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Shiur · Rav Mordechai Burg

The Galus of Klal Yisrael

Jul 30, 201939 minTranscript
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Delivered in Michlelet in 2018 this Tisha B'Av prep shiur explains what is special about being a Jew and how we can effect other peoples' lives.

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Automatic transcript; may contain mistakes, especially in Hebrew.

It's a big privilege to be here tonight. To come to speak to the Kulet Which I've done for the last couple of years is a tremendous privilege. Girls who come to Israel for the summer to grow, to learn, to challenge themselves—it's an amazing thing to come to speak to. To have TJJA here as well It takes it to a whole new level. And I'll tell you the truth: I was ready to cancel tonight because I'm running a hundred and three fever. But I said to my wife I said I can't cancel. I'm TJJA. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to speak to you. So if it's hard to hear me Or if I don't have the same energy that I might have, please forgive me. We find ourselves once again in the nine days. All these halachas and traditions as to what we can do to feel the pain of the exile a little bit more. I just left it.

Is that better? I'll tell you the truth. I don't feel it. I wish I. I wish I did. I wish I was sitting here in front of you girls tonight Saying that come Sunday I'm going to be crying in an uncontrollable way. Because the Beit Hamikdash, the Holy Temple, was destroyed. I wish I could tell you that. I wish I was a person that had that level of authenticity. But if I do that, I'm faking. It's not where I am. It doesn't feel legitimate for me to do that. I don't know how many of you Come Sunday, I will really feel like I cannot live in this exile any longer. How many people here are from New York and New Jersey? I'm also from the Five Points. Let's be honest. It's hard to feel the pain of exile on Central Avenue in Cedar Lane because it's awesome.

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It is. What do we not have? What do we not have? I'll tell you the truth. A hundred years ago. When there were pogroms When guys were killing us randomly in our homes I hear it. Could be that a Jew then felt so deeply that I'm not home, that I don't have a place where I'm safe, that I don't have a place where I could say, "This is where I belong." Could be that they cried on Tisha B'av. I'm going to cry. I grew up in the Five Towns. I live in Ramat Beit Shemesh, right next to the Five Towns. What do I not have? I even have Rabbi and Rabbits and Yudin for neighbors. I have it all. I have it all. But I'm going to make it a little bit worse Because we're taught that the reason we don't have the Beis Hamikdash is because of sin ashtonam, because we hated our fellow Jews in our heart And that's also very difficult for me to understand.

Because as I look at Klali Yisrael today, I'm exceptionally proud. I'm exceptionally proud. Do we not have tremendous love for one another? I'll tell you a story. I was in the hospital a couple of years ago for a month. For a month, for a full month. My appendix ruptured. Scary stuff. I went into the hospital. I thought I was going to be there for a couple of days. I was there for a month. There were people who came and brought food to us during the week and brought food for us on Shabbos. Jews that I never met, who only brought me food because that's what they do. If you Chas V'Shalom find yourself in a hospital in New York You'll find Satmer Chassidim that come Shabbos. They'll make sure you have grape juice and challah and gefilte fish and soup. Jews that barely speak the same language as us.

Hatsala Hatsala. Who in the five towns or in New Jersey calls paramedics? We call that salah. We have so many chesed organizations. Your car breaks down, we have chaverim. You're locked out of your house, you have yadidim. We have unbelievable organizations of chesed. Can we really look at Klal Yisrael today? Can we look at Judaism today and say we have a tremendous amount of hatred for each other? I don't buy it. I don't buy it. And I'll tell you one last thing, and this is probably the most heretical thing I'll say for the night. I want you to imagine the following scenario: imagine a husband who comes home after a hard day's work And his boss gave it to him over the head And he really feels like I just need to come home and take a break. And he walks in. And his wife says to him Could you please do the dishes?

And maybe he snaps at her a little bit and he says to her, "Do you mind if I do it in half an hour?" I just need to come home. I need to kick off my shoes. I need to relax. I need to chill out. Just give me half an hour. Fine. Half an hour comes and goes. And I'm sure some of you have seen men that even though they're going to say they're going to do one thing Come half an hour later, they're not doing it. So 45 minutes later, the wife comes. She sees her husband is still on the couch. And she says to him, "That's it." I can't take it anymore. You never listen to me. You don't care about me. And she walks out of the house and slams the door behind her. I want to tell you what every husband's reaction is going to be to this. Every husband, because husbands only see things very myopically; they see things right here and right now. Every husband says to himself, "Really" You left the house." Because he didn't do the dishes on time. Of course, that's not the real issue. We all know that's not the real issue. What's the real issue?

She didn't feel loved. She didn't feel cared for. She didn't feel listened to. But she leaves. Ten o'clock. Eleven o'clock. Twelve o'clock. She's not coming back. He starts WhatsApping her. He starts texting her. He starts tweeting her. He's snapping her. Instagraming her. Facebooking her. See how relevant I am? He swipes right. He swipes left. It doesn't matter. He's doing all the things. He may not be feeling loved, but he still got props. She's not responding. She's blue checking. She's doing it all. She's not responding. He's DMing her. Good. Now that we've established that I once grew up in the Five Towns. She doesn't respond. Finally, he starts calling friends. He's getting nervous. He doesn't know what happened to her. Calls one friend. It's one o'clock in the morning. He's calling friends. People are picking up. I don't know where your wife is. He's embarrassed. He's embarrassed. Where is she?

Finally, he catches one friend. Who says, "Yes, your wife is here." She's very angry. She's not coming home tonight. Over the dishes. He goes to sleep. He wakes up in the morning. The kids wake up. Where's mommy? She had to run out early to do something. Makes some excuses. He gets the kids off in the morning. He's late to work. He's really upset at this point. He has to come home early because his wife's not responding to him. She doesn't know, he doesn't know what's going on in the house. Will she be there when the kids get home? He explains to his bosses something's going on. He has to go home. He goes home. His wife's still not there. He takes care of the kids. He gives them supper. He puts them to sleep. He's texting her. He's WhatsApping her. No response. That night she doesn't come home again. The next day, and the next day. Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months.

And by that point Even the kids know. Don't ask dad where mom went. We just know she's gone. And he doesn't hear from her—not for weeks, not for months, not for years. It comes time for his son's bar mitzvah, and she's not there. And everybody in the community talks about him. We're like, so sad. It comes time for his daughter's to have a bat mitzvah, and she's not there. It comes time for high school and all those difficult challenges that her kids are having, and they cry on his shoulder because she's nowhere to be found. And then finally, it comes time to walk his children down the aisle. And he walks by himself. One day, 35 years later, the kids have had bar and bat mitzvahs, they've gotten married, and they have children of their own. He's sitting in his living room. And someone opens the door to the front of his house without even knocking.

And even though it's 35 years later, and she's more wrinkled, and she's wearing different clothing He immediately recognizes that's his wife that he hasn't heard from in 35 years. And his wife looks at him. And from her vantage point in the front of the door She looks into the sink. And she sees the dishes are in the sink. And she looks at him and says, "It's been thirty-five years. You still couldn't do the dishes." What does that husband do in that moment? The dishes. Call a friend. Because you're going to need someone to pick you up from jail. It's a terrible thing. You come in and you're going to criticize me after thirty-five years. Girls. I'm going to say a very heretical thing. Something that most people wouldn't say. We haven't heard from God for thousands of years. I get it. We didn't behave. So it was bad. I'm with you. It was bad. A hundred years.

Five hundred years. A thousand years. Two thousand years. Three thousand years. How long? How long? Are we? Are you? Do you mean to tell me again? If you weren't so religious. If you weren't so frum. Do you mean to tell me that you wouldn't look at this situation and say God is abusive. It sounds like an abusive thing to do. We haven't heard from him. There is no prophecy. We have no temple. We have no Kohanim that are bringing the sacrifices. We don't make the pilgrimage three times a year. What are we missing? We are such incredible Jews. We're such incredible Jews. I'm going to tell you how incredible we are. Right now, as I'm telling you this About fifty percent of you, maybe more. Are sitting there and going, but we could be better. That's like that husband after thirty-five years going, 'You're right, I should have done the dishes.'

