S

tories don’t always come to us fully formed and complete; sometimes, like a jigsaw, it takes one more piece to round out the full picture. That’s what happened this past week in the course of two phone conversations about the subject of a profile I wrote in last week’s issue — Rav Dovid Lifshitz ztz”l.

The first was a conversation with Rav Lifshitz’s youngest daughter, Rebbetzin Sara Ittel Stein of Cleveland, Ohio — who, reminiscing about her father, mentioned that upon his arrival in America, he had received a Shas for his use from Rav Shlomo Freifeld ztz”l. From that time on, anyone he’d meet from Far Rockaway would get the same request: “If you see Reb Shlomo, please give him my thanks for the Shas.” People would wonder, she said, how many times and for how many years he could keep sending thanks for that long-ago favor, but apparently, Reb Dovid recognized no statute of limitations on hakaras hatov.

Several days later, a close talmid of Reb Shlomo called to tell me about his experience driving Reb Shlomo, in his last years, when he was already wheelchair-bound, to and from the chasunah of another talmid. Reb Shlomo was called up to perform siddur kiddushin, but having noticed Reb Dovid’s presence there, Reb Shlomo began to protest loudly as he banged his cane emphatically on the floor: “I should be mesader kiddushin when the Rosh Yeshivah Reb Dovid is here?!”

But Reb Dovid demurred, telling Reb Shlomo, “You’re the chassan’s rebbi.” And with that, he arose and accompanied Reb Shlomo, helping him walk the few steps from his seat to the chuppah to be mesader kiddushin.

In the car on the way back from the wedding, Reb Shlomo, wishing to emphasize the esteem for Reb Dovid that underlay his actions, told his talmid that when Reb Dovid arrived on these shores, his renown as the Suvalker Rav preceded him, and Reb Shlomo thought to himself, “S’past nit az der Suvalker Rav zohl kumen in America und nit hoben a Shas [It’s not right for the Suvalker Rav to come to America and not have a Shas].” And with that, he took his precious Shas, the one he’d received as a chassan, and gifted it to the Suvalker Rav at the port of arrival.

Two halves — one bespeaking an exalted sense of hakaras hatov, the other the most noble level of kevod talmid chacham — form a whole. Picture complete.

WE OBJECT

Three years ago this week, I wrote the following paragraphs in the wake of the US Supreme Court decision in Obergefell:

In all matters, whether in our own lives or in affairs of the world at large, it’s important to try to view things from the perspective of the Ribbono shel Olam. Last week, three Jewish justices formed the bulk of the majority that, over the strenuous objections of four Catholic justices, issued a diktat celebrating same-gender coupling and enshrining it as the law of a land where millions of devout Christian citizens consider it anathema.

Can we begin to imagine the depth of the chillul Hashem — meaning, literally, the void of G-d-liness — that has been created? Can we even begin to identify with the tzaar haShechinah, over what has happened?

If a Jew is not viscerally troubled by an event with such grave moral implications as this one, that would seem to bespeak an absence of a kind of kirvas Elokim that ought naturally to lead to a feeling of imo anochi b’tzarah toward our Creator. Perhaps it sounds strange, but a ruling like this one can be an opportunity for drawing nearer to Hashem even as the world pulls away from Him.

As a result of the court’s flagrant rebellion against G-d’s law and the chillul Hashem it engendered, it would seem that from a vantage point of spiritual truth, America is now a more dangerous, or endangered, place than it was just days ago.

But three weeks ago, something happened, not in majority-gentile America, but in Arzteinu Hakedoshah, about which I don’t even have the heart to compose my own words. I’ll just excerpt from news reports:

A quarter of a million people from around the world gathered in Tel Aviv today to march in the largest ever pride parade in the Middle East [the city’s 20th annual one, attracting 50,000 more people than last year’s].

Voted the world’s “Best [***] City” for [attendees of the parade], Tel Aviv’s Pride Parade is widely recognized as one of the world’s leading [***] events [of its kind], attracting thousands of visitors from around the globe. The parade marked the end of a two-week-long festival…. Celebrations are expected to continue throughout the weekend, with massive after-parties attracting tens of thousands of partygoers.

Two days after the parade, Benjamin Netanyahu told a gathering of the American Jewish Committee (AJC) to applause, “There’s only one state in the Middle East that welcomes [these people] … where [they] walk proudly on a Tel Aviv beach and participate here, in our Knesset deliberations, in our government.” Tel Aviv-Yafo Mayor Ron Huldai [whose municipality helped fund the events] said: “Tel Aviv, which has already been acknowledged as the world’s ‘most [***] friendly city’… will continue to… act as a welcoming destination for the International [***] community.” US ambassador to Israel David Friedman tweeted, “I am proud of everyone who is marching in the Parade in support of diversity and equality.”

Writing a weekly column read by many Jews has its advantages. But it also imposes, at times, a very great responsibility, which I, and anyone similarly situated, dare not shirk.

Hashem is described at times as being the greatest of ilmim, mutes, for He stands silently by, even as the unthinkable takes place, whether during the Churban Beis Hamikdash (Gittin 56b) or during an event like this one. But just as in Nishmas, we say that Hashem is meisiach ilmim, giving verbal expression to those mortals who cannot speak, so too are we given the opportunity and responsibility to say on His behalf that which, given the nature of This World, He does not.

I believe that at this moment in time, this is the responsibility: It cannot be that in all of the vast expanse of the contemporary frum media, not a word is written and not one voice is raised, even softly, even for a fleeting moment, to object in the Name of G-d and His People. For Him, for us, if for no one else.

We object.

Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 716. Eytan Kobre may be contacted directly at kobre@mishpacha.com