Thursday, April 15, 2004
Sparks From Israel
The Kenaidle
There is a story in the Gemorah of a wealthy man who loses all his money and is forced to ask a rabbi for community funds to purchase food for Shabbat. The rabbi asks him what he is accustomed to eating, and he answers ‘fattened hens and old wine’. The rabbi remarks ‘don’t you think that’s quite a burden for the community?’ He answers that he is not asking anything from the community, ‘everything comes from G-d,’ he says. At this point the rabbi’s sister, who has not seen him in ten years, arrives with fattened hens and old wine. The rabbi turns to him and admits that he learned a lesson of faith from this man.
With this story in mind I contacted a Jewish outreach organization in the Old City to see if they could set me up for a Pesach Seder. This would be the first time in my life that I would not be with my family for Pesach. I thought if I can’t be with the ones I love, at least I will make my Seder meaningful by going to Yerushalayim like the olden days, and I will find a Seder full of Torah learning. Indeed, my friends in the Old City promised me not to worry, they would match me up with a family that wasn’t just having a dinner, but where there would be a lot of Torah.
I was comforted to know that I had arranged a good Seder, but then I thought ‘What about minhags (customs)? I called again to ask if I could be sent to an Ashkenazie family and not a Sephardic one (Sephardim eat rice on Pesach and we Ashkenazi’s do not). They reassured me that I would have an Ashkenazi family.
As the Seder drew closer I called one more time and told them I would also prefer to be set up not with a Chassidic family, because they don’t eat ‘Gebracht’s’. (Kenaidels, and Farfel). I was reassured one more time that they could fix me up with someone.
Pesach arrived with holiness and prayer at the kotel. I saw a good friend of mine who is a Chassid and likes to eat. I joked with him that it’s too bad he doesn’t eat Kenaidels. He looked back at me with his Kenaidel challenged face as I departed telling him I would have an extra one and have him in mind.
As the rabbi directed each one from our group to a different family, I reminded him once more that I would prefer the Ashkenazi non-Chassidic family. ‘That’s right’, he said as he changed my group. ‘Here’, you go with this family’.
I was led outside the city walls to a small family in a beautiful new condominium complex. Instead of the aged rabbi with a long white beard I had envisioned, I was placed with a young family who’s Seder was led mostly by the wife, who is also an author with a PHD. She made some interesting comments but there wasn’t much time for discussion for the lights, which were set on a timer, went out before eleven.
As I made my way back to the old city I reflected on the evening. The doors of the hostel wouldn’t be open for another three hours, for all the other Seders were not scheduled to end before 2am. Why had Hashem thrown me out of the old city and sent me to a Seder that ended earlier than any Seder I had ever been to? Didn’t He know how much I wanted to sit all night and taste the depths of the Hagadah? When I thought back to the dinner I realized the joke that He had played on me. When my host opened the lid of the soup, she served me the biggest, and most delicious Kenaidel I had ever had.
I heard Hashem’s voice reprimanding me. ‘So you think you are such a big tzaddik that you wanted to learn Torah all night? I know the thoughts of every man, and in your heart was not a desire to learn Torah, nor was there a desire to have complete faith in Me. Your overriding desire was for one thing – a Kenaidel. And ‘that’ is what I gave you.
As I walked the cold and empty streets of the Old City feeling abandoned, a Breslov Chassid who had stepped out for some air saw me and asked me if I had a Seder. I told him I was locked out for a few hours and he insisted that I join his intimate group of family and friends. Here was the Seder table I had envisioned, full of wonderful tales and inspiring thoughts. Three hours later I parted from good friends that I had shared a wonderful experience with.
Of the many ideas we discussed, one remained with me as I walked home. The word in Hebrew for ‘Faith’ the Chassid said, comes from the Hebrew root ‘omanut’ – ‘art or ‘craft’. Faith is something we craft and shape over the years. It is a relationship. Just like a father who pushes away his loved one in order to teach him something, and then quickly rewards him when he cries and realizes his mistake.
Tonight was a lesson for me in the crafting of faith. Next year, I hope I will have more faith and trust, and let Hashem arrange my dinner without me calling back to make certain. Who knows, maybe if I had trusted Him I might not have gotten a Kenaidel, but maybe he had arranged for me instead to meet a ‘Maidele? To be continued - Next year in Jerusalem.