You haven't heard from God for thousands of years, and yet many of you wake up every morning and open the sitter and pray. Many of you are really trying to get close to God under conditions that can only be described as the most difficult conditions in history. Girls, I want to put it in perspective. The first temple was destroyed because we murdered. We were idolatrous. And we were inappropriate when it came to relationships. And that destruction was for seven years. But we weren't nice to our sisters And so that's it for thousands of years. Does that make any sense to anybody here? I have teenage daughters. Please don't feel bad for me; they're going to get through it. I have teenage daughters. And sometimes I've learned this about teenage daughters: they're different than teenage boys. Because when teenage boys get into fights, what do they do? They punch each other very hard.

And then it's over. But with teenage girls They're cruel. I'm not talking to her anymore. You live in the same room. What do you intend to do? We're done. You're 14. It's going to be a long journey. You might want to build another wing to the house. Honestly, I am upset. What did she do? She used my brush. Do you know how long she's in the bathroom in the morning? And how long you're in the bathroom in the morning? I didn't know when I was building a house that I have six, five daughters. I needed five bathrooms. I thought regular two, three bathrooms was enough. Every girl lives in that room. And Eretz Yisrael I don't understand. How does she know Rachel? It's a beautiful building. But it must be very difficult here on Eretz Yisrael. Every girl trying to get done what they need.

So as a father, I'm annoyed. Could you imagine if I kicked my daughter out of the house? Bracha, that's it. We can't take it anymore. But it's been an hour. Can I come back in? We're done. This is a diseased way of thinking. Social services would come to collect me. And they should, because that's a terrible way to treat your children. Do you really mean to tell me we deserve this? With all the chesed that we're doing, with all the loving kindness that we have for each other Do you really mean to tell me that we deserve this? So come Sunday, I'm going to have a problem. There's going to be a beautiful get together in NCSY Kolle where I teach. They're going to ask me to speak to the boys. What am I going to say? And at the end of Tishah B'av, and it'll be broadcast, and everyone could see it. Do they go to the Kotel?

You'll see it. You can see it online. They go to the hotel. It's wildly powerful. Jews of all shapes and sizes and stripes. What am I going to say? I think we deserve this. I don't think we deserve this. I'm sorry. I don't think we deserve it. But there is something that I want to share with you tonight, and I think it's very important. It's rare that I meet Jews. I'll tell you who I meet. I meet Orthodox Jews. I meet conservative Jews. I meet reform Jews. Reconstructionist Jews. I meet Sapphires. I meet Labanites. I meet Belzer Hasidim. I meet them all. But I have never met—rarely. I have rarely met just someone who's a Jew. It's an incredible thing. You don't meet Jews very often. And it's uncomfortable for me because people come and ask me. What are you like, Charedi? I only have six children. Does that count?

But I'm hoping for fifteen. I went to Hanukkah Academy in Maturi, Cairo. What exactly? What are you looking for? Do I come with a stamp? Do I come with this? I like to learn Chassidus. I like to learn the inner meaning of Torah. Am I now a Levavacher? Do I have to stand on the corner putting tefillin on people? I like to dance. Does that mean I have to go do it on the top of cars with bells with wrestler Chassidus? That'd be awesome. People are so obsessed with knowing what community we belong to. Girls, I'm going to tell you a secret. Everybody in this room No matter where you come from No matter what community you affiliate with All you are is a Jew. That's all you are. You might have a worldview that you ascribe to. You might call yourself modern Orthodox. You might call yourself Yeshivish.

You might call yourself Reformed or Conservative. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. I'm going to tell you a story. It's a very powerful story. The story is about two girls who were fourteen years old. This is one of my favorite stories in the entire world. Two girls who were fourteen years old And they were in Crown Heights for Shabbos. They had never kept Shabbos before—never, not once in their entire life. But they were invited to Crown Heights for Shabbos, so they decided they wanted to go. But they didn't know how you're supposed to dress for Shabbos, so they came dressed nicely. But it wasn't like what other people were wearing in the community. They clearly stood out. Friday night They went to the Labavitcher Rebbe's febrini, which means all the chassidim get together and they learn Torah and they dance and they sing and they drink. It's an amazing spectacle.

But the Labavitcher Rebbe spoke in Yiddish, and these were two 14-year-old American girls from New Jersey. And they didn't speak Yiddish So they left. They started, they cut, they left the Fibring. They weren't supposed to leave, but they cut, and they started walking around Crown Heights. And they're walking and they're walking. It's getting later and later, and all of a sudden in the distance They hear singing coming closer and closer towards them. And all of a sudden, Olav Avichayyim turns the corner, and thousands of Hasidim are behind him, walking him home on Friday night. There are these two girls, like deer in headlights. They're stuck. They don't know where to go. If you've ever been in Crown Heights, you know there's not really big sidewalks there. So they push themselves up against the back of the garage so that they can let all the chassidim go by. And the Lubavitcher Rebbe saw them. He saw them and saw that they were uncomfortable. Two girls who were clearly Jewish, and he saw that they were uncomfortable.

So he went over to them in his thick Russian accent And he looks at these girls and he says to them. Good Shabbos, girls. Good Shabbos. And then he kept walking. But I don't know if any of you have had the opportunity to meet Labavitcher Hasidim. If the Rebbe talks, they want to know what he said. All of a sudden, these two poor fourteen-year-old girls are ensconced by thousands of Lubavitcher Hasidim. What they're going to say. And they're like looking. They're like. You said good Shabbos, girls. Good Shabbos. You had the Rebbe say good Shabbos, girls. Good Shabbos. And by the time they got home to their host's house, their host was waiting at the front door. We heard that you had a private audience with the Rebbe, and he wished you a good Shabbos. They were instant celebrities. This is a man that, when he passed away, it was on the cover, and he did pass away. It was on the cover of the New York Times. I just want to make sure.

And see, Both of those girls will tell you today that while they had many influences in their journey towards becoming more observant It was that good Shabbos that resonates with them. Even forty, fifty years later. One of those girls lives today in Shilo. She raised a beautiful family. Eight children. Wonderful Jewish home. I used to spend Shabbos there all the time. The other girl is my mother. Could you imagine if the Lubavitcher Rebbe just kept walking? He saw two girls. Imagine if he just goes, "Nah, I'm in a rush. I don't need to say Shabbos to these girls." Would I be here today? How many? I'm privileged to speak all over the world. How many opportunities have I had to share the message of Judaism? One good Shabbos, and I wouldn't be here. If we were missing one good Shabbos, maybe I wouldn't be here.

Maybe I'd be totally different. One good Shabbos. Did the Lubavitcher Rebbe look at his watch and say, 'I need to go'? Did he look at her and say, 'She's a Satmar, so I should wish her a good Shabbos'? The only thing he saw was a Jew. And that's what made his good Shabbos so powerful. Because when he looked at another person, he didn't see anything other than, "That's my little sister." That's my little brother. We have to go out of our comfort zones, girls. We have to stop thinking of ourselves as anything other than Jews. And when you're walking down the street And you're here in Israel, understand it's your sisters and your brothers that you're walking with. And yes, maybe you see the world differently than they do. Maybe you dress differently than they do. Maybe everything you stand for in your life seems to be diametrically opposed to them, even though it's not true.

But know that that's your brother and that's your sister. No matter how observed. That's your brother and that's your sister. As I mentioned, I travel a lot. Last year, I had the unfortunate, and I do think it's unfortunate I had the unfortunate reality of being on a plane that was delayed for almost an hour because there was a couple of guys who were well intentioned, beautiful people. But they got on the plane. Their version of halacha says that they shouldn't sit next to women on a plane. It's not what my rabbi told me. But it is what their rabbi told them, and they refused to sit down. And the whole plane was delayed. I have to tell you, nothing is more frustrating to me than just sitting in an L.A. Plane with the stuffy air and everybody's jostling, and somebody pulls out that tuna and eggplant sandwich, and you're like, dear lord, who let you on this flight? I know they search for bombs, but they have to stop searching for bombs and search for eggplant. Much more serious crime, and if you're sitting next to that person, you have every right to ask for a first class seat. It's matoshna.

So there I am, and I'm sitting there. These guys, we're not sitting. And people are starting to yell. You know how Jews are. People are starting to yell. And finally, a couple of chevra got up and they said, "you'll sit here, you'll sit here." It's a catch-up. Everybody's moving around And it turns out that I'm sitting in the middle aisle, in the aisle seat. And these four dudes are sitting in front of me. On my immediate left, there's a guy from Kiryat Sefer. To his left is a guy from Jerusalem. And to his left, to the extreme left, all the way in the other aisle Is a conservative rabbi. And the conservative rabbi asks the guy in front of him Very politely Can I ask you about what just happened? Very politely. And this guy turns around and he says, "absolutely. Let's talk about it."

