DO YOU THINK YOU MATTER?

Shalom to all my friends in Great Neck and to all my virtual friends, so many of whom I feel I know personally from your feedback and comments on my weekly emails.

Today, I write to you from home, not my temporary home in Great Neck but our true home, the land of Israel. I am here to commemorate my dear father's yartzeit OBM.

When the plane touched down in Ben Gurion airport, an inexplicable feeling of warmth enveloped me for I knew I was home, in a country that G-d has said will always be ours.

Earlier today, I met with some of “our kids” from Great Neck who are here studying in our country. What innocence, what exuberance, what a positive passion and excitement they have for the land of Israel, Torat Yisrael, and Am Yisrael. My meeting with them brought me to a new height of happiness for I saw before me that our future is strong - our children have the right values and will not settle for anything less than the real truth.

You know the humor of Jewish assimilation:

“James Smith the third," said the assistant, "Your mother, Mrs. Rachel Fishman, is here."

He ran to greet her. "Mama, are you okay? Sofia and I were worried when you didn't show up at our penthouse-warming party last night."

"The lobby? Gorgeous," said Mrs. Fishman. "I came, I saw ... then I vent home."

"But Mama, if you were there, why didn't you come up?" asked her son James Smith the Third.

"I forgot your name. I could not find your penthouse."

The story in the Haftarah of this week portion Terumah, tells the story of King Solomon’s construction of the First Holy Temple in Jerusalem.

It was a massive project, involving tens of thousands of workmen, and it took seven years to complete.

And the word of the Lord came to Solomon saying, concerning this house which you are building, if you walk in My statutes, and execute My ordinances, and keep all My commandments to walk in them; then will I establish My word with you, which I spoke to David your father. And I will dwell among the children of Israel, and will not forsake My people, Israel.

King Solomon summoned an artisan from Tyre by the name Chiram to build and design much of the outer structure of the First Temple. Chiram also crafted all of the copper vessels which would be used in the Temple—the pots, shovels, basins, etc.

This is incredibly fascinating. The Holy Temple in Jerusalem built by Solomon was the first permanent home for G-d ever constructed. It was the spiritual epicenter of the world, the dwelling place for G-d and the center of Jewish life. It stood for 410 years till the Babylonians burnt it.

Who was the leading craftsman to build this Divine home? A simple Jew, Chiram, whose mother was a widow from the tribe of Naftali (one of the simpler tribes, who was not given a leadership role), and whose father was not even Jewish, but rather came from Tyre in Lebanon.

As the 15^th century Spanish Finance minister and great Rabbi, leader and biblical commentator, Don Yitzchak Abarbanel explains:

He was from the nation of Tyre, and his wife was Jewish. She married out due to perhaps she was taken into captivity and was raised there.

Solomon was the most prominent Jew of Israel—the monarch chosen by G-d to succeed David, the wisest man to ever live. He was a scion of the royal tribe of Judah. Whom did he choose to build G-d’s home? An unknown Jew raised by a non-Jewish father!

A similar thing happened during the construction of the original Temple, the Sanctuary in the desert. G-d chose two leaders to head the project, which would bring G-d into the world Bezalel and Ahaliav.

Bezalel hailed also from the tribe of Judah, considered the king of the tribes. Ahaliav was a simple man from the tribe of Dan, born from one of Jacob’s maidservants. Yet G-d appointed them both together to run the entire project.

Yet, by the Sanctuary, at least there was a partnership between the two. By the Temple, Chiram ran the show himself!

Why was this so important in the construction of the Sanctuary and the Temple?

Because these were structures which could create fragmentation and divisiveness. Religion, spirituality, philanthropy can be great dividers, as they can be uniters. Who is closer to G-d? Who has contributed more to the Sanctuary? Who is more involved? Who gave more money?

So G-d wanted to demonstrate that in the creation of His home, there must be no differences. Status, family lineage, spiritual opportunity, would not make a difference. All are equal. “A prince was not recognized before a poor man, for they are all the work of His hands.”

How often do we declare ourselves as incapable of living full and exciting Jewish lives, of turning our homes into an abode for G-d, of transforming our reality into a space of holiness, goodness, kindness, and intimacy with G-d. We say to ourselves: I never had an education; I did not grow up in a Jewish atmosphere; I am a small, insignificant Jew. My father is not even Jewish,

Not in G-d’s eyes. The most sublime Jewish center of the world was constructed by a Jew just like that, who had every excuse to say he does not really belong!

Doctor Bloom, who was known for miraculous cures for arthritis, had a waiting room full of people when a little old lady, completely bent over in half, shuffled in slowly, leaning on her cane. When her turn came, she went into the doctor's office and emerged within half an hour walking completely erect, with her head held high.

A woman in the waiting room who had seen all this walked up to the little old lady and said, "It's a miracle! You walked in bent in half and now you're walking erect. What did that doctor do?"

She answered, "Miracle, shmiracle. . . he gave me a longer cane."