The Kenaidle
There is a story in the Gemorah of a wealthy man who loses all his money and is forced to ask a rabbi for community funds to purchase food for Shabbat. The rabbi asks him what he is accustomed to eating, and he answers ‘fattened hens and old wine’. The rabbi remarks ‘don’t you think that’s quite a burden for the community?’ He answers that he is not asking anything from the community, ‘everything comes from G-d,’ he says. At this point the rabbi’s sister, who has not seen him in ten years, arrives with fattened hens and old wine. The rabbi turns to him and admits that he learned a lesson of faith from this man.
With this story in mind I contacted a Jewish outreach organization in the Old City to see if they could set me up for a Pesach Seder. This would be the first time in my life that I would not be with my family for Pesach. I thought if I can’t be with the ones I love, at least I will make my Seder meaningful by going to Yerushalayim like the olden days, and I will find a Seder full of Torah learning. Indeed, my friends in the Old City promised me not to worry, they would match me up with a family that wasn’t just having a dinner, but where there would be a lot of Torah.
I was comforted to know that I had arranged a good Seder, but then I thought ‘What about minhags (customs)? I called again to ask if I could be sent to an Ashkenazie family and not a Sephardic one (Sephardim eat rice on Pesach and we Ashkenazi’s do not). They reassured me that I would have an Ashkenazi family.
As the Seder drew closer I called one more time and told them I would also prefer to be set up not with a Chassidic family, because they don’t eat ‘Gebracht’s’. (Kenaidels, and Farfel). I was reassured one more time that they could fix me up with someone.
Pesach arrived with holiness and prayer at the kotel. I saw a good friend of mine who is a Chassid and likes to eat. I joked with him that it’s too bad he doesn’t eat Kenaidels. He looked back at me with his Kenaidel challenged face as I departed telling him I would have an extra one and have him in mind.
As the rabbi directed each one from our group to a different family, I reminded him once more that I would prefer the Ashkenazi non-Chassidic family. ‘That’s right’, he said as he changed my group. ‘Here’, you go with this family’.
I was led outside the city walls to a small family in a beautiful new condominium complex. Instead of the aged rabbi with a long white beard I had envisioned, I was placed with a young family who’s Seder was led mostly by the wife, who is also an author with a PHD. She made some interesting comments but there wasn’t much time for discussion for the lights, which were set on a timer, went out before eleven.
As I made my way back to the old city I reflected on the evening. The doors of the hostel wouldn’t be open for another three hours, for all the other Seders were not scheduled to end before 2am. Why had Hashem thrown me out of the old city and sent me to a Seder that ended earlier than any Seder I had ever been to? Didn’t He know how much I wanted to sit all night and taste the depths of the Hagadah? When I thought back to the dinner I realized the joke that He had played on me. When my host opened the lid of the soup, she served me the biggest, and most delicious Kenaidel I had ever had.
I heard Hashem’s voice reprimanding me. ‘So you think you are such a big tzaddik that you wanted to learn Torah all night? I know the thoughts of every man, and in your heart was not a desire to learn Torah, nor was there a desire to have complete faith in Me. Your overriding desire was for one thing – a Kenaidel. And ‘that’ is what I gave you.
As I walked the cold and empty streets of the Old City feeling abandoned, a Breslov Chassid who had stepped out for some air saw me and asked me if I had a Seder. I told him I was locked out for a few hours and he insisted that I join his intimate group of family and friends. Here was the Seder table I had envisioned, full of wonderful tales and inspiring thoughts. Three hours later I parted from good friends that I had shared a wonderful experience with.
Of the many ideas we discussed, one remained with me as I walked home. The word in Hebrew for ‘Faith’ the Chassid said, comes from the Hebrew root ‘omanut’ – ‘art or ‘craft’. Faith is something we craft and shape over the years. It is a relationship. Just like a father who pushes away his loved one in order to teach him something, and then quickly rewards him when he cries and realizes his mistake.
Tonight was a lesson for me in the crafting of faith. Next year, I hope I will have more faith and trust, and let Hashem arrange my dinner without me calling back to make certain. Who knows, maybe if I had trusted Him I might not have gotten a Kenaidel, but maybe he had arranged for me instead to meet a ‘Maidele? To be continued - Next year in Jerusalem.
