How to Instill Torah in Our Children? - Rabbi Moshe Hillel shlita

00:02 Speaker 1 You are listening to “Lema’an Yishme’u,” a podcast from Machon Halacha Chabad.

00:09 Speaker 2 I want to start with an amusing story. Silence reigned in the palace. The servants walked on tiptoe, afraid of arousing the czar’s anger. The czar loved hearing stories. His servants were constantly looking for storytellers to come and tell him stories, but there was one big problem: the czar refused to hear a story twice. Every day he wanted a new story, one he had never heard before. If someone told him a story he had heard before, he would order the storyteller beheaded without batting an eye. But how could anyone know whether the czar had heard a story before? Storytellers fell like flies, until no one was willing to risk losing his head. Who would want to part with his head over the czar’s whims? The servants searched throughout the country, until the czar told them, “You had better find a storyteller before you become my storytellers.” The servants searched frantically for someone who would come, willingly or otherwise, to tell the czar stories. Then a young man appeared before them and volunteered to tell stories to the czar. The czar was delighted to see him; it had been a long time since any storyteller had appeared at the palace. “Please, young man, sit here and tell Father Czar your stories.” The young man began with the following story: “Many years ago, my grandfather and your grandfather built a shed so large that it took a squirrel an entire day to jump from one end to the other. The shed was enormous by any measure—its size was beyond description. Have you heard that story?” he asked the czar. “No, I’ve never heard that story

02:30 Speaker 2 before.” “Well, if you haven’t heard it, that’s enough for today. I’ll come back tomorrow, and we’ll continue the story.” The next morning, the young man appeared beside the czar, who was eagerly awaiting the rest of the story. The young man sat down and said, “Yesterday I told you about the shed your grandfather and my grandfather built. Well, in that same shed they raised an ox so large that it took a swallow an entire day to fly from one horn to the other. Have you ever heard that story?” “No, I haven’t,” said the czar, a little embarrassed this time. This young man is far too cunning, he thought. “All right,” the young man told him, “we’ll continue the story tomorrow.” The czar summoned his courtiers. “Tomorrow, when this young man comes to tell me a story, all of you must say you’ve heard it before. As soon as he finishes, say you’ve heard that story, and we’ll be rid of him—we’ll have his head cut off.” The next morning, the young man arrived, sat beside the czar, and began: “Back when my father and your father were neighbors and still young men, your father borrowed forty barrels of gold from my father. Have you ever heard that story?” The czar scratched his head in embarrassment. He didn’t know how to respond, but the courtiers had their orders, and they all shouted in unison, “We’ve heard that story before!” “Yes, yes,” said the young man, “but the czar hasn’t answered yet. Does he know the story? You’ve heard it?” They told him yes. “Then if you’ve heard it, it’s time for the czar to repay the debt.” An idea occurred to the czar: how could he get rid of this cunning young man? “Oh, I certainly heard that story from my father,” he said, “and by the rules, if I’ve heard a story, I must have your head cut off.”

04:40 Speaker 2 “No problem,” said the young man. “I agree. But if you’ve heard the story and know it, first repay the debt, and then we can go on.” The czar furrowed his brow in embarrassment, and the young man continued, “If you don’t have that much gold, it must mean we’re talking about a different story, one you haven’t heard yet.” “Perhaps you’re right,” the czar muttered awkwardly. The treasurer approached him and reported that he didn’t have enough gold to pay the young man. “Then everything is fine,” the young man told him. “We’re still talking about a story you haven’t heard.” The czar nodded in agreement. The young man continued, “Let’s agree on one thing: our grandfathers and fathers were friends. A friendship that old should be preserved for future generations, too.” The czar, wary of the cunning young man’s next trick, shook his hand warmly and said, “You have my protection, young man, for the sake of our fathers’ friendship. But I’ve heard enough of your stories. I don’t think I need to hear any more.” It’s an amusing story. And I think it relates to what we’re going to discuss today: learning Torah and making that learning part of ourselves. It’s time we stopped telling stories. Because if you tell your children stories, they’ll tell their children stories, too. We have to be done with stories and start taking action. I want to read a passage from a letter by the Frierdiker Rebbe. Its point, really, is to stop telling stories and start setting a personal example. Perhaps before we get to the letter, there’s a Gemara in the second chapter of Shabbos, in the chapter Bameh Madlikin—I think on page 22 or 23. Page 22. The Gemara lists several mitzvos and what a person who is careful about them merits: one who is careful with mezuzah merits a beautiful home.

