“Shall Your Brothers Go To War While You Sit Here?”

“Shall Your Brothers Go To War While You Sit Here?”

Rabbi Ari Kahn

Excerpt from A River Flowed from Eden

“Shall your brothers go to war while you sit here?” With these words Moshe hurls a devastating moral attack against the tribes of Reuven (Reuben) and Gad, an attack that reverberates until this very day, and is used as ammunition against those who live in the modern state of Israel yet choose to take advantage of the service deferments.

As the Jews drew nearer to the Promised Land, they came into possession of lush grazing land, and two tribes expressed a desire to make their homestead east of Israel. In short, they sought to trade their future portion in the land of their forefathers for the green pastures across the border. For them, the Promised Land would remain an unfulfilled promise - not because God did not want to keep His promise, but because they were less interested in what the Land of Israel had to offer than they were in the lucrative opportunity they saw on the outside.

Their request was met with a rhetorical question, a response so full of moral outrage that its critical tone was unmistakable: “Shall your brothers go to war while you sit here?” The historic moment in time should not be overlooked: the conquest of the Land of Israel and the very existence of a Jewish national entity in the Land of the Patriarchs hung in the balance.

Upon closer inspection, their wish not to be a part of the “Zionist” enterprise is not really analogous to those who live in Israel today and choose not to fight. We have become so accustomed to hearing these words used out of context that we fail to take note of the differences: Those who live in Israel, regardless of their political orientation or the degree to which they take part in national or military institutions, do not fit squarely into the moral attack hurled by Moshe against the two tribes who sought to remain outside the land. When considered in context, Moshe’s charge against those who would choose the lush fields over the Land of Israel would be more appropriately directed at modern-era Jews who choose to remain in the diaspora rather than taking part in the rebuilding of the Land.

Moshe’s response to the two tribes’ request goes one step further, lending context and depth to his critique: “And why do you discourage the heart of the people of Israel from going over to the land which God has given them?  This is what your fathers did, when I sent them from Kadesh-Barnea to see the land.” (Bamidbar 32:7-8)

Moshe compares their request to the sin of the spies, perhaps the most nefarious episode endured during his tenure. He identifies the crux of the spies’ perfidy not simply in the rejection of the Land of Israel, but in the fear they instilled in the hearts of the nation. This fear escalated into panic and led to a massive breakdown of faith and purpose. The spies’ insidious report caused the nation to doubt their leaders, to lose sight of their goals. The entire community of Israel began to have second thoughts about the Land and their collective destiny. Can a similar charge be made against those who live in Israel today, even if they do not share the burden of protecting the Land and the People of Israel? I think not.

With this in mind I wish to put forth a few suggestions:

First, to those living in Israel who do not serve: By any moral and religious logic, those who live in Israel must offer their full support to our soldiers and their sacred mission. Too often, demagogues get caught up in their self-serving ideology and attack the State, the government, and the I.D.F. as if they are all part of an elaborate plot designed to uproot Jewish values. The role of the army is far more prosaic; they are indeed involved in elaborate plot - to protect the lives and freedoms of as many Jews as possible. This is a responsibility that must be shared by each and every one of us.  Often old skirmishes and battles are conjured up, and present day reality is ignored, rather than focusing on old internal battles, they should treat themselves to a healthy dose of present-day reality. 

The same rabbis who attack the army and proscribe military service often hand down halakhic rulings that permit soldiers to break Shabbat laws when lives are in danger. It is a strange sort of cognitive dissonance that allows them to understand that our soldiers’ efforts are sacred acts, while at the same time labeling those who perform this life-saving labor as impure. Is a soldier who risks his own life for the protection of his brethren no more than a “shabbos goy”? In point of fact, today’s I.D.F may have more religiously observant officers than secular ones. The iconic brave kibbutznik of the past has been eclipsed by the brave kippa-clad young man.