You might see yourself as small and not that significant in the Jewish world. Yet the lesson of Solomon’s Temple is that you are taller than you can imagine. Judaism hands each of us a long cane, helping us stand tall and proud as Jews, helping us realize our enormous potential and contribution.

A story:  After the concluding prayer on Friday evening, Dan searched if he could invite a guest at the Western Wall to his Shabbat dinner.

Dan noticed a young man, dungarees, backpack, dark skin, curly black hair. A moment more for consideration, and he was moving toward the boy with his hand extended in welcome. "Shabbat shalom. My name is Dan Eisenblatt. Would you like to eat at my house tonight?"

The young man nodded. He picked up his backpack, and together they walked out of the Kotel plaza.

"Is there a song you want to sing? Do you have a song you like?” the host asked his guest in the middle of the meal.

The guest said, "There is a song I'd like to sing, but I can't find it here. I really liked what we sang in the synagogue tonight. What was it called? Something ‘dodi.'"

"You mean Lecha Dodi. That’s the song we sing in middle the Shabbat evening prayers.” The host and his family sang the song.

The guest looked embarrassed, but after a bit of encouragement said firmly, "I'd really like to sing Lecha Dodi again."

Strange it is but the guest asked the song to be sung again and again. "I just really like that one," he mumbled. "Just something about it -- I really like it." In all, they must have sung "The Song" eight or nine times. Dan wasn't sure -- he lost count.

Later, when they had a quiet time to talk, Dan said, "I was just wondering, we haven't had more than a few moments to chat. Where are you from?"

The boy looked pained, then stared down at the floor a Where are you from? "Ramallah." The guest replied.

Dan's heart skipped a beat. He was sure he'd heard the boy say "Ramallah," a large Arab city on the West Bank, and the origin of many a suicide bomber.

Dan’s thoughts were racing. Will he blow himself up? If so, why did he wait so long?

What is your name? Asked Dan. The boy looked terrified for a moment, then squared his shoulders and said quietly, "Machmud Ibn-esh-Sharif."

"I was born and grew up in Ramallah. I was taught to hate my Jewish oppressors and to think that killing them was heroism. But I always had my doubts. I asked questions about my father, and he threw me out of the house. Just like that, with nothing but the clothes on my back. By now my mind was made up: I was going to run away and live with the Yahud until I could find out what they were really like."

Machmud continued: "I snuck back into the house that night, to get my things and my backpack. My mother caught me in the middle of packing. She looked pale and upset, but she was quiet and gentle to me, and after a while she got me to talk. I told her that I wanted to go live with the Jews for a while and find out what they're really like, and maybe I would even want to convert.

"She was turning more and paler while I said all this, and I thought she was angry, but that wasn't it. Something else was hurting her, and she whispered, 'You don't have to convert. You already are a Jew.'

"I was shocked. My head started spinning, and for a moment I couldn't speak. Then I stammered, 'What do you mean?'

"'In Judaism,' she told me, 'the religion goes according to the mother. I'm Jewish, so that means you're Jewish.'

"I never had any idea my mother was Jewish. I guess she didn't want anyone to know. She sure didn't feel too good about her life, because she whispered suddenly, 'I made a mistake by marrying an Arab man. In you, my mistake will be redeemed.'

"My mother always talked that way, poetic-like. She went and dug out some old documents, and handed them to me: things like my birth certificate and her old Israeli ID card, so I could prove I was a Jew. I've got them here, but I don't know what to do with them.

"My mother hesitated about one piece of paper. Then she said, 'You may as well take this. It is an old photograph of my grandparents, which was taken when they went looking for the grave of some great ancestor of ours. They went up north and found the grave, and that's when this picture was taken.'"

Dan gently put his hand on Machmud's shoulder. Machmud looked up, scared and hopeful at the same time. Dan asked, "Do you have the photo here?"

The boy reached in his backpack and pulled out an old, tattered envelope.

Dan gingerly took the photo from the envelope, picked up his glasses, and looked carefully at it. The first thing that stood out was the family group: an old-time Sephardi family from the turn of the century.

Then he focused on the grave they were standing around. When he read the gravestone inscription, he nearly dropped the photo. He rubbed his eyes to make sure. There was no doubt. This was a grave in the old cemetery in Tzfat, and the inscription identified it as the grave of the great Kabbalist and tzaddik Rabbi Shlomo Alkabetz -- the author of "Lecha Dodi."

Dan's voice quivered with excitement as he explained to Machmud who his ancestor was. "He was a great Torah scholar, a tzaddik, a mystic. And Machmud, your ancestor wrote that song we were singing all Shabbat: Lecha Dodi!"

(Postscript: Machmud changed his name and enrolled in a yeshiva in Jerusalem, where he studied diligently to "catch up" on his Jewish education. He got married to a nice Jewish girl, and gained popularity as a lecturer, recounting his dramatic story.)

You can’t obliterate the DNA of your soul.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky