Where is the Fire? By Rabbi Y. R. Rubin

As published in our first volume of “A Rabbis Journal” in 2001

 Show them your badge, Zaidy — show them your badge.” This plea comes forth from my eight-year-old grandson as we both witness a minor car accident. “Sha, shtil mein kind,” I whisper, desperately hoping no one had heard him. Since becoming a volunteer Chaplain to the Manchester Police, my grandson seems to think I can now solve all the world’s problems. In his sweet eyes, Zaidy has a badge so he can do anything. If only — if only.

Last week I was driving along in my car when a fire engine reared up behind me. Lights were flashing — sirens screamed — you could not but realise that this enormous operation meant serious business. Big and red, full of ladders and yellow-helmeted firefighters. This giant had one extra safety device: spelled out in huge red letters was the word “FIRE.”

Now this was done with chochmoh; the word was spelled BACKWARDS so that when someone in front would look in the mirror of his car he would see the word ‘FIRE” correctly. I ask you, is there then a fool who wouldn’t realise this obvious fact without it being spelled out? What else is that big truck, if not a fire engine? However. seemingly there are those who need even this spelling out for them.

I was recently asked to speak at an international gathering of Torah leadership. The theme of conference concerned how best to combat outside influences encroaching into our communal lives. Anyone who doesn’t realise that we are in fact seeing a fire, wont’ be helped even if it is spelled out for them.

I thought long and hard about what to say, as I was going to speak to the Rebbetzin’s of said leaders. To me the answer to all threats from without can be found within. Our families are the mainstay of our identity and it is within their quarters that our true strength can be found.

I once went shopping with my grandchildren at an open air shopping market. Tables were set out with all kinds of bric-a-brac -cheap was the theme of the day. There we found a table laden with watches of all sorts — price, four and a half dollars each.

What kind of Zaidy could deny his kinderlach such a metziya? “I’ll take three.” Off we strode, watches in hand. The kids look perplexed: these watches didn’t seem to work. “What do you want for three quid?” So they decide to shlep Zaidy to a shop across the way that sells batteries. Well, “in for a dime, in for a dollar.” as the saying goes. Rubin & Co march into the shop for batteries. The salesman looks worried: he can’t seem to open the watches. Where does the battery go in? The kids are getting worried: four-fifty — Zaidy has really been taken in. Just then the salesman does something strange. He winds the stem of the watches. Lo and behold they spring to life.

“Zaidy, that’s brilliant! Look what they’ve done, they’ve invented a watch that doesn’t need batteries!”

In a battery driven society I would like to take a moment to first wind up the watches that run our hearts. To return for a moment to aspects that are original. Who is it that sets the tone in the home? Who gives the identity to the young? The answer is obvious — it’s the mother. It is to this theme that we must turn. To them we must give encouragement. Strangely enough, these very same pivotal members of our communities are the ones most under pressure. They carry the pain of their young and become frantic with worry over their future.

We all know of the many great women in the Torah — Soroh, Rivka. Rachel. Miriam et al. However, there is one special lady who most Yidden don’t know much about.  Her name? Devorah. I don’t mean Devorah Haneviah, but another Devorah, probably the one who the neviah was named after. We find this one in Bereishis. In Chayei Soroh the Torah tells us that Rivka left home to marry Yitzchak — “And they sent Rivka their sister and her nurse.” Interestingly Rivka goes off to get married and has to have her nanny nearby. What’s more, Hashem deems this, such a vital piece of information, that He puts it in the Torah. Decades later we read, “Devorah, Rivkah’s nurse died and she was buried at the foot of Bais El under an oak tree and Yaakov called its name Alon Bachus, the tree of weeping.” Now wait a minute! Devorah was Rivkah’s maid, she came from Iraq to live in Yitzchak’s home when Rivka got married. Now we find her passing away — not in Yitzchak’s home, but with Yaakov and his young mishpocho. In his sefer, What’s Wrong with Being Happy? Rav Yisrael Miller brings us a spectacular understanding of these events.

The Ramban tells us that after a while of living with Yitzchak and Rivka, Devorah went back to Lovon. Why? The Torah doesn’t say. All we know is that as Yaakov was returning to Eretz Yisrael from Lovon, the old servant was with him, and when she dies, everyone cries. They were so stricken that they called the cemetery’ “the tree of weeping.” What’s going on here? Devorah. whose name means honey bee, was the one person who raised the matriarchs. Those holy mothers were born in a heathen atmosphere — yet Devorah had heard of Avraham and his words concerning Hashem. Like a bee she pollinated the hearts of her charges and made them alive with holiness. She knew which deep parts of the young needed support. She never made the headlines, but quietly, with tznius, she gave life to our nation.

Rivka knew this and so she sent her back to raise Rachel and Leah. It was only after she succeeded in this, while coming with them to Eretz Yisrael, revelling in the nachas from Yaakov’s family, her mission accomplished, that she passed away — causing all to cry’, planting a veritable tree of tears. We can learn so much from this. We are all called upon to influence others. We don’t know how it happens or why, but it’s a fact. How do we develop Avos of future generations? With our own bren, our own pollination of love for Hashem.

As a child. I was once at a very unique bris. Our Rav, a survivor of the Churban, had been blessed with a son. He had lost so very much during the war — family, community, everything. Coming to America didn’t guarantee a bright new future. Things were difficult, communally and in his private life. He remarried, his Rebbetzin gave birth to twins -tragically they were taken from him — so we saw him sit shiva twice. After some time his Rebbetzin was blessed with a son: it was this bris that I describe. The minhag of the Rav was not to say Anim Zemiros on Shabbos, the only exception being if there was a bris in the Beis Medrash. Such was the special occasion and the Rav himself took the omud to lead the davening. The Oron Hakodosh was opened and the Rav started singing, nay, singing isn’t the right word. It was something different. .Anirn Zemiros, he both cried and sang. All this and more.

The air was electric, the olam uplifted as never before. Just as one felt it could not get any better, the Rav reached the final stanza.

Yerav noh sichi olecho — “May my meditation be sweet to You for my soul is yearning for You” at which point he broke down in tears. In those tears was joy — he was asking Hashem to see his child as his meditation to Hashem “Please Hashem. let him be sweet to You: I’ve gone through so much, seen such pain — but my’ soul is yearning for You.”

Life isn’t a simple road — but our souls if they yearn for Hashem can give meaning and sweetness to all. Devorah, the bumblebee creator of the sweet nectar of our beliefs knew this secret. It is with this truth that we can encourage our young. Let them be sweet to Hashem. because they realise how much we as parents yearn for Hashem. My dear readers, the wooden floor of that shul became wet with tears that Shabbos — tears of yearning and tears of hope, instilled in future generations.