07:09 Speaker 2 One who is careful with tzitzis merits beautiful clothing. One who is careful with Kiddush merits casks filled with wine. One who regularly lights lamps will have children who are Torah scholars. Rashi says that “regularly lights lamps” means Chanukah lights and Shabbos candles. All the commentators ask about Rashi: Who doesn’t light Chanukah candles? Who doesn’t light candles? What woman doesn’t light Shabbos candles? Jews have lit them throughout history, yet we haven’t seen that all their children became Torah scholars. So how do they explain Rashi? What kind of lighting is required? One of the halachic authorities, who also wrote a commentary on Ein Yaakov—the author of the responsa Shvus Yaakov, who lived about four hundred years ago—wrote a commentary called Iyun Yaakov. He writes: “Why does the Gemara change its wording? For the three mitzvos of mezuzah, tzitzis, and Kiddush, it says ‘one who is careful,’ but when it speaks about lamps, it says ‘one who regularly lights lamps.’ It doesn’t say ‘one who is careful with lamps.’ ‘One who regularly lights lamps will have children who are Torah scholars.’” He says, “Were it not for Rashi’s explanation, I would suggest a different interpretation.” Let me explain what Iyun Yaakov is saying in more modern language. He makes this point, and I’ll put it in my own words. Once, when darkness fell at night, that was it: there was no electricity, nothing. You needed candles to learn, and candles were expensive. Iyun Yaakov says that a person whose home regularly has lamps burning at night because he sits and learns will have children who are Torah scholars. Not someone who regularly lights Chanukah and Shabbos candles, as Rashi explains, but someone who lights them regularly. That’s why it doesn’t say “one who is careful”; it says “one who regularly lights lamps.” Every day, every evening. Your son sees you open a sefer and light the lamps. Even if he goes to sleep, he knows there are lamps burning at home. And if he gets up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, then

09:29 Speaker 2 He sees his father asleep over a sefer, or learning from one. And here I want to read a very interesting letter from the Frierdiker Rebbe. I came across it a couple of weeks ago. In general, I like reading letters from the Rebbe and the Frierdiker Rebbe. The letter appears in volume 16, page 435. “Boruch Hashem, 4 Adar II 5689.” The letter is addressed to a Jew named Boruch Rizik. “Greetings and blessings. I was very sorry to hear of the passing of your father-in-law, a G-d-fearing man who studied Torah with affection. May his soul be bound in the bond of life. Please convey my condolences to your wife,” and so on. “Yes, the old branches that bore their fruit are cut down and buried in the earth. Are new ones growing in their place? Without a doubt, in every generation, from the Six Days of Creation until today, people have mourned those who depart, for the Creator implanted in human nature the impulse to mourn those who are gone. May the Merciful One spare us. But how deeply must we, living in this generation, mourn the loss of someone from the previous generation—or from our own? Your father-in-law, peace be upon him, was a baal habayis. He was not a great Torah scholar, or even a rabbi. He did not scale walls or leap over mountains to fill himself with titles like ‘Sinai,’ ‘uprooter of mountains,’ ‘the right-hand pillar,’ or ‘the mighty hammer.’” Those are titles the Gemara uses for Torah scholars. “Your father-in-law did not climb or leap over mountains to acquire those titles. Rather, he was a baal habayis, a shopkeeper, who studied Torah with love. He studied it lovingly, affectionately, pleasantly, and with spiritual delight.” Listen to those words, to the Frierdiker Rebbe’s vivid language. “He studied Torah with love and affection, pleasantly and with spiritual delight. How beautiful is the stamp of the previous generation: an ordinary individual, living on his own responsibility, owing the world nothing and owed nothing by it, who nevertheless stood on such a lofty and great level that studying Torah, both Nigleh and Nistar, was an absolute necessity, something without which it was impossible

12:08 Speaker 2 to exist, and without which it was impossible to live.” A Jewish shopkeeper, a baal habayis. He owed the world nothing, and the world owed him nothing. This kind of person settled the dispute between two statements in the sea of the Talmud about how a person should live. There is a Gemara in Eruvin. One says, “We are workers of the day, and the night was created only for sleep.” The night was created for sleeping; we work by day. Another says, “The night was created only for study.” The night is meant for you to sit and learn. Then along comes this shopkeeper from Roman—that was the name of his town—and settles the dispute between the two Talmudic statements by turning nights into days. He fulfills both “We are workers of the day” and “The night was created only for study.” As it says, “And Torah is light.” Someone like this was a common sight in the previous generation, because he was the fruit of the old education, which planted a love of Torah deep in every child’s heart. That is personal example. There are no other solutions. There are no other solutions. “The plain truth is that from the moment a child enters the world, he is already surrounded by love and affection for Torah.” This is a subject we need to talk about, and while I’m here, we’ll talk about it. There is a concept that may sound a bit Litvish to us: love of Torah. No, no, it’s not something foreign to us. “Love and affection for Torah: even before the little boy knew how to say ‘Abba’ and ‘Imma,’ he had already seen expressions of affection for Torah. Father turns the pages of a large sefer, mother leafs through a thick book”—presumably the Tze’enah Ure’enah, the Chumash—“and his brother looks into a small sefer and sings as he learns. This education gave us even ordinary people filled with goodness, who radiated a bright light through upright lives and pleasant ways.” That is the simple meaning of a light. From the day the child emerges from his mother’s womb, at a month or two old, his eyes are taking things in. So we know not to put wild animals in front of him or anything like that; that is “turn away from evil.” What about “do good”? Let him see his father sitting and learning

