blogs/rabbi-huberman

I admire many rabbis in our tradition.

One of my rabbinical heroes is Rabbi Yisrael Meir Ha-Kohen Kagan (1838 –1933), who—during his 95 years—devoted himself to the study of Lashon Harah (gossip) and how Jews and all humanity can avoid it.

He wrote 21 books on the topic.

His interest in gossip began in the mid-1870s when, in his Polish village, he observed a battle among residents regarding whether to rehire the existing rabbi.

The conflict pitted friend against friend, family member against family member, and eventually inspired him to write a book titled Chofetz Chaim – a name he eventually adopted based on a biblical passage, which claims that the person who rids themselves of gossip, will live longer, happier years. (Psalms 34:14).

While I was in rabbinical school, researching the Chofetz Chaim and his teachings, I came upon a footnote, which in my mind propelled this great Sage to superstar status.

During World War I, it was commonplace for the Czar to raid Jewish settlements and draft Jews into the army.

This created a religious problem. How could young Jewish men maintain prayer and holiday observance while serving in the Russian military?

Rabbi Kagan’s work, Machaneh Yisrael, tackled many of these topics, in particular, how to maintain minimal kosher laws when there was no kosher food to be found.

The fact that he even considered these contemporary issues, added to my love of this rabbi, who did not bury his head in lofty thoughts, but rather made the Torah something Jews could live by every day.

I thought of the Chofetz Chaim as I reread this week‘s parashah—perhaps the most important within the Torah’s 54 portions.

This is the week that Moses receives the 10 Commandments on Mount Sinai.

These are vital laws to live by – the first five dealing with how humanity should interact with God, and the final five guiding us in our interactions with our fellow human beings.

Yet, despite being so central to Jewish tradition, I often ask, “Do we need that many prompts to remind us not to kill, not to steal, to honor our parents or remain faithful to our partners?”

That is the written law. It is instinctive.

But it is really the “oral law”—as our tradition calls it—passed down through generations, which has inspired each of us to live meaningful and satisfying lives. 

Perhaps the “oral law” is even more important than those 10 Commandments written in stone.

Share your toys. Be kind. Be generous. Appreciate life’s blessings. And especially these days, honor your neighbor, regardless of background, appearance, faith or gender.

And where did we learn that? We acquired these oral precepts from parents, grandparents and other role models. Who were your life teachers?

I also recalled this week an Orthodox Rabbi, Norman Berlat, a friend of my father (z”l’), who served the Baycrest seniors home in Toronto until just before his passing in 2017.

One Yom Kippur, on a day of fasting, in front of dozens of residents—aged 85 to 105—he cracked open a can of Ensure in the middle of services.

As his elderly congregants gasped, Rabbi Berlat declared: “I am diabetic and even though it is Yom Kippur, God wants me to be healthy.

“And so,” he said—after chugging back the can—”make sure you take your pills and other medication, even on Yom Kippur. God wants you to live.”

I will forever respect Rabbi Berlat and his oral Torah.

I also recall my observant paternal grandparents keeping their small grocery store open on Shabbat or hanging Christmas lights in the window each December.

When I asked my grandfather about this, Zaidie Duddie replied, “This is what we need to do to keep shalom in our neighborhood and to pay our bills and send our children and maybe you to college.”

And I respected my Zaidie even more.

There is a story in the Talmud of Rabbi Elazar, a respected Sage who having completed a lesson with his master one day, is riding home on his donkey, along the riverbanks, congratulating himself about with how smart he is.

A man approaches him and praises his wisdom and his stature.

Rabbi Elazar looks down from his high horse, and declares without filter, “Boy are you ugly. Are all the people in your village as ugly as you?”

The man replies, "If you have a complaint about my appearance, go and tell my Maker how ugly is the utensil He made.”

At that point Rabbi Elazar realizes what an ass he has been and apologizes. And later, upon entering the study hall, he taught this to his students:

“A person should always be soft like a reed and not be stiff like a cedar…”

It is one reason, taught a more humble Rabbi Elazar, why Torahs, tefillin and mezuzot are written with a feather, reed, or quill.

Because while written Torah may be fixed on a page, oral Torah must at times bend and adapt in order to create real peace and kindness on this earth.

And so, this week, as we consider the written 10 Commandments, let us also remember our parents, grandparents and teachers, who taught us to look between lines and build a better world, and a stronger internal love of Judaism.

For indeed, from those original 10 Commandments, thousands of others have been created, and have flourished over time.

Even the Chofetz Chaim knew when to make compromises when necessary.

The 10 written Commandments? Of course they are important.

But it has been the “oral Torah” that has kept us alive, l’dor vador, from generation to generation.

Oral Torah—the unwritten lessons we inherited from our parents and grandparents.

The ones we pass on, and model, for future generations.

Shabbat shalom, v’kol tuv.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman