Pork that Wakes the Soul

Joe was a very successful Israeli. A son of holocaust survivors, he rose from a childhood of poverty, and by the mid 1980s, built up a huge successful hi-tech company. One day his wife called, asking him to pick up some meat on his way home from the office. He stopped at a trendy take-out place to order pork. As he stood on line, he began to feel uneasy. He began to remember a story he had heard from his parents. He always knew this story, but now it took on heightened meaning:

Joe's maternal grandfather was Rabbi Shraga Feivel of Hungary. Rabbi Shraga Feivel was captured by the Nazis about a year before the war ended, and imprisoned at a slave labor camp. After a year in hell, Rabbi Shraga Feivel was about to be free. The war was over and the allied forces were going from camp to camp, liberating the prisoners. They could already see the smoke of the allied forces marching their way. Freedom was mere hours away.

At that moment, the Head SS Officer gathered the Jewish prisoners together and announced, "The war has ended. In a few hours you will all be free." "All but you," he said, pointing to Rabbi Shraga Feivel, "You must pass one more test. You must eat this piece of pig's meat. Only then will you be allowed to go free. Refuse and I will shoot you in the head right here and now."

The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Rabbi Shraga Feivel had been meticulous all through his stay at the camps, not to eat unkosher meat. He didn't even eat soup which might contain meat. Rabbi Shraga Feivel proclaimed, "I will not eat chazir fleisch (pork)."

A shot rang out, and Rabbi Shraga Feivel's soul was returned to its creator.

And now 40 years later, Rabbi Shraga Feivel's grandson stood thinking to himself, "I am waiting in line to pay money to eat that which my grandfather gave his life not to consume. All he had to do was eat that one small piece of pork, and he would be set free. He would be allowed to return to his family - yet he wouldn't do it. I have everything, I am free to live with my family and have anything I want; yet I am about to purchase this meat."

"Either my grandfather was crazy, or I am crazy - and I cannot believe that he was crazy," thought Joe as he got off the line and went to buy dinner elsewhere.

When he got home, he spoke to his wife about his feelings and the emptiness he had been experiencing. They both had to acknowledge that despite all their material prosperity, a certain spiritual emptiness gnawed at him. They were missing something but never knew exactly what. They spoke for a long time about values and what is important in life. They decided to attend an Arachim Seminar. Joe was enthralled by the seminar - it penetrated the murky mysteriousness of G-d, Torah and Judaism. It rocked his world and shook his soul.

Afterwards, Joe ran up to them and said, "Why isn't this incredible message getting out to the whole world?" They explained that though they had a terrific 'product,' they lacked the money, manpower, and marketing to do so. Joe would not hear of this. Right then and there, he became the General Director of Arachim - a title which he still proudly holds to this day.

Joe, now known as Yossi, lives a completely observant life with his wonderful family. He has estimated that since the 1980s, tens of thousands of children have been born to families that were re-JEW-venated by Arachim (http://www.arachimusa.org/).

[The foregoing true story is documented in The Maggid Series by Rabbi Paysach Krohn.]  (©2015. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.) 

Another Chance

Until a few years ago, I didn't take anything very seriously. I had graduated from jewish high school and didn't want to go to college right away. I thought I would get a job and have a good time before I settled down. My parents were not very pleased with these decisions, but at that point in my life, what my parents wanted, was not terribly important to me.

During this time I fell in with a group of friends who were not interested in connection to G-d or had any kind of focus. At first I told myself that I would not be influenced by them, but this turned out to be very far from the truth. In a very short period of time, I became exactly like them. Suddennly, Judaism meant nothing. I forgot who I was, as my life was spent in a haze which even today I have trouble remembering.

My parents were devastated. Maybe they didn't expect me to be the best of the best, but they certainly didn't expect this. As well as having destroyed my own life, I was on my way to destroying my family as well. Because of the bad influence I was having on my younger brothers, my father asked me to leave the house. When I moved out, I said some really cruel and spiteful things to my father. I can remember him standing silently at the door, with my mother crying at his side.

I realize now that what I had seen in them as a weakness was actually enormous strength. I had no contact with anyone in my family for almost a year. Deep inside I missed them very much, but I foolishly thought that I would be seen as weak, if I contacted them.

One morning, I was shocked to find my father waiting for me outside of the apartment building I lived in. He looked at me with tired worn eyes and asked if we could talk. Stubborn to the core, I only nodded and we walked to a corner coffee shop where we sat down. He told me how much everyone missed me and how I had been in their minds and hearts every second that I had been gone. He told me how my mother agonized over what had happened, blaming herself for not having been there for me. While he was talking, tears began rushing from his eyes. He told me that he wasn't here to lecture me. He just had one request. He wanted me to drive with him that afternoon to Monsey, NY, and say one chapter of Tehillim, Psalms at the grave of a righteous person. As far removed as I was from Judaism, I was still moved by his request.

I told him that I couldn't go that day, but that I would go with him any other time. In truth, I had plans to go with some friends to Atlantic City that evening, and didn't want to break them. When I told him that I couldn't go that day, he reached across the table and took my hand in his and just looked at me with his tear streaked sad face. I felt my own eyes begin to water, and rather than have him see me cry I just agreed to meet him later that day.

I made the necessary apologies to my friends, and later that day I met my father. We didn't talk much during the trip up. I remember getting out of the car with him, and walking over to one of the graves. He put some rocks on top of the grave and gave me a Tehillim. We must have looked quite strange; my father in his long black coat and me with my leather bomber jacket and jeans. We didn't stay long. Ten minutes after we had arrived, we were on our way back. The return trip was as quiet as the trip there. My father let me off in front of my apartment building. I still recall the words he said to me as I got out of the car. He
told me that no matter what may have happened between us and no matter what may happen, I was always going to be his son and that he would always love me. I was emotionally moved by his words, but I was not experiencing the spiritual inspiration he may have been hoping for. I shook my head at his words and we parted company.

The next morning I woke up to some shocking news. On the way back from Atlantic City, my friends were involved in a head on collision with a tractor trailer. There were no survivors.

As I write this letter, I am overcome with emotion. I made a bris today for my first child. My father held my son on his lap, his eyes met mine and we smiled. It was as if we had finally reached the end of a long journey.

We had never talked to each other about that trip, nor had I ever told him about the death of my friends. I just walked back into their home that evening, and was taken back with open arms and no questions asked. I don't think I will ever understand what happened that day. I just know, that sitting here late at night with my son in my arms, that I will try and be the father to him, that my father was to me.  (©2015. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.)

Please listen to this story in an amazig  song

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tH723CAJdY8

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