swear to you, and I mean it with all my heart, that whatever you tell me I shall tell all over the world.” You know he was a real chasidisher Yid, so he put the broom against a wall and went to wash his hands. And this is what he said: “There will never be a Shabbos as by my holy master, my heiliger Rebbe. Can you imagine -hundreds, sometimes thousands of young people dancing with the holy rebbe in the middle. What a sight! Not until Meshiach is coming. Can you imagine the Rebbe making kiddush sitting with hundreds of children with so much holiness. He gave over teachings between the fish and the soup, between the soup and the meat, between the meat and the dessert and after every teaching, he would always say, “Kinderlach, taire kinderlach, my most precious children, gedenkst shon, remember, die greste sach in die velt ist, tun emetzin a tova. Children, precious children, just remember the greatest thing in the world is to do somebody else a favor. ”

When I came to Auschwitz, 1 knew my whole family had been killed and I wanted to kill myself. Each time I was about to, I suddenly heard the Rebbe’s voice saying to me, “Gedenkst shon, the greatest thing in the world is to do somebody else a favor.” Do you know how many favors you do in Auschwitz late at night? People dying, people crying; nobody had the strength even to listen to their stories anymore. I would be up all night. A few weeks later I wanted to kill myself again but always at the last moment I’d hear my Rebbe’s voice. Now I’m here in Tel Aviv, but believe me, I’m all alone, There are moments when I decide to commit suicide. I go into the sea until the water reaches my nose. Then suddenly I hear my Rebbe’s voice again and I just can’t permit myself to do it and I run back to the streets. Do you know how many favors you can do on the street?”

My friends, this was before Rosh Hashana. After Succos I came back to Israel and the first morning I went to the Yarkon and I asked the people on that street corner where the hunchback was. They said he died on the second day of Succos.

Listen to me, my beautiful friends, when the Meshiach comes, when all the holy people will come back to the world and the holy hunchback, the holy street cleaner will come back. He will clean the streets of the world. Do you know how he will clean the world? He will go from one corner of the world to the other and he will say, “Yiddelach, gedenkst shon, the greatest thing in the world is to do somebody else a favor.”