שבת טעם החיים קרח תש"ע
Shabbos: Ta’am HaChaim Korach 5770

One door closes and another opens

Introduction
דבר אל בני ישראל ואמרת אלהם ועשו להם ויאמר משה בזאת תדעון כי ה' שלחני לעשות את כל המעשים האלה כי לא מלבי אם כמות כל האדם ימותון אלה ופקודת כל האדם יפקד עליהם לא ה' שלחני ואם בריאה יברא ה' ופצתה האדמה את פיה ובלעה אתם ואת כל אשר להם וירדו חיים שאלה וידעתם כי נאצו האנשים האלה את ה', Moshe said, “Through this you shall know that HaShem sent me to perform all these acts, that it was not from my heart. If these die like the death of all men, and the destiny of all men is visited upon them, then it is not HaShem Who has sent me. But if HaShem will create a phenomenon, and the earth opens its mouth and swallows them and all that is theirs, and they will descend alive to the pit – then you shall know that these men have provoked HaShem.” (Bamidbar 16:28-30)
In this week’s Torah portion we learn about Korach and his entourage who sought to claim power and glory for themselves. Their basis was that all the Jews had heard HaShem speak at Sinai and there was no justification for Moshe and Aharon to share all the high ranking positions for themselves. Ultimately, Korach and his entourage were either swallowed up by the ground or burned to death. Moshe finally decided that the game was up, and it is said (Bamidbar 16:28-30) Moshe said, “Through this you shall know that HaShem sent me to perform all these acts, that it was not from my heart. If these die like the death of all men, and the destiny of all men is visited upon them, then it is not HaShem Who has sent me. But if HaShem will create a phenomenon, and the earth opens its mouth and swallows them and all that is theirs, and they will descend alive to the pit – then you shall know that these men have provoked HaShem.” Rashi writes that regarding the opening of the earth, Moshe was stating that HaShem would either allow for the primordial opening of the earth to swallow Korach and his entourage, or HaShem would create a new opening to facilitate Korach’s downfall. This statement of Rashi is puzzling, as the Mishnah (Avos 5:8) states clearly that the opening of the earth was one of ten things that were created on the first Friday at twilight. Why, then, was there a need to have HaShem create a new opening?
Muki Betser finds a new doorway
The Israeli army was preparing for its raid into Entebbe, Uganda, to free the captives of a terrorist hijacking. In preparation for the raid, the Israelis simulated the planned raid by creating a building that was a replica of the Ugandan airport. Soldiers trained in the simulated building, learning all the ins and outs of the airport. When the soldiers arrived in Uganda, they quickly recognized the layout of the airport and began running through the hallways, confident in their abilities to stop the terrorists and free the captives. One soldier, Muki Betser, was running through the hallway and was expecting a doorway. To his dismay, there was no door. His first thought was, “how can this be? We practiced this operation to perfection, and now there is no door?” Muki then realized that there was only one thing to do. He had to keep running and hope that soon he would come upon an entranceway. To his good fortune, he soon came upon a different doorway and he and the other soldiers were able to successfully complete their mission.
One can find the door of repentance even at the height of wickedness
Moshe was not merely reading Korach and his group their last rites. Rather, Moshe was demonstrating to them that although HaShem had already “simulated” their destruction, there was still a way out. If they repented, the previously ordained opening in the earth would be used for different function, and HaShem would create a “new” opening, which would be the proverbial opening that HaShem grants anyone who seeks to repent. Regrettably, Korach and his group remained adamant and were swallowed up by the earth. [The Talmud states that Korach himself was not swallowed up by the earth nor was he burned by fire.] The words of Moshe had some effect, however, as Korach’s sons repented, and HaShem allowed for them to be elevated in Hell and merit eternal reward.
Often in life we are faced with situations where we do not perceive and openings or paths that lead us out of our despair. While it may not appear to us that we have an escape plan, we can pray to HaShem to either show us where the exit is, or to create a new opening that will allows us to exit our current situation and continue on the illuminated pathway of life.


The Shabbos connection
Throughout the week we are faced with challenges and at times there appears to be no way out of predicaments. With the arrival of Shabbos, however, it is said (Yechezkel 46:1) ko amar HaShem Elokim shaar hechatzer hapinimis haponeh kadim yihyeh sagur sheishes yimei hamaaseh uvayom haShabbos yipaseiach uvayom hachodesh yipaseiach, thus said the Lord/Elokim: “The gate of the inner courtyard that faces eastward shall be closed during the six days of labor, but on the Shabbos day it shall be opened, and on the day of the New Moon it shall be opened.” This verse alludes to the idea that on Shabbos all the gates of Heaven are open for us to entreat Hashem to show us the correct path in serving Him. When HaShem sets us on that path, we will surely succeed in all or spiritual and material endeavors.
Shabbos Stories
The Staff of Life
There was a long line of customers at the checkout counter... Yosef, the grocer, was in over his head calculating totals, making change, and marking down what people owed when they bought on credit. But even working at top speed, so that he scarcely had a moment to breathe, he found the time to admonish his customers, "Please, don't crumble the bread. Be careful not to drop the bread on the floor!"
Everyone who shopped at Yosef's grocery was long familiar with his caution regarding the treatment of bread... Every new customer who entered his grocery received his first lesson in the laws of safeguarding the honor of bread:
"Understand that this bread that God has given us is a gift from Heaven. Think of how many people were involved in producing this bread. Farmers plowed the fields, fertilized it, seeded it, and watered it, praying to God to send rain in its proper time. With anxious hearts, they watched every stage of the growth process, and when the wheat reached its peak ripeness, they harvested it. They took the sheaves they had cut down, and separated the wheat from the chaff."
He went on with his lecture, indifferent as to whether the customer was interested or not. It was his business to educate the Jewish consumer in the proper respect for bread ― Heaven's gift.
As evening drew near, the grocery emptied out. That was when Yosef would take his broom and, with sincere reverence, gather the crumbs that had fallen to the ground near the bread shelves. Sometimes he would do this several times a day. Any time he saw a pile of crumbs collecting near the shelves, he would whisk out his broom and a special dustpan, and collect the crumbs into a large, clean plastic bag. He would toss these crumbs to the birds in the grassy area behind the store, so that no stray crumb would come to be tossed disrespectfully into the garbage, Heaven forbid...
Yosef himself was true to his beliefs, at home as well as in the shop. Not a crumb of bread was ever thrown away in his house. He conducted a careful investigation into his family's bread needs. If there was ever a bit of bread left over, it was not thrown out, Heaven forbid, but used in a hundred and one different dishes, beginning with fried bread slices and ground bread crumbs for use in beef and fish patties, and ending in sweet bread pancakes and other delicacies whipped up by Yosef's creative wife. Yosef humbly, gratefully, and lovingly accepted the gift God had given him in the form of breads, rolls, challahs, and pitas. What they all had in common was that they were completely eaten, down to the last drop.
And if, in a rare case, a piece of leftover bread was simply inedible for some reason, Yosef would soak it in water and leave it in the garden. The pigeons and sparrows pecked at it, until not even a crumb remained...
[One day, Yosef revealed his reason for being so concerned about pieces of bread.]
Jerusalem, in the year 5676 (1916), was a hungry city.
World War I, which ended with the Turkish conquerors being chased out of Israel, had wreaked havoc on the poor country's food supplies and left it barren. Many years of drought, an invasion of locusts, and the closing of sea supply-lanes had brought in them wake a terrible famine. In the city of Jerusalem, people scoured the streets for anything edible.
The three Templer sisters ― orphans ― managed, somehow, during the first two years of the War. The eldest, Shoshanah, who was 18, worked as a seamstress for the Turkish military machine, which did not yet believe in its own fast-approaching demise. Thanks to her steady job, she and her two sisters ― Rivkah, 15, and Shulamis, 10 ― did not starve. Each day, the younger sisters waited tensely for Shoshanah's return. She brought her day's wages each evening: one bishlik (a small coin). occasionally, when her military supervisors were especially pleased, she received a bonus of one lira...
In the starving city, where whole families nearly died of hunger, the odds that three orphans would remain alive were just about zero to none. But, through Heaven's mercy, Shoshanah's work found favor with the Turkish army officers, who saw to it that she received, from time to time, not only an extra coin but also a small sack of flour. Shoshanah would bring these sacks home and bake little loaves of bread from them ― loaves which just barely sustained the three sisters.
The terrible winter of 1917 arrived. The Turkish Army began to sense its impending defeat at the hands of the British, whose forward movement had begun in Egypt and was slowly approaching Palestine. As the tottering Ottoman Empire fought a losing battle to keep control of Palestine, little attention was paid to the appearance of the soldiers' uniforms. The young seamstress returned from work one day with the bitter news that there would be no going back the next day. The Templer girls' coffers were empty. Now they began to know what hunger really felt like.
The small loaves of bread became a dream of the past ― a sweet dream. The house had nothing in it, not even so much as a potato peel. Hunger began to gnaw at their sides. Rivkah was old enough to deal with it reasonably well, but Shulamis, being only 11, began to show alarming signs of the swelling that accompanies malnutrition.
Rivkah and Shoshanah watched anxiously as their younger sister's face began to turn yellow. Despairing, they tried to hide from the young girl the fact that she was about to die of starvation. This was no unusual phenomenon in wartime Jerusalem. Starving people ― Jew and Arab alike ― dotted the streets, begging passersby for a morsel of bread to keep them alive. But there was no one to offer that life-giving morsel. Everyone was hungry; it was those who managed to obtain the bare minimum who survived...
Rivkah was the first to return home. She was in despair. A search of the trash bins had resulted in nothing ― not even a crumb. Better to return home and stay with Shulamis, she thought, than to leave her all alone.
To her dismay, she found her little sister sprawled on the ground outside. The girl's breathing was rapid and shallow. She was fighting for her life.
"Shulamis, don't die!" Rivkah sobbed. "Our father and mother have already died. Stay with us!"
Shulamis did not react. Like a madwoman, Rivkah raced into the house. She found a cup of water, drenched a clean rag in it and began to squeeze out the water, drop by drop, into her sister's mouth. Perhaps the water would save her ... Shulamis sucked the rag weakly, and tried to chew it. Hunger was troubling her worse than thirst...
Suddenly, an idea struck Shoshanah with the force of a lightning bolt. The bakery! How had she not thought of it before? The small bakery near the shuk. She had no way of knowing that the bakery had been abandoned two weeks earlier by its owner, who fled the country after deserting the Turkish Army.
Reaching the bakery, Shoshanah was stunned to find it dark and deserted. She tried the door ― and found that it opened easily, unlocked. The place was black as midnight. She walked forward with hands outstretched, groping for the bread trays. These had once held warm, fragrant loaves. Perhaps there were still a few crumbs left behind...
Her fingers touched something hard and round. A cry of joy burst from her lips. It was a dry loaf, baked some two or three weeks before ― but it was bread! Old bread that could be softened and eaten.
With supernatural speed, Shoshanah flew through the Old City streets, loaf in hand. She found Rivkah dipping a rag in water and thrusting it into Shulamis' mouth. Shulamis was only half-conscious.
"Give me the water," Shoshanah ordered.
With trembling hands she broke off a small piece of the loaf and soaked it in the cup of water. She then placed the softened bread into Shulamis' mouth.
The girl's dry lips felt the difference. Her mouth sucked the moisture out of the bread, and then began to chew with a barely perceptible motion of the jaws. The small piece was swallowed. Then came another, and another. Shulamis' eyes opened and the spark of life nearly extinguished, shone into the night.
At the very last moment, Shulamis had been saved from starving to death.
"Shulamis Templer was my mother, may she rest in peace," explained Yosef to Nachum, who was raptly listening to the tale. "All her life, she treated bread with tremendous respect, for it had saved her life. She never let us throw any away ― not even a crumb. Every chunk of bread was consumed in one of 101 ways, but was never thrown in the garbage. You don't throw away a gift from God..."
The color black

Mrs. Tolman gave the pretty tablecloth a small pat. The table was set so nicely ― just sweets and something to drink. Simon was coming in an hour or so, at six o'clock, bringing his wife, he said. Simon had been living in California for five years now. He was "in computers," he told his mother, and "doing all right." He talked to her at least once a week and made it a point to come home for the High Holy Days every year. He was a good son. They had a good relationship, caring but not effusive. Most of all, Mrs. Tolman was grateful that Simon had kept the Jewish faith. It was her solace and her pride.
Mrs. Tolman sat down in her favorite rocking chair. She was enjoying the anticipation as she rocked gently. She had waited for Simon to get married for a long time now. His father had passed away when he was fifteen, and he had become restless and difficult, finishing high school almost under duress.
Simon loved his mother, but he wanted out. Out of the house, out of school, out of the city. He tried an out-of-town college for a year and deliberately flunked out. He wandered from one job to another until suddenly he told his mother that a friend had offered to teach him computers if he would go to California with him. What did he have to lose?
When Simon left, Mrs. Tolman went through a period of rejection, guilt, and anger. She didn't go for therapy ― she still thought psychology as something a little creepy. As an aide in a day-care center, she lived a simple, religious life, had friends much like herself, and wanted to see Simon married. A grandchild would be so nice.
The bell tinkled. She hurried to the door. There was Simon, and with him a pretty black woman.
"Come in. Come in. Excuse me, but where is your wife?"
"Carla is my wife, Mother," he said as they entered.
For a full ten seconds, Mrs. Tolman could not speak. She just stared at them. Words would not come. This was his wife? Simon bent and kissed her cheek.
"Let's sit down," he said, gently and firmly. Mrs. Tolman let him guide her to a chair, without taking her eyes off the woman. Somehow she couldn't grasp the situation.
Simon took over as they sat around the table. "Mother, I know this is quite a surprise, maybe even a shock. But I knew I could never explain anything on the phone, or by letter. I wanted you to meet Carla first..."
Mrs. Tolman and Carla stared at each other. Carla offered a small smile, but Mrs. Tolman seemed somehow unable to react. Simon thought, a little belatedly, that perhaps he should have prepared his mother a little better.
"Carla and I met at the company where I work. She is a fine computer analyst. She comes from Raleigh, Mother, and she became Jewish four years ago... We worked in the same department, and I got to know her. When I saw that she didn't eat with the other workers and heard that she didn't come in on Shabbos, I realized she was different and we became friends. Many times she worked overtime to make up hours. She was so gentle and kind and so very intelligent that we became more than friends..."
"Could you tell me a little about yourself?" Mrs. Tolman asked hesitantly.
It was a strange and curious story. Carla was born and bred in poverty in a small town in the South. She was a quiet child, not given much to roughhouse playing. Her father was a truck driver, and her mother "did houses." There was never any money for books, and Carla's greatest joy was Sunday school because there Miz Rosa gave out books about the Bible with beautiful pictures and stories. Although she didn't really understand it at all, the Bible stories of the Old Testament worked a curious magic on her mind. She believed them, and she daydreamed about them.
As she got older and began reading fluently, she would go to the library and find books to satisfy her mind. Not being a sociable child, she became even more introspective as she got older. She went to church regularly, together with her mother and sisters, her brothers having dropped out as early as possible. And while she listened attentively and sang in the choir, she felt a sense of not belonging.
In the town, there was a small grocery store run by a Jewish man named Moshe, who seemed very old to Carla. On the High Holy Days, the grocery store was closed. Carla liked to come to the store to do a little shopping and talk to Moshe, especially as she grew older. He always had time and stories for her. One day, she asked him, "How do you like being a Jew?"
Moshe was not surprised. Carla was not one of your run-of-the-mill kids; she was a thoughtful girl, interested in the world. "It don't make much difference what I like, Carla. I was born a Jew and I'll die a Jew. That's what the good Lord wants from me, I guess." He stopped a moment. "Not everybody likes Jews, you know, but this town's been pretty nice to me. I got no complaints." Looking at her earnest face, he added honestly, "I'm not very learned or smart, never went to yeshivah."
"What's a yeshivah?"
"It's where boys go to study Talmud and become rabbis and teachers. Some boys go just to get educated in Jewish stuff."
"Why didn't you go?" Carla prodded.
"I went to work." He seemed to want to close her out.
One day, when she was already in high school, Carla came in with a new question. "Moshe, could I become a Jewish person? I read a lot about Jews and conversion and that sort of thing. I think I would like to be Jewish."
Moshe was surprised this time, and he was a little afraid for her. She really didn't understand what it meant to be a Jew in the outside world. He said, "This town's been good to me, Carla. But not every town and not all people care too much about Jews. Being born a Jew is the first strike against you. Today it's much better, but there was a time when a Jew couldn't get into the best schools or get the best jobs. Besides, a Jew has to live by a lot of rules and regulations that you don't even know about."
"I could learn," she said.
"What would your folks say?" Moshe could envision the tragedy she was heading into. "They maybe wouldn't even want you around if you tried to convert. They're good Christians. Stay the way you are."
Carla smiled a small smile. She picked up the bag of groceries she had come for and put some coins on the counter. "Pray for me, Moshe. I'm not coming back."