So he goes, "Could you explain to me why you didn't want to sit next to that woman?" So he said, "Well, my rabbi told me that the halacha is worth millions of dollars" And that I'm not supposed to sit next to women. This conservative rabbi responded, and he said, "I understand that that's what you feel" But we only have the halacha, and we all have to fit inside of it together. And this poor woman who just moved, she feels so insulted. She feels insulted that you won't sit next to her. This guy responds, and he says, "But that's only because she doesn't know that really you're not supposed to sit next to her. It's not personal." And he says, "I know that you're telling me that if she would know the halacha, she would be insulted. But in reality, she doesn't know the halacha. We need to be sensitive." And back and forth, and finally, after about twenty-five minutes of this incredibly respectful conversation.

They decided to call it quits. We're not going to agree. Let's agree to disagree. It was wonderful. I'm not a type of person who is quiet very often. So I asked this conservative rabbi. He had introduced himself. That's how I knew he was a conservative rabbi. I asked him, "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" He said, "Sure." I said, "If these guys in front of us were Amish" Would you have asked them why they did that? And he looks at me, and he pauses for a minute. He goes, "No, of course not. I never would have." "That means that the only reason you felt comfortable to ask them why they did that is because they're Jews." I said, "That means that as much as you don't have in common. At the end of the day, you feel like you're a brother to this person. And with our brothers, we always feel comfortable.

And the guy says to me, "He goes, I never thought of it like that." He ended up switching seats. We spoke for half the flight. It was an amazing flight. And even though he and I live in very different worlds We had the most incredible conversations because it was just two Jews trying to see each other. Today it's true we have amazing organizations: Atzali, Yudidim, Chaverim Michlela, TJJ, NCSY. In general, we have amazing organizations. We are so blessed. But you know what we're missing? We're missing seeing each other. We could do a tremendous amount for each other. We can. But when's the last time you really identified with the godliness that lives in the person next to you? How many of us are stuck in our paradigms? There was a BJE conference. You guys know what the girls know what BJE is? The Board of Jewish Education. There was a big BJE conference many years ago in Atlanta.

And Atlanta, sort of like in the middle, and everyone came to Atlanta. Everyone from New York to Los Angeles, everybody came to Atlanta for this huge BJE conference. And they had two ballrooms, Ballroom A and Ballroom B. And the head rabbi that was running the conference got up and he made an announcement. He said, "Well, anybody who's from in town Please stay in Ballroom A. And anybody who's from out of town, please stay in Ballroom B. A couple of people trickled into Ballroom B. And the rabbi got up again, and he announced that he wasn't as good as Mrs. Juden. He didn't know how to just sit there quietly and get everyone quiet, which is, by the way, brilliant. Even I can't do that. You do it very well. I mean, you know, like, I think it's a good idea. Yeah, I think that's right. And this guy gets up and he goes, 'Well, everyone who's from out of town, please go to ballroom B.' And a couple more people leave. And finally, the rabbi gets up and he goes If you are from New York or New Jersey, you are currently out of town. Please go to ballroom B.

Because in New York and in New Jersey. These people, I'm in town. No matter where I am, I'm in town. Even if I'm in Atlanta, I'm in town. It's wild. It's a wild thing. Are we being punished by not having the bais hamikdash? I don't think so. I don't think that we're being punished because of sinas chinam. That we had in the past, thousands of years ago. That's not the pshat. It's something much more sophisticated than that. God is asking us in a very powerful way Throughout thousands of years of exile. Even though you have grown so different, Sfarim, Ashkenazim, Hasidim, Mizrachim, doesn't matter. We have grown so different in the communities that we've come from. Will you be able to see each other in the darkness? I was flown out to Los Angeles. Actually, to San Diego. How many people here familiar with Eishat Torah?

Eishat Torah ran a Persian young professional weekend in San Diego at the end of the summer. It was their end of the summer bash, and I got the phone call to go to San Diego. You have to understand my favorite place in the entire world outside of Israel. I have to say that because I am a rabbi, but my favorite place in the entire world is San Diego. I love San Diego. The weather is always perfect. The people are so chilled out. It's like LA, but better. I just love San Diego. And I get the phone call. Do you want to fly out to San Diego to be the keynote speaker on this weekend retreat for these Persian young professionals? Okay, so they're not really affiliated with Judaism? I said, sign me up. I'm happy to come. I flew out to Los Angeles. A student of mine drove me from Los Angeles to San Diego, and they have a three. Beach houses. When I say beach houses, I mean houses on the beach, not a block from the beach, not two blocks from the beach, on the beach. Three gorgeous houses on the beach. I'm like, okay, this is us.

And we go up to the roof And there's a hot tub on the roof. I'm thinking to myself, it doesn't get better. That's it. I'm done. I love Israel, but this is where I'm living. Squatters' rights. They're gonna have to kick me out. I'm never moving from this place. And I'm sitting there on a Friday afternoon in the hot tub on the roof of a San Diego beach house. When a twenty-seven-year-old Persian young man comes up to the roof and says,"Hey, I heard you're the rabbi for the weekend," so I don't know what you're talking about, but come on into the house. Let's chill out for a couple minutes. And he says to me, "Listen, what he says goes." He says to me Let me tell you why I'm here this weekend. I've been dating this girl for the last four years. She absolutely is the love of my life. But she's not Jewish. She was going to convert. She went through all of the steps of conversion.

But at the very last minute, she pulled out and said, "I don't want to do it." And you've got twenty-six hours now to convince me that I didn't make the biggest mistake of my life by breaking up with her. I'm just sitting in the hospital. I don't know what you want from me. That's a lot of pressure. And then later that night Later that night, I'm sitting with a guy and he was the only. White guy, I don't know how to say it nicely. He was the only white guy outside of myself. He was the only white guy in the entire group. I said to him, "What brings you here?" And he goes, "Oh, what brings me here?" And he starts to unbutton his shirt, and he's got a giant cross tattoo going from here. I didn't know what it was. I saw he had some blue ink over here, going from his neck all the way down to his stomach and his arms. It's a giant cross.

I guess Ishatora is reaching out in a brand new way. Amazing. So he tells me. I'm a Grammy-winning guitarist for a Christian rock band. My father is a Christian pastor from Memphis, Tennessee. I find myself out here in L.A. because I'm in this Christian rock band. I'm like, I'm waiting for it. And he goes, "My sister She calls me up one day and she goes, 'You're not going to believe it.' She unfortunately wasn't able to have children for many years. She wasn't able to have children for many years. She's never worked out. So she was told by her doctor that she has to go for genetic testing. So she went for genetic testing, and it came back that she was 51 percent Ashkenazi Jew. Turns out her mother's Jewish, and never bothered to tell her. So she calls up her brother. And she says to her brother You're not going to believe me. We're Jewish.

And you know what her brother's response was? This Grammy-winning guitarist. He goes. I knew it. It never made any sense to me, and he explains to me that he was this kid in Catholic school where he grew up, who was always getting in trouble and always questioning all his teachers because he said this doesn't make any sense. Why would you believe this guy? After all, I've never seen anyone walk on water or turn water into wine. It sounds cool. I'd like to get that, especially down in LA. But I've never had that before in my life. He didn't buy it. And he said he knew in that moment that it clicked. He goes, I'm a Jew. And I'm here. Because I want to learn what that means, and I reached out to this rabbi from Eish, and they weren't having any events except for this one event. They said, "Just come." Why did this guy break up with this girl? His Judaism really doesn't mean that much to him in his life. He's really not investing a tremendous amount of time into his Judaism. But the girl that he loves He broke up with because she wasn't Jewish. This guy is a Grammy-winning guitarist, but where does he find himself in a Shabbat tone in San Diego?

Because deep in his heart, he knows he's Jewish, and he wants more of that. Why do we have difficulty seeing that in our brothers and sisters? Why are we so obsessed with looking at what clothing they wear? Who cares what clothing they wear? And most of us in this room right now We know what it's like to be judged. We know what it's like to have somebody look at us and go I don't know. She's like good, but is she really one of us? Most of us, at some point in our lives, have felt a little bit what we call in Hebrew 'michutz la'mafne.' We're outside of the camp. We're a little bit pushed away. And all we want is for somebody to come along to us and say, "You're good." You're one of us. So I'll share with you my story And I'll leave you with this: My parents are wonderful people. They live here in Beit Shemesh. They made aliyah.

My parents themselves. Both returned to an observant, more observant lifestyle. But me I wasn't so observant. My parents were very chilled out people. But I think if they had known how not observant I was I think it would have pained them very deeply. So I hid. I didn't want to hurt them. But I wasn't particularly observant. But in my heart, I wanted to be. I really wanted to be. So I was 17 years old. I was a senior in high school. And there was a guy. I won't tell you his name. There was a guy on an NCSY shabbaton. I used to go to NCSY because I was in an all-boys school, so it was a good way to meet girls. And I went on the shabbaton, and there was this guy that I remember. Three or four years earlier, he was on an NCSY shabbaton, and he was the best basketball player there.

He was awesome. I think he looked at this guy and he was put together and he was cool and everybody liked him. I was like a freshman. I remember thinking That guy is really cool. I wish I could be like that guy. And now here he is. It's three, four years later, whatever it is. And he's on the Shabbatot now as an advisor. And everywhere this guy went for the entire Shabbos, I was trailing him. Like maybe he'll like. Just want to learn with me. I was not presenting as a person who wanted to learn, but I was trailing this guy because I was like, 'This guy is really cool.' And if he'll just turn around and say to me, "Yeah, like, hey man, what's up?" What's your relationship like with God? I would have learned with him. I would have davened. I would have kept Shabbos.

But he never turned around and he never asked me because what he saw was the outside. He saw a guy that was interested in playing basketball, that was interested in hanging out with the girls. He didn't know what was deep inside my heart. He didn't know that I was a person who was just waiting for somebody to come along, put their arm around my shoulder, and say Let's go together. He didn't know it about me. The Shabbaton came and went, and when I came home on Sunday, my mother asked me, "How was the Shabbaton?" " And I, in a very like lackluster way, said, "It was really nice. And she never asked me. I think she saw that something wasn't a hundred percent. She never asked me what it was. But the next day in school My good friend and I were sitting and talking. I said, "It's really cool that this guy became really observant, doesn't he? He's really a cool guy, and now he's super into it." And he goes, 'Yeah, but can I ask you a question?'

" I said, "Yeah." He goes, "Did he come off as like a little like holier than thou? " And I said, "You know, I really did feel that way. I really felt like he was like a little bit—not like a big way, but like a little bit. He was like here And we were like here." And he goes, "Yeah, I got that feeling." And this is what the guy says to me. He's one of my closest friends until today. He goes. I was just waiting for him to ask me if I wanted to learn. I said, "Oh my God, I was too." But they looked. This guy looked at us on the outside and he said, 'Nah, these guys aren't interested.' And he was wrong. He didn't see the godly soul. He didn't see the godly soul that was yearning to deeply connect. He missed it. And it wasn't until I came to Israel that I finally had a rabbi in my life that sat me down and said to me, "Let's talk. Let's find out what's going on underneath it all because I know how deeply you want to connect, and that's what all of you came for this summer."

On Sunday, you know what I'll mourn for? I'll mourn for the fact that there was once a building that was much more than a building. It was a place where every Jew in the world came to say, "I'm Jewish. I'm your brother. I'm your sister," and it felt right. The building fell apart when we made a decision not to treat each other like brothers and sisters anymore. We do a lot of chesed, but when's the last time you got out of your comfort zone and really looked at the girl next to you? And in an honest, authentic, integrity-filled way, said, "How can I help you?" Not from a judgmental place, just from a deep place of connection. Every Jew deserves that. How many people here have heard of Vlady Gitsuf Mibridchiv, the great Hasidic master? If you haven't heard of him, he's one of the sweetest Most gentle personalities that we've ever had in Judaism.

And he wrote poetry. And I'll leave you with this line that he wrote from one of these sonnets. Okay, let's see. He said, "I'm playing hide and go seek with God, and I'm finding Him everywhere" In the light and in the dark. Girls, we're all playing hide and seek with God, and we're playing hide and seek with each other. My blessing for all of us tonight, this summer, and God willing for the rest of our lives, is that we find each other not only in the light But that we find each other in the dark, because it's going to take finding each other in the dark. To speedily rebuild God's temple in our days, to once again be a brother and sister. Amen.

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