15:22 Speaker 2 and not sitting—Father is sitting with a thick tablet, a big tablet, and mother is sitting with a small screen, and the younger brother is watching something else, I don’t know what. And what do you end up with? Ignorant, unlearned householders. To understand this, I want to tell a story. What is the power of love of Torah, and what is the power of personal example in loving Torah? Perhaps before the story, one more short quotation from what the Rebbe writes—the Rebbe spoke about this in 5774. Lately, besides my work at the yeshiva and the girls’ school in Kfar Chabad, I’ve also been an examiner at the Talmud Torah in Nachlas Har Chabad for the past two years. And there are different kinds of parents. I don’t—I don’t deal with the parents directly, but you see and hear things. Some parents say, “I sent my child to the professionals, to the Talmud Torah. Solve the problem for me.” It doesn’t work like that. In 5774, the Rebbe spoke about how parents must know that, important as an education in a Torah institution is, for a child’s education to last, an atmosphere of Torah must be felt at home. Even if the child comes home only to eat and sleep, he needs to feel an atmosphere of Torah there. In a moment we’ll see another letter from the Frierdiker Rebbe. There need to be sefarim on the table. Don’t recite the Rambam from your phone, even if it’s protected by five thousand safeguards. Take a Rambam sefer! And learn the Rambam from there. Take a Chumash and read from the Chumash. Let him see sefarim on the table. “An atmosphere of Torah is created when a father who is a merchant uses a verse from the Torah or a saying of our Sages at every opportunity.” The conversation itself is in the language of Torah. Some time ago I was sitting in some sort of forum at the yeshiva. A young man who isn’t even married yet said something to me “randomly.” Now, first of all, I don’t understand the word “randomly.” I gather it means “by chance” or something

18:14 Speaker 2 like that. So he says, “randomly.” I look at him: what’s “randomly”? Can’t you say “by chance,” “just like that”? You haven’t even left yeshiva yet! “Randomly,” shmandonly! Are there no other words? Maybe use Torah language. Say, “Your words are baffling.” Say to someone today, “What you’re saying is baffling.” “What language are you speaking to me in?” “An atmosphere of Torah is created when a father who is a merchant uses a verse from the Torah or a saying of our Sages at every opportunity; when the child sees sefarim everywhere at home; and when his mother, speaking in her usual way, brings in something from the Tze’enah Ure’enah or the Kitzur Shulchan Aruch”—not some newfangled language our ancestors never imagined. So don’t put the whole burden of education on the Talmud Torah. It doesn’t end there. In Baranovitch, Lithuania, there was a yeshiva headed by Reb Elchonon Wasserman. Anyone who has learned in yeshiva knows Kovetz Shiurim. Next year the yeshivas will be learning Bava Basra, and there is hardly a maggid shiur who won’t cite Kovetz Shiurim. One winter, Reb Elchonon Wasserman’s yeshiva was in difficult financial straits. He went to the home of a wealthy man—I don’t know whether it was in Baranovitch or somewhere else—a Jew who respected Torah scholars and who also had a personal connection with Reb Elchonon Wasserman. Reb Elchonon arrived at the house drenched, his boots caked with mud, and stood in front of the wealthy man’s mansion. The man’s name was Shraga Feivel Frank. Standing there in front of the mansion, he felt uncomfortable knocking now and dirtying all the carpets. He knew there was a side entrance at the back of the house, near the kitchen where the family often sat. So he went around to the back entrance, and there he saw the wealthy man sitting with his wife and three daughters, eating lunch—or perhaps not

21:03 Speaker 2 He knows his way around, so he knocks on the back door, where it’s much easier to get in. He comes to speak with the wealthy man. “I need...” he says. The man tells Rabbi Elchanan, “Please go to the front entrance and knock there.” “What? What’s wrong with talking here?” “Rabbi Elchanan, go over there.” He knocks, and the wealthy man comes to the door with his three young daughters. He opens it and says, “Please, Rabbi, come in.” Now Rabbi Elchanan feels uncomfortable because he’s soaking wet. “Please come in, Rabbi.” There are carpets, and he’s tracking mud onto them. The man seats him on the sofa in his elegant living room. Rabbi Elchanan is sitting on pins and needles, but the man tells him, “Rabbi, make yourself at home.” Meanwhile, he’s getting mud all over the Italian-style living room. He tells the man he needs money for the yeshiva. “How much does the Rabbi need?” And he gives him a substantial sum for the yeshiva. Rabbi Elchanan asks him, “Tell me, couldn’t you have—look what I’ve done to your place! Couldn’t you have given me the money when we were talking out back?” The wealthy man tells Rabbi Elchanan, “Listen, I’m a very wealthy man, and I’m always teaching my daughters that money is nothing and Torah is what matters. Did you want to undo all their education? If you’d come in the back, what would they have seen? That when muddy carpets are weighed against the honor due to Torah and to a rabbi, the carpets win—money wins. Then everything I’ve told them would have been for nothing. I asked you to come in this way as a lesson for them: so they would see that this mud is mud from Torah, that Torah deserves honor, and that all this wealth is worth nothing beside the honor of Torah.” In time, several of his daughters—and one of his famous sons-in-law, whom anyone who has studied Rambam in some depth will know from the sefer

23:20 Speaker 2 Even HaEzel. Even HaEzel was written by Rabbi Isser Zalman Meltzer. He was his son-in-law. He merited sons-in-law who became great roshei yeshiva. There’s a saying from the Kotzker Rebbe about “If a man has a wayward and rebellious son... he does not listen to our voice”; “he does not listen to the voice of his father or the voice of his mother.” The Kotzker put it this way: “If a man has a wayward and rebellious son”—how did he become wayward and rebellious? He never heard his father’s voice. He never heard his father learning, never heard the melody of Gemara. “He does not listen to the voice of his father”—he never heard his father learning. He heard his father talking business. He saw his father taking an interest in how many demonstrations there had been on Kaplan Street. He didn’t hear his father’s voice, “the voice is the voice of Yaakov,” and he didn’t hear his mother’s voice. Perhaps he didn’t hear her when she stood by the candles and cried. So the result, says the Kotzker, is a wayward and rebellious son. Later it says, “His father and mother shall take hold of him... and say: This son of ours is wayward and rebellious; he does not listen to our voice.” The Gemara in Sanhedrin derives from this that his parents could not have been deaf. If they were deaf, the law of a wayward and rebellious son does not apply. The Kotzker asks: What’s the connection? “He does not listen to the voice of his father” is said about the child, not about whether the parents can hear. And here too the Kotzker Rebbe went on to say: If he doesn’t listen, it’s because his father doesn’t listen. If he “does not listen to our voice,” it’s because you yourself didn’t listen to what you were saying. There’s an expression in Choshen Mishpat in several places—the Shach quotes it from the earlier authorities: “As the master of the dream revealed to me.” There are several instances where the halachic authorities write, “The master of the dream revealed to me.” The [unclear] cites it, I think, regarding hiring workers, among other things. It appears in three places in Choshen Mishpat, where the master of the dream told them something—

25:50 Speaker 2 And there are discussions about whether or not to rule accordingly. Well, I too had a dream last night, and perhaps I’ll share it with you. In the dream, the master of the dream came to me and said, “Tell the people gathered here that the prayer they said this morning has been answered.” Which prayer? Let me tell you. “With an everlasting love You have loved us.” You begin, right before Shema, with a passage that’s almost the most important part of davening apart from Shemoneh Esrei: “With an everlasting love You have loved us.” “Oh,” says Hakadosh Boruch Hu, “a good young man.” “Great compassion”—compassion is more than love. And not just compassion: great compassion. Not merely great: “You have shown us abundant compassion.” Let’s hear what the young man wants after all these introductions. “Our Father, our King”—

26:58 Speaker 3 Compassion and mercy.

26:58 Speaker 2 “Our Father, our King.” Well?

27:02 Speaker 3 “For the sake of Your great name.”

27:03 Speaker 2 “For the sake of Your great name, and for the sake of our ancestors who trusted in You, to whom You taught the laws of life so they could do Your will wholeheartedly, so too be gracious to us and teach us.” All right, that sounds like a reasonable request. But the young man doesn’t stop. “Our Father, merciful Father, Who has mercy, please have mercy...” Notice, even in the blessing “Heal us” we don’t say all that. “Our Father, merciful Father, Who has mercy, please have mercy on us.” Now Hakadosh Boruch Hu says, “Listen, this is an extraordinary request. Let’s hear what he wants.” “Our Father, merciful Father, Who has mercy, please have mercy on us and put understanding in our hearts to understand and discern, to hear, to learn”—and not only that—“to teach, to observe, to do and to fulfill all the words of Your Torah’s teaching.” I imagine that if I asked anyone here whether he plans to study Tractate Me’ilah or Kerisos, Zevachim or Menachos, ninety-nine percent would tell me he has no such plans. Is he planning to study the sefer Tekfo Kohen or Shitah Lo Noda Lemi? He’ll tell you, “It really is a shittah whose author is unknown, and that’s why I’m not learning it.” Or Tosafos Chachmei Anglia? I imagine most people aren’t planning to study that in the next fifty years. It’s enough that the Lubavitcher Rebbe put Rambam on our shoulders. Why are you bringing me Tosafos Chachmei Anglia now? But you say it every day: “Our Father, merciful Father, Who has mercy, please have mercy on us.” You ask Hakadosh Boruch Hu for mercy! “Put understanding in our hearts to understand and discern, to hear, to learn and to teach, to observe, to do and to fulfill all...” So your request has been granted. Hakadosh Boruch Hu says, “Your request has been granted.” As the Alter Rebbe says in Igeres Hateshuvah, it cannot be that you say, “Blessed are You, Hashem, gracious One Who abundantly forgives,” and then doubt that Hakadosh Boruch Hu has forgiven you. Every day you say, “Blessed are You, Hashem”—you make the blessing every day! In the blessings before Shema: “Blessed are You, Hashem, Who chooses His people

