Parashat Vaera
Rabbi Levitansky was one of the pioneer Chabad rabbis on the West Coast in the 1960s. He was instrumental in launching the Camp Gan Israel for Jewish kids in Southern California. Years after he passed away, his son was once stopped on the street by a man and his family. “Rabbi Levitansky, I owe my family to your father,” the man said.
“Let me explain. When I was a child, my parents did not have much money. And when it came time for the summer, they found a Jewish camp for me that wouldn’t charge them. It was your father’s camp. Now, we were unaffiliated with our Judaism, and the camp experience was very foreign to me. It was worlds apart from what I was experiencing at home.
So I didn’t connect with it all that much. Eventually, I went to university where I met a girl and we decided to get married. She wasn’t Jewish, but it didn’t bother me. After all, I had grown up with almost no Judaism in my house. As the wedding came closer, my fiancée told me she wanted to get married in her church.
That made me uncomfortable, but I told myself, What’s the difference? I’m not marrying a Jewish woman anyway. But as the wedding day approaches, I can’t shake the feeling of uneasiness. The wedding day is here, and I’m all dressed in my tuxedo, about to walk down the aisle when a voice starts reverberating in my ears.
It’s a song. The song we used to sing at your father’s camp. He used to lead the whole camp in singing it.
‘Ain’t gonna work on Saturday.’
And the memories start to flood back. And the voice in my head just gets louder. And the song completely overwhelms me. Like in the movies, I ran away from the altar in my tuxedo and all, I broke off the relationship, and I reconnected with my Judaism.
I met my current wife here, and we have a beautiful Jewish family, all thanks to your father.”
I’m reminded of this story by a puzzling episode in this week’s parshah. Moshe comes to the Jewish people and tells them of their imminent liberation, just like Hashem had told him to. The posuk continues, “Velo Shomu el Moshe mikotzer ruach umeyavodah kashah.”
The people did not listen to him because of their diminished spirit and their painful servitude. The sfas emes raises the obvious question, why would Hashem tell Moshe to deliver this news to the people when they were clearly not in a place to hear it? What’s the point? Would it not be better to wait to deliver the news until their plight was alleviated and they were in a better space?
The sfas emes explains, Hashem was telling Moshe a powerful truth about the lasting effect of inspiration. “Sometimes your message will seem to fall on deaf ears. Your words won’t be received at the moment,” Hashem tells Moshe, “but eventually, it is these words that will pierce through and uplift their spirits.”
We say in the Shema every day, “vehayu hadvorim haeleh al levavecha.” these words of Torah will be on your heart. The Chadush Yerim asks, “why say al levavecha? It should rather say el levavecha. Words enter into one’s heart, not on top of one’s heart.” He provides a most beautiful explanation. “There’s going to be time when the words you teach, when the words you learn will not enter into the heart. They will remain on top of the heart, but there’s also going to come a time when there’s a breakthrough and the heart will open and the words that you put upon the heart will fall right in.”
Inspiration is not always instant, but it doesn’t have to be distant. Incremental progress may be hard to measure, but in the end, becomes a sustainable treasure.
Wishing you a wonderful Shabbos