Among the rabbis who saw things differently, two come to mind: one was my revered teacher, Rabbi Yisrael Gustman, who, upon seeing the graves in the military cemetery on Mount Herzl, declared, “Kulam kedoshim”, “They are all holy martyrs.” Another is Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach. When a student asked the Rabbi’s permission to take a short leave from the yeshiva in Jerusalem to travel to pray at the “graves of the righteous,” Rabbi Auerbach told him that he need go no further than Mount Herzl, to the military cemetery.

These great rabbis recognized that our brothers who went to war and did not return were holy. It behooves all those who remain in yeshiva and devote themselves to learning Torah, to bolster the spirit of those around them and aid in the national effort in any way they can. First and foremost, they must recognize the sanctity of the sacrifice others are making on their behalf, and the holiness of our brothers who have fought to secure their freedom to build and populate great centers of Torah learning in Israel - especially those who paid for these blessings with their lives.

As for those who have chosen the diaspora as home: Make sure that your choices do not instill fear in the hearts of those who dwell in Zion. Be active in your support: Send your children to Israel. Allow them to serve in the army if they express the desire to do so. Remember that this moral fortitude and bravery is the culmination of a proper education.

Consider the Israelis who give three years of their lives to military service, and then continue to disrupt their normal routine for a month or more each year for decades thereafter. Keeping that time-frame in mind, create a structure for donating resources or time to Jewish causes, and strengthen the spirit of those who live in Israel. Israel should be more than just a destination for vacations. It is the inheritance of all Jews, and a part of our personal and collective destiny.

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, Rav Gustman, and the Legend of the Milkman

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, Rav Gustman, and the Legend of the Milkman

Rabbi Ari Kahn

For years there has been an urban legend circulating about a chance meeting between two great Talmudic scholars. The story is usually told as follows:

During the Yom Kippur war, the Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Har Etzion, Harav Aharon Lichtenstein ZT”L, felt compelled to help in the war effort. His students were fighting valiantly at the front, and he felt the need to pitch in. Rav Aharon approached the Home-Front Command (or, in some versions of the story, the Jerusalem Municipality) and volunteered his services. A local milkman had been called up as an IDF reservist, and Rav Aharon gladly took over his delivery route.

One of the people he met on his route was the revered Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivas Rameilis - Netzach Yeshiva, Rav Yisrael Ze’ev Gustman ZT”L. During this serendipitous meeting, the two Talmudic titans began discussing Talmud. Rav Gustman had no reason to believe that the clean-shaven milkman was, in actuality, a prominent Rosh Yeshiva. Duly impressed, Rav Gustman later remarked to one of his students how lucky he was to live in Jerusalem – where even the milkman is a “baki b’shas” (well-versed in the entirety of Talmud).

There are several problems with this story, the most serious of which is that the meeting it describes never happened. Here are some historical facts to consider:

·      Rav Aharon never volunteered as a milkman.

·      Rav Aharon and Rav Gustman were well acquainted long before this story supposedly transpired. When the Lichtenstein family moved to New York they lived in close proximity to Rav Gustman; Rav Aharon first met Rav Gustman when the former was still quite young. If memory serves me well, I was told that Rav Aharon  “inherited” his approach to some of the laws of blowing the shofar from Rav Gustman. Rav Aharon accepted as authoritative the sounds he had heard in his youth in Rav Gustman’s Beit Midrash.

·      Rav Aharon was well-known throughout the yeshiva world as a prodigy. Having grown up in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn, where Rav Gustman lived and taught, it is highly unlikely that Rav Gustman did not know who Rav Aharon was. Additionally, Rav Aharon was a leading student of Rav Yitzchak Hutner, who was a very close friend of Rav Gustman; it is unlikely that the two Roshei Yeshiva did not discuss Rav Hutner’s brilliant young student.

·      My brother, Rav Yair, told me that on one occasion he went to speak with Rav Gustman about a complicated Talmudic passage. Rav Gustman asked him where he learned; when he informed him that he was a student at Yeshivat Har Etzion, Rav Gustman responded, “Your Rosh Yeshiva is a great Talmud Hacham. Why are you asking me? You should be asking Rav Aharon.”

·      I personally recall seeing Rav Gustman at the Bar Mitzvah celebration of one of Rav Aharon’s sons.

·      Rav Aharon’s son told me that on Simhat Torah in 1973, while the Yom Kippur war was still raging, Rav Aharon took him and his brothers to the Netzach Yisrael Yeshiva for Hakafot. (As a Hesder yeshiva, Rav Aharon’s Yeshivat Har Etzion was empty: all the students were at war.)

All of these facts would seem to indicate that the story is no more than an urban legend. On the other hand, I was told many years ago that during the Yom Kippur war Rav Gustman had volunteered in a local hospital. The hospitals were short on staff, and Rav Gustman would spend his nights in the hospital, lending a hand and doing whatever he could to help out. This was his way of taking part in the war effort in a constructive way.

As I heard it, Rav Gustman came to the hospital every night. He helped change sheets, transported patients to and from operating rooms, and whatever else was needed. Before long, Rav Gustman struck up a friendship with one of the other young men who had come to volunteer, an earnest yeshiva student from overseas. This young man brought his Gemara, and when there was a lull in activity, he opened his Gemara and started to learn. Glancing up from his book, he noticed the elderly volunteer and asked if he would like to learn with him. The young man then proceeded to “teach” Rav Gustman Gemara during those precious moments of down-time in the hospital.

A few weeks later, this young yeshiva student received a warm recommendation from a fellow student, who told him about an exceptional Talmudic genius who had survived the Holocaust and was currently a Rosh Yeshiva in Jerusalem. The scholar, he was told, had been a dayan in the Beit Din of Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzinski; in fact, he was the youngest scholar ever appointed to the famed Beit Din of Vilna.  The young volunteer seized the opportunity and went to hear a shiur from this great scholar. When he entered the Beit Midrash of Yeshivat Netzach Yisrael, he was shocked to see that the illustrious Rosh Yeshiva was none other than his chevrusa from the hospital.

Both of the stories repeated here are plausible, possible - and in the case of the second story, actually true – because they share one underlying element: the unassuming bearing and immense modesty of both Rav Aharon Lichtenstein and Rav Yisrael Zeev Gustman. I consider myself profoundly fortunate to have studied with both of these great men.

But what of the milkman? Recently, when I visited the home of the Lichtenstein family to pay a condolence call, I expressed my skepticism regarding the veracity of the milkman story, and asked Rav Aharon’s family if they had any idea how this urban legend got started. Was there another unassuming, clean-shaven baki b’shas wandering the streets of Jerusalem?

I was given the following answer:

When Rav Aharon Kotler came to visit Israel (where his father-in-law Rav Isser Zalman Meltzer was a leading rabbinic figure), there was some pressure placed upon him to stay and take on a post as a Rosh Yeshiva in Jerusalem. Rav Aharon (Kotler) responded that he had met a milkman that morning in Jerusalem, and the man was proficient in all of Shas. Rav Aharon opined that in Lakewood, where the public is generally ignorant, he would be able to be a Rosh Yeshiva, but in Yerushalayim, where even the milkmen know all of Shas, he feels out of his league.

Apparently, “Rav Aharon” (Kotler), the protagonist in the original milkman story, was exchanged for Rav Aharon (Lichtenstein) in the later version of the milkman story; such is the nature of storytelling. Whether there ever was such a milkman or not – only Rav Aharon knows.

getting ready to accept the Torah

I was incredibly humbled by 2 comments over the past two days. On Friday I went to Alon Shvut to pay homage to the Gadol Hador – Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein – on the occasion of his 80^th birthday. When I approached him he said to me “I am extremely pleased to see how productive you are – producing works rooted in the text and rooted in values”. I cannot overstate the feeling of words of encouragement, from man whom I revere.  I sat by his feet for 4 years, at first struggling to understand his vocabulary – and then the words and concepts he taught us.

The second was on Shabbat, my next door neighbor after tasting my homemade schug said – “it is better than mine…it is better than my mother’s”...she was effusive and asked me for my recipe…

Even if they both exaggerated – the lesson is clear: the power of a positive word is substantial; uplifting, even transformative – we should all be more generous with positive words of encouragement…that is how we become one people with one heart…that is how we get ready to accept the Torah…

The Rabbi and the Professor

The Rabbi and the Professor

Rabbi Ari D. Kahn

(The following is based on a combination of first - hand knowledge and a composite reconstruction of events as retold to me.)

Many years ago when I was a relatively young yeshiva student I had the opportunity to study with one of the great rabbis of the previous generation. His name was Rabbi Yisroel Zeev Gustman and he may have been one of the greatest rabbis of the 20^th century. He was certainly the greatest "unknown" rabbi: While he fastidiously avoided the limelight and was therefore unfamiliar to the general public, he was well known to connoisseurs of Torah learning.

His meteoric rise from child prodigy to the exalted position of religious judge  in the Rabbinical Court of Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinski at around the age of twenty was the stuff of legend – but nonetheless  fact. Many years later, I heard Rav Gustman's own modest version of the events leading to this appointment: A singular (brilliant) insight which he shared with his fellow students was later repeated to the visiting Rav Chaim Ozer, who invited the young student to repeat this same insight the following day in his office in Vilna. Unbeknownst to Rav Gustman, the insight clinched an argument in a complex case that had been debated among the judges in Rav Chaim Ozer's court – and allowed a woman to remarry.

One of the judges adjudicating the case in question, Rabbi Meir Bassin, made inquiries about this young man, and soon a marriage was arranged with his daughter Sarah. When Rabbi Bassin passed away before the wedding, Rabbi Gustman was tapped to take his place as rabbi of Shnipishok and to take his seat on the court. Although Rav Gustman claimed that he was simply "in the right place at the right time," it was clear that Rav Bassin and Rav Chaim Ozer had seen greatness in this young man.

While a long, productive career on the outskirts of Vilna could have been anticipated, Jewish life in and around Vilna was obliterated by World War II. Rav Gustman escaped, though not unscathed. He hid among corpses. He hid in caves. He hid in a pig pen. Somehow, he survived.

For me, Rav Gustman was the living link to the Jewish world destroyed by the Nazis. I never had to wonder what a Rav in Vilna before the war looked like, for I had seen Rav Gustman, 35 years after the war. At the head of a small yeshiva in the Rechavia section of Jerusalem, Rav Gustman taught a small group of loyal students six days a week. But on Thursdays at noon, the study hall would fill to capacity: Rabbis, intellectuals, religious court judges, a Supreme Court justice and various professors would join along with any and all who sought a high - level Talmud shiur that offered a taste of what had been nearly destroyed. When Rav Gustman gave shiur, Vilna was once again alive and vibrant.

One of the regular participants was a professor at the Hebrew University, Robert J. (Yisrael) Aumann. Once a promising yeshiva student, he had eventually decided to pursue a career in academia, but made his weekly participation in Rav Gustman’s shiur part of his schedule, along with many other more or less illustrious residents of Rechavia and Jerusalem.

The year was 1982.  Once again, Israel was at war. Soldiers were mobilized, reserve units activated. Among those called to duty was a Reserves soldier, a university student and a Talmudic scholar, who made his living as a high school teacher: Shlomo Aumann, Professor Yisrael Aumann's son. On the eve of the 19^th of Sivan, in particularly fierce combat, Shlomo fell in battle.

Rav Gustman mobilized his yeshiva: All of his students joined him in performing the mitzvah of burying the dead. At the cemetery, Rav Gustman was agitated: He surveyed the rows of graves of the young men, soldiers who died defending the Land. On the way back from the cemetery, Rav Gustman turned to another passenger in the car and said, "They are all holy." Another passenger questioned the rabbi: "Even the non-religious soldiers?"  Rav Gustman replied: "Every single one of them". He then turned to the driver and said, "Take me to Professor Aumann's home.”

The family had just returned from the cemetery and would now begin the week of shiv’a – mourning for their son, brother, husband and father. (Shlomo was married and had one child. His widow, Shlomit, gave birth to their second daughter shortly after he was killed.)

Rav Gustman entered and asked to sit next to Professor Aumann, who said: "Rabbi, I so appreciate your coming to the cemetery, but now is time for you to return to your Yeshiva". Rav Gustman spoke, first in Yiddish and then in Hebrew, so that all those assembled would understand:

"I am sure that you don't know this, but I had a son named Meir. He was a beautiful child. He was taken from my arms and executed. I escaped. I later bartered my child's shoes so that we would have food, but I was never able to eat the food – I gave it away to others. My Meir is a kadosh – he is holy – he and all the six million who perished are holy."

Rav Gustman then added: “I will tell you what is transpiring now in the World of Truth in Gan Eden – in Heaven. My Meir is welcoming your Shlomo into the minyan and is saying to him ‘I died because I am a Jew – but I wasn't able to save anyone else. But you – Shlomo, you died defending the Jewish People and the Land of Israel’. My Meir is a kadosh, he is holy – but your Shlomo is a Shaliach Zibbur – in that holy, heavenly minyan.”

Rav Gustman continued: “I never had the opportunity to sit shiv’a for my Meir; let me sit here with you just a little longer.” Professor Aumann replied, "I thought I could never be comforted, but Rebbi, you have comforted me."

Rav Gustman did not allow his painful memories to control his life. He found solace in his students, his daughter his grandchildren, and in every Jewish child. He and his wife would attend an annual parade (on Yom Yerushalayim) where children would march on Jerusalem in song and dance. A rabbi who happened upon them one year asked the Rabbi why he spent his valuable time in such a frivolous activity. Rav Gustman explained, “We who saw a generation of children die, will take pleasure in a generation of children who sing and dance in these streets.”

A student once implored Rav Gustman to share his memories of the ghetto and the war more publicly and more frequently. He asked him to tell people about his son, about his son’s shoes, to which the Rav replied, “I can't, but I think about those shoes every day of my life. I see them every night before I go to sleep.”

On the 28^th of Sivan 5751 (1991), Rav Gustman passed away. Thousands marched through the streets of Jerusalem accompanying Rav Gustman on his final journey. As night fell on the 29^th of Sivan, 9 years after Shlomo Aumann fell in battle, Rav Gustman was buried on the Mount of Olives. I am sure that upon entering Heaven he was reunited with his wife, his teachers and his son Meir. I am also sure that Shlomo Aumann and all the other holy soldiers who died defending the People and the Land of Israel were there to greet this extraordinary Rabbi.

On December 10^th 2005, Professor Robert J. Aumann was awarded the Nobel Prize in economics. I am sure he took with him to Stockholm memories of his late wife Esther, and his son Shlomo. I suspect he also took memories of his Rabbi, Rav Gustman.

May it be the will of God that the People of Israel sanctify His Name by living lives of holiness which will serve as a light to the nations – and may no more children, soldiers or yeshiva students ever need to join that holy minyan in Heaven.

Postscript:

The last time I saw Rav Gustman, I was walking in the Meah Sharim/Geulah section of Jerusalem with my wife and oldest son who was being pushed in a stroller. It was Friday morning and we saw the Rosh Yeshiva, we said hello, wished him “Good Shabbes.” Then, I did something I rarely do: I asked him to bless my son. Rav Gustman looked at the toddler, smiled and said “May he be a boy like all the other boys”. At first, my wife and I were stunned; what kind of blessing was this? We expected a blessing that the boy grow to be a zaddik – a righteous man – or that he be a Talmid Chacham – a Torah scholar. But no, he blessed him that he should be “like all the boys”.

It took many years for this beautiful blessing to make sense to us. The blessing was that he should have a normal childhood, that he have a normal life, that he have his health… Looking back, I realize what a tremendous blessing Rav Gustman gave, and why.

Today, that son - Matityahu, and our second son Hillel, are soldiers in combat units in the Israeli Defense Forces. Brave, strong, motivated and idealistic, they are wonderful soldiers, wonderful Jews. I pray that they return home safely along with all their comrades, and live normal lives – “just like all the boys”.

© Rabbi Ari D. Kahn 2009