29:38 Speaker 2 Israel with love.” You didn’t receive that? You did! In the evening it’s the same thing: “With an everlasting love You have loved the House of Israel, Your people. You have taught us Torah and mitzvos, statutes and laws. Therefore, when we lie down and when we rise, we will discuss Your statutes and rejoice in the words of Your Torah and Your mitzvos,” and so on. All of it! “For they are our life and the length of our days.” So perhaps we should live up to those words a little? I don’t remember who says this vort. “Take words with you and return to Hashem.” Hakadosh Boruch Hu says, “I’m not asking for anything. Take the words you yourself said, not words I said, and come to Me with them. Come to Me with the words you said.” You want to know all the words of His Torah’s teaching with love? Please, open a sefer. After davening, open a sefer. There are no excuses today. I assume I’m not telling anyone anything new: there’s a Shas called Schottenstein and a Shas called Mesivta. Open one and start learning, [unclear]. And that will have an effect on the children. What I’m about to say—the next few sentences—may make some people shift uncomfortably in their seats, and may give others an allergic reaction, perhaps even to the point of choking. What do the names Telz, Slabodka, Brisk, Grodno, Radin, Baranovitch mean to you? They’re something Litvish, something that makes you itch a little, feel a bit uncomfortable. Am I right? Yoske, am I right? I could even mention Lubavitch—not as... I don’t want to mention a certain yeshiva whose name starts with P and is in Holon. I don’t want to mention it, but... So let me read you a passage from Likkutei Dibburim. Perhaps I should have read the passage first and only then told you who wrote it. Then perhaps you’d have thought it was in Degleinu, a newspaper Tzeirei Agudas Yisroel used to publish. In Likkutei Dibburim, Simchas Torah 5694, there’s a passage—long passages—that the Rebbe

32:41 Speaker 2 He speaks there about love of Torah. Water represents Torah. Lithuania is, thank G-d, a great reservoir of Torah scholars—may they increase. Besides the various things we learn during the year from reading letters from Lithuania and speaking with people who come from there, there is the good impression I received when I was a guest of Anash in Lithuania and met several rabbis and Torah scholars, may they live and be well. And when I read various questions from the most ordinary householders, all of this makes the love of Torah that exists in Lithuania, thank G-d, palpable. Blessed are You, Hashem our G-d, King of the universe, by Whose word all things came to be. When I was in Riga, I told the Jews there that, in addition to their fine quality of tzedakah and acts of kindness, in which they excel, thank G-d, they should learn from the love of Torah found in Lithuania. In Lithuania, thank G-d, people take pleasure in a Torah scholar. A yeshiva student occupies the place among Lithuanian Jews that a Torah scholar ought to occupy. Young married men are immersed in learning, striving to advance in their Torah studies. I assume that in the original Yiddish it said “shtaygen”—a word that gives us such a shudder. Young married men are immersed in learning, striving to advance in their Torah studies. But here the Rebbe adds: Yet water is by nature cold. Cold, frozen water can develop mold, and so the barrel of wine must be warmed. He goes on to say that the students of Tomchei Temimim should establish regular Chassidus classes with them. On the other hand, look at what he writes to the Temimim: The students of Tomchei Temimim in Lithuania, may they live and be well, should be pleased to be in an atmosphere of love of Torah. The yeshivos in Lithuania, may they increase, are Lithuania’s living waters. We ordinary people tend to classify everything as black or white. We classify things as black or white. If someone belongs to my community and follows my style, wonderful—he is white. If he doesn’t quite think the way I do, I paint him black, entirely black. But he has

35:41 Speaker 2 virtues. “No, what are you talking about?” And then someone will give you all sorts of reasons why those virtues are worth nothing. “After all, they don’t learn to listen, and they don’t learn anything.” The Rebbe saw these things; the Rebbe knew their shortcomings better than anyone. But the Rebbe says there is something here called love of Torah, and giving a Torah scholar the place and the respect he deserves. In Rabbi Chadakov’s Chinuch Vehamchanech, he says that when a Torah scholar comes to town, school administrators should invite him into the classroom, have him stand and speak, and honor him. That way, the students absorb this idea—which, for us, almost sounds a little jarring—of loving Torah and honoring a Torah scholar. I want to read another passage from a letter of the Rebbe, the previous Rebbe. It’s a very long letter. We’ll see how much of it we can read. Letter 1. It appears in volume 4, page 421. I’ll skip some passages here and there. The Rebbe writes this letter to a chossid who studied in Tomchei Temimim. It also seems that he came from a distinguished family, and the Rebbe writes to him as follows: “What has pained me most, and pains me very, very much, is that although you are busy and burdened, without time even to write a letter once every few months, what has become of your fixed times for Torah study on weekdays, on holy Shabbos and on Yom Tov? My pain over this compels me to write to you. I have no doubt that you know the explicit and very stringent halachah: every single Jew—whether rich in knowledge or poor in knowledge, whether occupied with business and acquisitions or free of business, whether healthy or, G-d forbid, weak—is obligated to study Torah every single day, without any excuse whatsoever, as our master the Alter Rebbe, of blessed memory, wrote in Hilchos Talmud Torah. This obligation to study

38:12 Speaker 2 Torah, besides being a mitzvah from the Torah,” as the Rambam wrote. In the heading to Hilchos Talmud Torah, the Rambam follows his usual practice: when he begins a set of laws, he writes how many mitzvos it contains. When the Rambam begins Hilchos Talmud Torah, he writes: “It contains two positive commandments. One positive commandment is to study Torah. The second is to honor those who study it and know it.” In Rabbi Wolpo’s book Shemen Sasson Meichaveirecha, there is a story about a shliach in Europe, Rabbi Glick. Rabbi Wolpo relates that he visited Rabbi Ovadia and heard about it; he also visited Rabbi Glick. Rabbi Glick told him that on one of Rabbi Ovadia’s trips to Europe as Chief Rabbi, he had received instructions from the secretariat the day before to go to the airport, meet Rabbi Ovadia, accompany him and attend to his needs throughout his trip in Europe. The secretariat would cover all the expenses, and he was not to spare anything. Nor was he to say who he was or how this arrangement had come about. Rabbi Wolpo went to Rabbi Ovadia and asked him about the story. He said, “Yes. On one of my trips, when I had to visit several European capitals, a man suddenly appeared—Rabbi Avraham Glick—and stayed at my side, accompanying me and attending to my needs. I couldn’t understand it. I didn’t know him, he didn’t know me, and I tried to ask him where this had come from. Nothing. ‘I’m at your service.’” Rabbi Wolpo writes there that this was a discreet gift of honor. Although the Rebbe disagreed with Rabbi Ovadia on a number of fundamental matters, including the Chief Rabbinate—as anyone familiar with it knows—that did not stand in the way of honoring Torah, as we said. It was a discreet act of honoring Torah. But with us, as I said before, everything is classified as black or white. No, it doesn’t work in black and white. When a person—I’m continuing the letter—when

40:37 Speaker 2 a person studies Torah, he stands on a certain level and has a purpose and a goal in life. He knows why he lives and has a stake in life. Day by day, his knowledge of Torah grows. And it is well known—and this connects again with what we said about setting a personal example. Perhaps I’ll tell a story first. When the train was invented some 150 or 170 years ago, it began in England and the United States; later it reached Russia and Poland. Newspapers ran notices saying that anyone who wanted to see this technological marvel should come from the surrounding villages to a fairly central town at a set time. The train would stop there, and everyone would be able to see this technological marvel: without horses or coachmen, a heavy load was carried by a train. There was a little town near the town where the train would stop at the appointed time, and it had a certain minor Rebbe with chassidim. They told their Rebbe about the train and how everyone was talking about this extraordinary technological marvel. He said, “Let’s go see it. ‘How manifold are Your works, Hashem!’ Let’s go see it.” They arrived, and the train had indeed stopped for an hour so that the public could come and look. That Rebbe went up to it. Everyone was looking right and left, wondering where they had hidden the horses. But that Rebbe went over and began feeling the carriages. Feeling the carriages. Perhaps through ruach hakodesh he would discover where the horses were hidden. He felt the carriages, and when he had finished, the chassidim asked him, “Well? What is it?” He said, “Now I understand how the train works.” They asked, “What do you understand? What did the Rebbe discover?” He said, “I felt the carriages and found that the engine—the first carriage—is hot, while the other carriages are cold. If one carriage is hot, it can pull twenty cold carriages behind it. That’s what I discovered.” If

43:07 Speaker 2 One warm engine can pull dozens of cold cars behind it. If you are warm with love for Torah, you can do the same. It is well known, the Rebbe says, that “the body follows the head.” The husband is the head of the household, and the “body” is his wife and the members of his household; they follow the head. When a man has set times for Torah study, that alone gives him standing in his home. After all, every Jewish son and daughter, may they live and be well, loves and supports Torah in the depths of their heart. But beyond that, the Torah illuminates his home. The Chumash, the Gemara, the Tanya and the Shulchan Aruch are on the table, not in the bookcase. The books are on the table, waiting for the head of the household to come home. The light of Torah shines in the home. The light of Torah from a businessman who studies every day changes the entire household. It is a well-known and proven thing: “One who gathers little by little increases his store.” Someone who studies one chapter in the morning and one in the evening adds to his study time on days when he is free from work. So regular Torah study makes the home more refined. And as we said, today the winds are raging. This is no longer just a wind; I don’t know what to call it. With the winds blowing today, it’s a tsunami measuring ten on the Richter scale. If you don’t set a personal example and warm the home, if you aren’t the warm engine, how will you pull the cold cars? I want to pause here, show you a video, and then talk about it.

45:11 Speaker 4 The three judges in person.

45:14 Speaker 5 But the truth is, you should know that every single one of you is already a winner just by coming up on stage. That alone should put you in a good mood. A person entrusted with an object thought about misappropriating it. Is he considered to have misappropriated it, or not?

45:32 Speaker 6 We learned from “for any matter of transgression,” and conclude that he thought of misappropriating it.

45:36 Speaker 5 What is the ruling according to each opinion?

45:37 Speaker 6 According to Beis Shammai—uh, according to the court.

45:41 Speaker 5 The figure of Yoav ben Tzeruyah.

45:45 Speaker 7 When we say “mighty,” we don’t mean mighty like Yoav ben Tzeruyah, but [unclear].

45:54 Speaker 5 If a man betroths a woman by means of a document, does the document have to be written specifically for her, as a get does?

46:01 Speaker 8 As Rabbi Chananya said, it must be given for the purpose of the document.

46:04 Speaker 5 There’s a mistake here. They wrote an answer, but in the editing it was matched with the wrong question. [unclear]

46:13 Speaker 7 The Mishnah teaches that a father told his son to go and perform shiluach haken. He went up, performed shiluach haken, then fell and died. So he had fulfilled both shiluach haken and honoring his father, and of both it says, “so that your days may be prolonged.”

46:30 Speaker 2 [unclear]

46:33 Speaker 5 Excellent.

46:33 Speaker 8 And they did not intend to.

46:35 Speaker 5 In the Beis Yosef. Not the Ashkenazim.

46:37 Speaker 2 Meat and milk are, of course, forbidden to eat. Is one permitted to derive benefit from the mixture?

46:42 Speaker 8 If there is a sick person who says it helps lower his cholesterol and aids his recovery, deriving benefit from it is permitted. And here it says that it is permitted for medical treatment.

46:50 Speaker 5 If a person sees his rabbi in the bathhouse or at the mikveh, does he have to stand up before him or not?

46:57 Speaker 6 In the inner rooms he does not have to stand, because [unclear], and in the outer rooms [unclear].

47:04 Speaker 5 If someone betroths a woman with consecrated property or with offerings of lesser sanctity, when is she betrothed?

47:08 Speaker 8 According to Rabbi Yishmael, she is betrothed [unclear], as it says, “and commits a trespass” [unclear].

47:15 Speaker 2 A man said to a woman, “You are betrothed to me on condition that I give you such-and-such an amount of money.” Is she betrothed immediately, or only when he gives her the money?

47:25 Speaker 8 The dispute is over whether the betrothal takes effect immediately. According to Rabbi Yochanan, it takes effect immediately, and then he has to give her the money. And we explained the opinion that the betrothal does not take effect until he gives her the money.

47:41 Speaker 2 Everyone succeeded; everyone is beloved; everyone is a Tamim. I ask the students to come back to the front. A round of applause, and come over here. Come, Moshe. Come, Yonah. Go and greet them. All right, what you just saw was an oral examination on the entire tractate of Kiddushin. It took place last Thursday at the Talmud Torah in Nachlas Har Chabad. And here is how it came about. I told you that I started examining students two years ago, and you see students with remarkable minds for whom learning the lesson is a breeze. So I took the initiative and went to the principal and the eighth-grade teachers. I said, “I want them to know all of Kiddushin. They study Kiddushin there; by the end of the year, the whole eighth grade will know the entire tractate by heart.” What did the teachers say to me? “You’re getting a little carried away. What is this?” We divided up the tractate of Kiddushin, and I took a group. Of course, students dropped out of that group during the year. At the beginning, for the first three months, the group was larger. In the end, nine students made it to last Thursday’s quiz, knowing all of Kiddushin by heart. Why am I telling you this? Those nine did not get there by chance. If they had not seen a love and affection for Torah at home, they would not have reached that point. Every one of them has parents, grandfathers and grandmothers who are connected to Torah and cherish it. Every one of those nine. In other words, there are no magic solutions here. And it was grueling. The night before, I tested them on the whole chapter of Ha’ish Mekadesh and the chapter of Ha’omer in one sitting. They told me, “We’re not ready.” I said, “You’re going to go up for the quiz, and you’re going to succeed.” But all of that can happen only when there is support from home, where the books are on the table. There was another student in that group, a brilliant child, who did not make it.

50:16 Speaker 2 He fell behind in the early stages, and however much I tried to talk to him, the equation was simple: at home, he does not see Torah study. I called his father and told him, “Listen, you have a treasure in your hands.” “Yes, I know, I know.” But at home, the boy did not get a push in that direction. He never sees his father open a sefer, nothing. So there you have it. It’s practically an exact science, an exact science. Since we’re almost at the end, perhaps we’ll finish with two more points for everyone to take to heart. A child in Talmud Torah spends most of the day studying Gemara. Then he comes to yeshivah. What does he do from ten until seven? He sits beside this annoying book. Why? Because he never sees that book at home. Maybe he hears his father talk about it; I don’t know. But he never sees his father open that book. Listen, I feel sorry for these children. They’re going to spend six years in yeshivah, thousands of hours beside a book they don’t connect with for even a second. So how—how could he not drop out? I’m from Kiryat Malachi. We have a shul called Tiferes Eliezer. Are there people here in the audience who know it? Boaz’s shul, as it’s called. Less than a year ago, I arrived a little early and sat down to learn before Minchah. I saw something remarkable: a young man—he’s married now—a Jewish young man who knows how to learn, sitting with someone you might call a baal teshuvah. You could tell from his clothes that he wasn’t fully immersed in it yet. They were sitting and learning a tractate—Bava Kama, yes, Bava Kama. They learned, opened the Nimukei Yosef, and then opened Choshen Mishpat. They learned for three or four hours. Now, I said to myself, maybe there’s some particular subject that interests him, I don’t know, maybe

52:37 Speaker 2 Is he a lawyer? Another day, and another day, and another day. Afterward, I went over to this man—he’s from Gedera—and said to him... Actually, I saw him at the siyum. His son hadn’t managed to finish, but I saw him there, and I wanted to ask his permission to tell this story in his name. But I won’t say his name; maybe he doesn’t want me to. I said, “Tell me, what are you doing with this boy? You sit and learn with him for hours on end. Every afternoon, from three until seven, you sit and learn Gemara in depth.” He told me, “Look, I became observant quite a few years ago. I have children, and they’re in Talmud Torah. What you’re seeing here is nothing. Right after I became observant, I realized what the children were going to learn: Gemara. What is this book? I looked it up on Google, and I discovered it’s no simple book. I tried learning it on my own, but it didn’t work. So I went to the yeshiva in Kiryat Gat, a large yeshiva, and called over the mashgiach. I said, ‘Please assign me a student. I’ll pay him to learn with me. I need to sit with my children. I’m supposed to know what they’re learning and where they’re coming from!’” He worked out exactly how many hours a day those children would spend learning Gemara, and he took responsibility. He sat down and learned. He said, “I have to figure out this book, and I have to sit and learn with them. I sit and learn with them, and I buy Gemara games and all kinds of other learning aids so I won’t be left behind, so I can give them a love of learning.” Maybe we’ll finish with two points. We need to—

54:31 Speaker 2 The conclusion—let’s talk about conclusions. First, there must be fixed times for Torah study. The children need to see seforim at home and see a love of Torah. And we need to daven for our children to succeed, because everything we’ve discussed so far is only half the way. The Gemara says that prayer accomplishes half. You have to daven. Tanna Devei Eliyahu tells of a kohen who had six sons and four daughters. Every day he would daven and lick the dust with his tongue. And after some years, [unclear]. He did not pass away, Tanna Devei Eliyahu says, until he saw his children and grandchildren: his sons as Kohanim Gedolim, and his grandsons as young kohanim. The Rebbe says that parents have a special gift that only they can give, a gift that no amount of money can buy. Only parents can give it to a child, and the child cannot obtain it on his own: “sheine eltern”—fine parents. That’s what the Rebbe said. Who doesn’t love telling stories about his grandfather, about his father, about how his grandfather was a rabbi, about how great a Torah scholar his father was? So the Rebbe said: You need to make sure your son can say that about you. And that will begin only when we stop telling stories, start sitting down and setting fixed times for Torah study, spend fewer hours in front of screens, and simply sit down to learn. Thank you very much.