Ani Ma’amin - I Believe

A scorpion stood at the Gaza port, desperate to escape. Seeing a swan, he begged for a ride across the sea.
The swan refused. “You’ll bite me, and I’ll die.”
“You’re foolish,” said the scorpion. “If I bite you, I drown. For my own selfish sake, I won’t harm you.”
The logic convinced the swan. They set out peacefully… until, just before reaching the other side, the scorpion suddenly stung the swan with a deadly bite.

As both began to sink, the swan cried out, “Why? You killed yourself, too!”
The scorpion replied, This is Gaza...

Joseph’s Pit

The Torah says Joseph’s brothers stripped him and threw him into a pit—“empty; no water in it.” Why emphasize “no water”?
The Talmud explains:
“No water, but full of snakes and scorpions.”

This pit becomes the symbol of exile—not only Joseph’s exile to Egypt, but the exile of the Jewish people throughout history.

Three Types of Pits

The Talmud hints at three kinds of “pits”:

1. Pits with water – wells that sustain life.
2. Empty pits – useless and dangerous, but can potentially be improved.
3. Pits with snakes and scorpions – not only worthless but deadly, with no redeeming potential.

Joseph’s pit was the third type.

This teaches that exile is not a “well” and not even an “empty pit.” Exile is a pit filled with snakes and scorpions.
It is spiritually dangerous and fundamentally unnatural for the Jewish soul.

Some imagine exile is comfortable—just avoid “drowning” by behaving carefully. Others believe it can be improved with enough work. But the Torah insists: exile is inherently harmful.

The Talmud describes G-d Himself crying daily:
“Woe to the children exiled from their Father’s table.”

Exile numbs the soul, making us forget who we are, convincing us that strangers are family, that temporary places are home, and that spiritual dangers are harmless pets.

Chanukah and the Pit

Why does the Talmud interrupt Hilchot Chanukah with Joseph’s pit?

Because Chanukah was a moment when Jews confused the Hellenistic world with a “well.” They believed Greek culture was enriching. In truth, it was a pit filled with spiritual scorpions.

Even as we place the menorah outward, we keep it at our doorway—symbolizing that while we illuminate the world, we remain rooted in our true home and identity.

Six blessings of the Amidah beg for redemption because our soul knows exile is not home.

Rabbi Tanchum (“comfort”) says Joseph’s pit had snakes and scorpions. The message: as painful as antisemitism is, it tragically prevents us from disappearing entirely. The dangers of exile remind us who we are.

Snakes strike intentionally—like Crusaders, Cossacks, Nazis, Stalinists, and modern Islamist terrorists: Hamas, Hezbollah, ISIS, Iran.

Scorpions sting instinctively—assimilation, apathy, ignorance, intermarriage.
Both threaten Jewish continuity.

The only true cure: leaving the pit entirely—redemption.

Ani Ma’amin — The Song from the Death Train

Reb Azriel David Fastag, a Modzitzer chassid and gifted composer in Warsaw, was famed for his moving melodies.
When the Modzitzer Rebbe escaped to safety in 1940, Reb Azriel David was left in Nazi-occupied Poland.

One night, packed in a suffocating cattle car headed to Treblinka, surrounded by terror, weeping, and death, Reb Azriel suddenly heard in his soul the words of the 12th Principle of Faith:

Ani Ma’amin… I believe in Moshiach… even though he tarries…

And he began composing a melody.
At first a whisper, then louder, until the entire train sang with him. The song spread from car to car—hundreds of broken Jews singing their eternal hope.

When the song finished, Reb Azriel cried:
“I will give half my portion in Olam Habbah to anyone who brings this niggun to my Rebbe!”

Two young men climbed through the roof. One died on impact. The other survived and brought the melody to Eretz Yisrael; from there, it reached the Modzitzer Rebbe in America.

Upon hearing it, the Rebbe said:
“When they sang Ani Ma’amin on that train, the pillars of the world trembled. Whenever Jews sing this, G-d remembers the six million and has mercy on His people.”

On the first Yom Kippur, the Rebbe sang it, and thousands wept. The song spread across the Jewish world.

“With this niggun,” said the Rebbe,
“The Jewish people went to the gas chambers. And with this niggun, we will greet Moshiach.”

We live, build, improve, and shine in exile, but we never confuse it with home.
Exile is dangerous, dysfunctional, and foreign to our souls.
We long for the day when we rise from this pit—snakes, scorpions, and all—and return home.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Chanukah

Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky