Last week Parasha we were ordered about the Shabbos for the third time. Thus, our Parasha again starts with ordering us the laws of Shabbos as stated in the first two verses: “Moshe convoked the whole Israelite community and said to them: These are the laws that the Hashem has commanded you to do: Six days work will be done, but on the seventh day there shall be a Sabbath of complete rest, holy to Hashem; whoever does work on the Sabbath day shall be put to death.” Seemingly, the above Verse is not innovating any novelty that we had not learned through the previous mentioning. The Torah is the utmost level of intelligence and not a letter is superfluous, what is then the above verse’s teaching? It appears to be redundant to last week teaching of the laws of the holy Shabbos. Additionally, like most teachings, why did the Torah not select a specific Torah portion to teach us all the laws of Shabbos? Why was it necessary to spread them out? As we stressed last week, every time the Torah repeats the laws of Shabbos the language is different. This could provide us a lead to understand the need for these repetitions. Last week Parasha related the most tragic event in Jewish history, the “golden calf” that was made barely 40 days after the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. One would expect that the impact of the miracles of the Exodus, the splitting of the sea the giving of the Torah, the victorious war against the most powerful nation, Amalek, the daily “Man”, heavenly food, would have had a longer lasting effect. Though, it vanished in just a few days, and in the most outrageous disrespect for Hashem the “golden calf” was made and declared “god of Israel.” Probably, the most surprising aspect was that their daily livelihood and family survival was depending on Hashem. They were protected from enemies, sickness etc. by the surrounding heavenly clouds. A column of fire was leading them in the wilderness. They would have no food if not for the “Man” descending every morning in the camp. How were they able to endanger their family survival to engage in idolatry, after it has been proven to them, times and times over, that Hashem was their sole safeguard? These questions would require an essay to only touch the surface and to analyze the human’s brain and its strange behavior. However, the Zohar [Shemos 191a] reveals what leads a person to stubbornly engage in a lifestyle that knowingly to him, is a direct path to his own destruction. The more one departs from “the Truth” the closer he gets to “Death”. In other words, justifying and rationalizing one’s behavior does not make it “right”. Rather one should seek “the Truth”, and exclusively speak “Truth” and to run away from “lies”.

