Posted on 01/25/24
When the saintly Reb Aharon Rokeach, the Rebbe of Belz, escaped from Poland, arriving in Israel in 1944, he encountered the broken survivors. He had lost his entire large family as well, to the inferno of the Holocaust.
He groped for words that might uplift the spirits of all those downtrodden souls.
He quoted the words of Sages, as cited in Rashi on the verse that describes the joyous outburst of song after observing the miraculous splitting of the sea, אז ישיר — Then Moshe and the Children of Israel chose to sing, who question why it is written in the future tense, ישיר — he will sing, and not the more accurate, שר he sang?
They answered that it is alluding to a song that will yet one day be sung, on the day of the Revival of the Dead, adding that from here we derive, תחיית המתים מן התורה — proof in the Written Torah to the reality of this truth, that the dead will revive.
The Rebbe challenged his audience as to why this fact is so pertinent at this specific moment.
He went on to point out, that then as now, much of the Jewish people had perished — four-fifths of their original number — during the Plague of Darkness. Many of them had also lost their loved ones at the hands of their evil oppressors, whether as infants being tossed into the sea; embedded as bricks in the structures they slaved to build, or during the tortuous and cruel labor.
How were they suddenly able to sing with joy in the face of their pain and anguish?
Moshe revealed to them that one day, their loved ones would return. With that guarantee and promise he was able to encourage them to celebrate their freedom and the miracle that G-d had wrought and put aside their sadness.
Is it that simple? We attend funerals and reaffirm at several intervals during the levaya our absolute belief in Techiyas HaMeisim, yet the profound pain of loss does not dissipate.
The Yalkut quotes in the name of Rabbi Akiva who stated, that at the moment we sang אז ישיר — 'Then' [Moshe and the Children of Israel] chose to sing, G-d clothed Himself in a cloak of splendor, which had etched upon it every אז — 'then', recorded in the Torah: Then the maiden will rejoice in dance (ירמיה לא יב); Then the lame will leap like a dear (ישעיה לה ו) …
When we sinned, G-d בצע אמרתו —'ripped His garment' (איכה ב יז).
In the future the Holy One Blessed Be He will restore it, as it says, אז — Then will be filled with laughter our mouth… (תהלים קכו ב)
Although this cryptic Midrash is laden with mystical underpinnings, I believe there is a very practical message as well.
The word אז refers either to a moment in the past or an instant in the future.
The recitation of שירה — joyous song erupts when one comes to the reality that the moment one experiences a miracle, G-d's intervention is not just an isolated event that comes and passes, it is rather our connection to eternity, a component of the tapestry of history that spans beyond time. One comes to the realization that all that preceded that intervention — even if it may have appeared as punishment — was all part of the orchestration from upon High that was necessary and vital to bring us to salvation. In that instant of consciousness of a Higher Reality beyond the confines of space and time, we instinctively evoke an expression of the most exquisite joy, that of our innate connection to the Creator, the greatest joy.
At the splitting of the sea, the curtain of eternity was revealed to each member of the Jewish nation. We caught a fleeting glimpse of a perfect world, viewing each segment in that garment with each of our personalities' 'then' moments placed within the context of that Higher Reality.
The first 'then' moment at the sea is bookended with that last 'then' moment — the Revival of the Dead — the very implementation of eternity.
Reb Aharon Rokeach, the holy Belzer Rebbe, wasn't merely telling these forlorn souls to regain hope and motivation simply by the fact that they one day will reunite with their loved ones.
He was teaching them that in their survival, and the privilege to restore the lost glory of the past, they should be enthused and driven by each choice they will make in placing each encounter and opportunity within the greater context of eternity, they too will sense that exquisite connection even in the 'now'! In grasping this 'map of eternity' the past travails will then be viewed as the vehicle that catapulted them to joy.
We are living through the birth pangs of Moshiach. So much pain, so much suffering, so much fear. At the same time there are remarkable young men, soldiers who fearlessly go into battle, knowing very well the risks, but also resolute in their faith in Hashem, that there is a much larger picture that inspires them to sacrifice for the Jewish people.
There is a perceptible note of joy in their enthusiasm, expressing with clarity their 'then' moments even as they risk their lives.
AmiChai Oster Hy'd, fell on January 1st of this year. He had been in the states on October 7th, cutting his trip short to return home to serve, even though he was told he could wait. As his parents both mentioned in their eulogies, he lived with a passion to protect his people and his land.
At the funeral the father fought to maintain his composure during his heartfelt eulogy but cracked at recalling one poignant anecdote.
But first a backstory.
One of the cherished members of our Kehilla of Ohel Moshe, Rav Dani Kermaier, a personal and dear friend, travels often to Asia, Vietnam more particularly, on business.
Last March he found himself spending Shabbos in Hanoi at the local Chabad, together with a group of some 200 young Israelis who had just finished their army service, and traditionally travel post-army to exotic locations in the Far East, to release the tensions and intensity of having served.
During Shabbos he met one of the religious soldiers who made a striking impression on him. During their conversations Dani discovered that a childhood friend who had made Aliyah lived in the same Yishuv.
After Shabbos Dani sent the following email to his friend: I spent Shabbos in Hanoi with a boy from your Yishuv, AmiChai Oster. His father is a doctor, originally from Cleveland. You can let them know that their boy is a walking kiddush Hashem. I was very impressed with him. Committed to Yiddishkeit, a mensch, very down to earth, etc.
Nearly ten months later, when the death of AmiChai was announced, Dani was understandably devastated.
He subsequently emailed to the grieving family the following more detailed description of his encounter with AmiChai: March 18, 2023, I was in Hanoi for business and spent Shabbat there, davening and joining the meals at the local Chabad. Well before the start of davening there was a small group of us there. When it was time to start there was one young man who didn't hesitate when asked to daven for the amud. Over the course of Shabbat, I spoke to many of the guys and girls almost entirely from Israel and recently finished their army service (around 200 of them). There were so many positive feelings I had from the group, who were for the most part individuals who didn't know each other prior, but it felt like a group. The commonality that Israeli kids feel even though they had a wide spectrum of religious or non-existent religious upbringing there was enough of that common ground that an outsider would assume these were kids that knew each other for years. A few from the group stood out, but I was a bit star struck by one boy. And in fact, he was the only one whose name I remembered, AmiChai Oster, I was just so impressed by him.
What did I see on Shabbat that so moved me? These were my impressions of him from a few conversations that took place over the course of the shabbat....
A good looking, cool, confident yet humble young man, who was committed to be a religious Jew while on his own, as he explored Asia. He could have easily taken shortcuts in Halacha, no one was looking. He had a clear vision of who he was, and I believe that clarity gave him a deep sense of purpose that extended beyond the here and now. Temptations or just taking the easy route only seem to be an option when there is clouded judgement when that clarity doesn't exist. And this is what struck me the most. To AmiChai it was just natural, he was so chill about everything, it wasn't done with an intensity. Being religious wasn't a hardship or difficulty, it was relaxed and natural. It didn't cramp his style at all. We didn't have deep philosophical discussions; we weren't immersed in Torah. We were just two brothers talking on a Shabbat in Hanoi with an instant bond of friendship. We talked about our families, Aliyah, having American parents, growing up in Israel; army; friends. Nothing and everything, just casual interesting conversations. Yet I was so moved by him.I had met a Rock Star of a Jew and as a parent, I hoped to let his parents know how impressed I was from just that one Shabbat in Hanoi.
My heart aches for you and with you... Dani Kermaier
AmiChai was one who lived with his eyes and heart set on a higher plain. He fathomed the message of the cloak of splendor that illuminates the world etched with identities of those who fathom the secret of אז —then. In Dani's own words, He had a clear vision of who he was, and I believe that clarity gave him a deep sense of purpose that extended beyond the here and now.
His father referred to Dani's email at the levaya, sharing his shining pride in a son, a true mentsch, who was a walking Kiddush Hashem, promoting the honor of Hashem halfway around the world.
It was at that point the father's voice cried and shed a tear.
It was a tear of grief mixed with joy. A quiet שירה — song. Grief over his loss, but joy in having had the privilege to raise such a son.
Those who sow tearfully, with glad song will reap.
There are those who simply traverse through time whiling the minutes away. But there are true heroes who create exquisite moments of eternity, every moment in the 'here and now'. יהי זכרו ברוך
באהבה,
צבי יהודה טייכמאן