The town buzzed when Carla left. It buzzed even louder, several years later, when it heard she had converted to Judaism. Even the deacon fretted about it in his sermon on Sunday.
Carla was proud to be a Jew, but she could not hide her color. One Shabbos she went to a synagogue for services. The men at the door asked her if she was the new cleaning lady...
The rabbi with whom she studied got her a job and recommended a business school where she could learn computer programming. As it happened, she was a natural in this field.
With all its declarations of equality, the South is not too kindly disposed toward black people. Carla found it hard to get a job, even an entry one. Weeping one day to her mentor, she asked, "Where do I go from here?"
The rabbi, a kindly and understanding man, said, "I have a friend in Los Angeles. People out there are not thrown by skin color. I'll speak to him. Would you be ready to try your luck there?"
"Tell me where to go. I'll leave tomorrow. I'm ready to try anything now."
The rabbi was right. The lady who interviewed her on her first try at a new job was not particularly interested in color or gender. She wanted someone efficient and smart who could manage the company's computer programs. Carla got the job. Simon worked in another department. God moves His people on His giant chessboard, in His own mysterious ways.
Now Simon and Carla sat at Simon's mother's table, ill at ease, trying to make conversation. Mrs. Tolman had listened to Carla's story without comment. Now she asked tentatively, "Would you like tea?"
"Don't bother, Mother," Simon answered. "Let me show you some pictures of our apartment in LA."
Carla opened her bag and took out an envelope, but the picture showing wasn't very successful. The conversation lagged, and the three uneasy people tried to make something better of the unsatisfactory party. It didn't work too well.
When Simon and Carla were leaving, Simon began to put his arms around his mother. Almost instinctively, she drew back. She caught herself, but the gesture had made a statement. There was no kissing or hugging in the goodbyes. Outside, Carla wept.
Back home, in their Los Angeles apartment, they confronted each other in ultimate sadness. "Do you think your mother will ever accept me?" Carla asked.
"Isn't it enough that I accept you?" Simon asked angrily.
And so anger crept into their otherwise happy relationship. And fear crept into Carla's heart. Where were they going? What was going to happen?
Carla had made friends with a friendly woman, Dina, who sat next to her in shul on Shabbos. The Shabbos after Carla's visit to New York and her mother-in-law, Dina asked, "How was your trip?"
Carla looked her full in the face... "Dreadful."
"Was she pleasant to you?" Dina asked.
"She tried to be, but I think she was just too shocked. I told Simon he should tell his mother about me before we came, but he said it was better his way. It wasn't. It was awful."
Dina took her hand. "Carla, when Simon goes to the rabbi's class this afternoon, come visit me. We'll talk."
Shabbos afternoon. The most relaxed hours of the week. Dina and Carla were companionably engrossed with Dina's baby, the third in Dina's home. Dina brought up Carla's situation abruptly.
"I thought of something, Carla. It might not work, but then again, it just might. No harm in trying."
"What is it?"
"Simple. Every Friday, around nine or ten in the morning, about noon in New York, call up your mother-in-law and simply wish her good Shabbos. Just a pleasant, non-threatening call. You can add regards from Simon. That's all."
Carla looked at her friend gratefully. "Sounds simple, not very brilliant, but I will certainly try. Nothing to lose."
The first Friday Carla made the call, Mrs. Tolman recognized her voice and hung up the receiver, quietly but definitely. On the next two Fridays, it was the same. On the fourth Friday, Mrs. Tolman asked, "Why are you calling me?"
Carla caught her breath at Mrs. Tolman's voice, but she answered pleasantly, "Just called to say good Shabbos and have a very nice day."
There was a five-second silence. Then Mrs. Tolman said, "Thank you," and hung up.
Friday by Friday, for four long months, Carla called and Mrs. Tolman answered briefly and hung up. It was well into the fifth month when Carla called as usual and received no answer. She tried again, letting the phone ring for a while, and a third time half an hour later. No answer. She would ask Simon if his mother had been in touch with him at the office or if perhaps she had gone away for Shabbos. But she didn't usually.
By two o'clock, she knew it was almost Shabbos in New York, and Carla tried once more. She dialed without much enthusiasm. Then the doorbell rang. Putting the phone down, she hurried to the door.
Mrs. Tolman said simply, "Good Shabbos, my child." Carla flew into her arms. (www.innernet.org.il)



Shabbos: Ta’am HaChaim Korach 5770
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