Then only, will one be also able to see “the Truth”. Most people brag about their honesty and straightforwardness, when in truth they cannot be further away from it. It takes a lifetime of daily focus and arduous work to remain connected to “Truth” and “Honesty”. Anyone bragging about his moral compass, is usually a sign of the opposite, as one attached to the “Truth” will never boast as it is a form of idolatry, to deify oneself. The story of the golden calf teaches us the pit awaiting the one that lacks the humility to admit that we are exclusively depending on Hashem. It is not possible to survive without His constant protection and infinite generosity. Pretending one has the power to make things happen is a form of idolatry too, as this reneges a part of Hashem. Stealing and anger are also a form of idolatry, as they renege Hashem’s omnipresence. The Midrash reveals that the laws of the saint Shabbos had to be repeated to notify to the Bnei Yisrael, that keeping properly the Shabbos is a remedy and a forgiveness to all forms of idolatry. Even the sin of the golden calf was forgiven because of the keeping of Shabbos. Through the bliss of Shabbos all the sins are forgiven and enable one to connect to the “Truth”, in a more powerful way than Yom Kippur. Here’s is a story that demonstrate that we don’t keep Shabbos, it is Shabbos that keeps us! A young girl stood near her father on the quay of a Polish harbor, a steamer trunk at her feet. Out of her nine siblings, twelve-year-old Rose was the child chosen to be sent to the “golden land,” America. Life in Poland was hard, hunger a constant visitor in her home. After much scraping and pinching, her family had saved enough for a single one-way ticket to the United States. And Rose, the youngest of the nine, was the lucky one chosen to go. Her father hoisted the trunk on his shoulder and walked silently, his coattails flapping behind him. Rose could see the effort he was making to keep his emotions in check. The weight of living was apparent on the lines of his face, in the burning sadness of his wise eyes, and in the gray in his beard. His back, however, was ramrod straight, in seeming defiance of his tribulations. With an involuntary sigh, her father dropped the trunk on the deck and turned to his daughter. A gray head bent over an upturned innocent face, as the father gazed deep into his daughter’s unclouded eyes. He felt an urge to scream, to protest the cruelty of fate. How he longed to snatch Rose back home, to hold her as he had held her when she was a mere infant. Instead, he laid a trembling hand on her cheek. “Rose, mein kind (my child), remember: G-d is watching over you every step of the way. Remember His laws and keep them well. Never forget that more than the Jews have kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath has kept the Jews. It will be hard in the new land. Don’t forget who you are. Keep the Sabbath — no matter what sacrifice you must make.” “Tatte! Tatte!” (Father! Father!) Rose buried her face in the scratchiness of her father’s coat, her slender arms wrapped tightly around him as if to anchor herself to all that was familiar in Poland. Tatte gave another heaving sigh. His straight shoulders bent over his daughter as his tears mingled with hers. A blast from the ship tore the two apart. Tatte bent down and hugged Rose again, squeezing the breath out of her in a hug meant to last a lifetime. Then he turned and walked down the gangplank, a stooped man, finally defeated by life’s hardships. As the ship steamed away from the shtetl life of Poland, a fresh sea wind blew on the passengers preparing to start life anew. For Rose, the journey was crammed with questions and uncertainty. Would her relatives really extend a welcome to her, or was she to be all alone in the new land? How frightening was the thought of a new life without her loved ones. As the ship made its entrance into New York harbor, the passengers stood plastered against the railing, shouting and clapping as they saw the “new land.” Rose stood aside, shy and unsure. Would the new land fulfill its promise of hope, freedom, and riches? Would her relatives meet her there — or was she now homeless? Rose did not have long to worry. Her relatives were waiting for her, solicitous of their “greenhorn” cousin. She was soon safely ensconced in their home. With her mature appearance and demeanor, it was not long before Rose found a job as a sewing machine operator. Life in America was new and strange. Polish mannerisms were quickly shed — along with religion. Modesty, keeping kosher, and Torah were abandoned, together with the outmoded clothing and accent. Rose’s relatives insisted religion was “old-fashioned”: an unnecessary accessory in America. Rose, however, never forgot her father’s parting words. She put on the new clothes her relatives gave her, cut her hair to suit the fashion, but never gave up on the Sabbath. Every week without fail, Rose devised a new excuse for her boss to explain why she did not come to work on Saturday. One week she had a toothache, another week her stomach bothered her. After three weeks, the foreman grew wise. He called her over. “Rose,” he said in a tone that indicated he only had her welfare in mind. “I like your work, and I like you. But this Sabbath business has got to stop. Either you come in this Saturday, or you can look for a new job.” Upon hearing of this development, Rose’s relatives were adamant. Work on Sabbath, she must. They applied pressure; they cajoled, pleaded, and enticed. Rose felt like a leaf caught between heavy gusts of wind, pushed and pulled with no weight or life of its own. She was so young and vulnerable. She wanted to please her relatives. But her father’s words kept echoing in her head. What should she do? The week passed in a daze for Rose. Her emotions were in turmoil. On the one hand, Tatte is not here to help me be strong. I do want to please my new friends. I want friends. I want to fit into this new land, she reasoned. And then just as quickly came another thought: On the other hand, how can I forget Sabbath? How can I give up the beauty Tatte taught me? “Rose, sweetheart, listen to us. It’s for your own good.” On and on went her relatives, until Rose’s determination wavered. On Friday, Rose walked to work, lunch bag in hand and head stooped in thought. She sat at her machine throughout the day, listening to the humming of the other machines as she absentmindedly went about her job of mass-producing. Would it be so awful to do this tomorrow as well? Decision time was nearing. Whirr, bzzz whirr, bzzz. The machine kept tune to Rose’s troubled thoughts. What should she do — or was the question, what could she do? As the sun slipped over the parapets of the Lower East Side, Rose knew there was really no question. She was Jewish, and she would keep the Sabbath. Sabbath in America was not like the warm day Rose had known at home. This week was the worst yet. She lacked the courage to face her relatives and tell them of her resolve. Instead, she left the house in the morning, pretending to be headed for work. Back and forth through the streets of Manhattan she paced. Together with the city pigeons, she rested in Tompkin’s Square Park. “Tatte, this song is for you,” she whispered. The pigeons ruffled their feathers. “Yonah matz-ah bo manoach” (“on it [the Sabbath] the dove found rest…”). There she sat among the pigeons, singing the traditional Sabbath songs, with tears in her eyes and sobs between the verses. When three stars finally peeked out from the black sky announcing the end of Sabbath, the moon shone down on a weary girl and bathed her face in its glow. Rose had triumphed, but her victory would cost her dearly. She had no job and had alienated her family. “Baruch HaMavdil. . .” (the blessing said upon the departure of the Sabbath). It was time to face the hardness of the world. Rose trudged homeward dreading the nasty scene to come when her relatives learned that she hadn’t been to work. As she neared home, a shout broke into her reverie. “Rose! What . . . what . . . I mean, how are you here? Where were you?” Rose looked up at her cousin Joe, her expression woebegone. “Joe, what will become of me? I kept Sabbath and lost my job. Now everyone will be angry and disappointed with me, and oh, Joe, what will I do?” The words tumbled out together with her tears. Joe looked at her strangely. “Rose, didn’t you hear?” he asked gently. “Hear what?” “There was an awful fire in the factory. Only forty people survived. There was no way out of the building. People even jumped to their deaths.” Joe’s voice was hushed, and he was crying openly. “Rosie, don’t you see? Because you kept Sabbath, you are alive. Because of your Sabbath, you survived.” Out of 190 workers, Rose Goldstein was among the minority of those who survived. The infamous Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire on Saturday, March 25, 1911, claimed the lives of 146 immigrant workers present. Because it had been Sabbath, Rose Goldstein was not there. As her father had said, more than the Jews keep the Sabbath, the Sabbath keeps the Jews.

By Rabbi Fridmann * [email protected] * 305.985.3461

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