The Chabad of Sugar Land Weekly Newsletter

Weekly Story

Over a hundred years ago, in honor of 7 Adar—the day when G‑d Himself buried Moses, which is celebrated annually by the members of some Chevra Kadishas (Burial Societies) with fasting followed by feasting—the women of the Old City of Jerusalem gathered to cook and bake.

Suddenly a strong gust of wind blew open a window and knocked over a jug of milk on the sill. It spilled into the large pot of meat that was cooking on the stove!

Now, the pious and learned women of Jerusalem knew the rule of thumb: Unless the stew was sixty times greater in volume than the milk, the entire mixture was treif, unkosher.

As a result, they reasoned, the celebration would have to be canceled or postponed. After all, could one hold a feast with the main dish missing?

One of the women insisted that they present the question to the city’s chief rabbi, Rabbi Shmuel Salant (1816-1909), in case he might be able to find an allowance.

To their surprise, the rabbi requested that they return in an hour to allow him to consider their question. They were even more surprised when, after the hour had passed, he answered that the stew was indeed unquestionably kosher, but he could not tell them why.

To demonstrate that he stood by his decision, he attended the gathering himself and partook of the food. Seeing that the rabbi was eating the stew, the assembled ate as well, and the evening was an uplifting and enjoyable event for all.

Many years later the reason for the rabbi’s delay and his surprising answer was finally revealed.

On his deathbed, the venerable milkman of Jerusalem called the Chevra Kadisha to arrange for his burial. When they arrived, he shared with them what happened that day: “The rabbi came to visit me and inquired if I ever watered down the milk, perhaps if there was a shortage or to increase my profit. I admitted to the rabbi that I did so on occasion, including that very morning. The Rabbi reassured me that he would keep my secret so that my reputation would not be damaged, on condition that I would refrain from doing so in the future.”

Armed with the knowledge that the milk in the pitcher contained a fair amount of water, the rabbi calculated the proportions and concluded that the stew was indeed 60 times greater in volume than the amount of milk that had spilled in, rendering the mixture kosher.

They now understood the rabbi’s answer and why he had not explained his reasoning at the time.

Food for thought: Do we always think of all possibilities before we pass judgment? Are we ready to preserve the dignity of another person even when our reputation is at stake?

Parsha Riddle!

I came from a land of giants,
yet I was carried by ordinary men.
I was only one,
but two people were needed to lift me.

What am I?

Think you know it? Reply with your answer!

The answer will appear in next week’s newsletter.

Ask The Rabbi: Weekly Q&A

Question:

How is Chabad different from other ultra-Orthodox groups? Among the "black hatters," Chabad seems to be the exception. Why?

Answer:

In my youth, I studied in both Chabad and non-Chabad yeshivas. I wore both hats. So I can tell you from firsthand experience exactly where the difference lies.

One day in yeshiva, I heard a leading ultra-Orthodox rabbi give a fiery talk about the dangers of the secular world. His message was simple: The world outside is spiritually toxic. The only way to survive as a Jew is to build high walls and shield ourselves from the corruption beyond.

That very same afternoon, I sat down to study a talk from the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

He was addressing the biblical story of the spies Moses sent into the Land of Israel. The spies came back with a terrifying report and convinced the Jewish people not to enter the Land.

The Rebbe asked a simple question: These spies were holy, righteous leaders. Why would they reject the Promised Land?

His answer flipped everything on its head.

The spies scouted the land and saw farmers plowing fields, merchants doing business, families occupied with ordinary life. And they couldn’t believe it.

You call this the Holy Land? 

Up until that point, the Jews were living in a spiritual bubble. In the desert, they ate manna from heaven, drank from a miraculous well, and studied Torah with Moses. It was a perpetual spiritual retreat. 

The spies thought: Why trade a heavenly oasis for the dirty, distracting business of real life? 

It sounds like a noble argument. But that, the Rebbe explained, was their tragic mistake.

The ultimate purpose of Judaism is not to escape the world. The purpose is to transform it.

The material universe is not an evil to avoid. It is a potential to actualise.

Holiness is not confined to the synagogue or the study hall. It can be found in the office, the kitchen, the classroom and the marketplace. 

Earning money honestly, giving charity, eating kosher, helping a neighbour, speaking kindly to a stranger, raising a family, all of these are ways of bringing the Divine into the world.

The challenge is not to escape ordinary life, but to reveal the holiness hidden within it. 

The spies had holy intentions, but they completely missed the point. Our mission isn't to look for G-d in a bubble. It’s to bring G-d into the mundane.

Sitting in that study hall, the contrast hit me like a lightning bolt.

That morning, I was told the secular world is a threat to spirituality. That afternoon, I read that the secular world is the place where spirituality is meant to happen.

I was sold.

Ultra-Orthodox insularity comes from a beautiful, sincere place, a deep desire to preserve authentic Judaism from being swallowed up by modern culture. It’s a defensive strategy.

But Chabad’s vision is proactive. The world isn’t a spiritual wasteland, it’s Holy Land waiting to be revealed.

That idea grabbed me, and it never let go.

It’s why I wear the Chabad hat. It may be black, but it's about making the world brighter.

Good Shabbos,
Rabbi Moss

Source:
Likkutei Sichos Vol 4 Parshas Shlach