When you thought it couldn't get any worse...

After last night's amazing success I thought that for tonight's encore I'd present "TRS and the devil", otherwise known as the "Post-Modern Prosthesis", subtitled, "Stupid people predominate: a study of the occult practices as practiced in the environs of nowhere in particular."

In other news, I heard a cute joke yesterday.

A trucker pulled into a rest stop cafe type place one day and ordered a slice of pizza, a Caesar salad, and a diet coke. Just before he was about to begin contemplating the commencement of eating activities three Harley Davidsons roared into the parking lot and three Hell's Angels walked into the restaurant. They quickly assessed the situation, and one went over and said, "Say, that looks like a swell pizza, I think I'll eat it." He promptly took the pizza from the surprised truck driver person. The second motorcycle rider then walked over to the trucker and he said, "Hey, I've been on a diet lately, I could really do with that Caesar salad." After he had finished saying this he took the salad. The third rider, not to be outdone, dispensed with the fancy locquacions and just took the diet coke.

The driver, realizing that the odds were stacked against him, went up to the cashier, paid his bill, and walked out. The three angels of hell burst into laughter and started saying, "Wow, what a sissy, that guy is not a man, ha ha ha (etc)." The cashier called out, "You guys are so right. Not only is this guy not a man, but be can't even drive properly. When he was pulling out from the lot he ran three motorbikes right over!"
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OK folks, that's all I have for you tonight. Tomorrow night should be a Dear TRS, but I'm hoping to have something even better.

Shimonke live!

Tonight we had a farbrengen with R' Shimonke Lazaroff, head Shliach of Texas. This is an extremely unedited version, enjoy at your own risk.

There were two brothers-Reb Zushe and Reb Melech, talmidim of the Baal Shem Tov, who went to exile. In those days in every shul in every town there was a hekdesh, a place for all the travelers, meshulachim, schnorrers, and losers to eat and stay.

The parnas of the kahal would give them a becher for kiddush and havdala. Once after havdala the becher disappeared. The parnas was very distressed, because it was a valuable becher, and even more so, he was nostalgic, he had inherited it from his grandfather, and he asked all the people who had stayed in the hekdesh that week, including the two brothers, where it was. No one knew, so he put all of them in jail.

The time came to daven, and Reb Melech made hachanos and started to daven. One of the guys pointed out that there was a chamber pot in the room, and he couldn't daven. Reb melech got very upset, began to cry. His brother asked him why he was crying. Because I can't daven! The same G-d who told you to daven also told you not to daven! And here it's harder to not than not to! Reb melech realized what was going on, and he began to dance with joy, he was serving Hashem! Everyone began to dance too, after all, these were talmidei baal Shem tov! The jailer came in, wanted to know what was up, why was everyone so happy? They pointed to the chamber pot, and the spiteful jailer threw it out! Reb zushe turned to his brother and said, "you see what you accomplished through crying? Nothing. But simcha poretz geder!"

I remember when the yeshiva opened up here (in Morristown), in 1972, it was old and empty and dark and depressing, maybe ten students. I went to Texas that year before 11 nissan.

Now you're sitting in a big yeshiva, with reb melech zweibel, you're very lucky. This yeshiva was the first and oldest yeshiva for baalei teshuva, contrary to what the misnagdim say.

In my time, the world was not so small as today. Merkos shlichus was far away to go away to Pennsylvania. Far far away was to Denver. Across the world was to California. I went far away to Reading PA to Philadelphia with yosef abrams. I was coming from Israel, only knew a couple words "kitchen chicken". We went on MS in the nine days; a misnagdishe yeshiva had just opened in 1959. We walked into zal, was sitting there four or five bochurim, and minhag yisrael, we said shalom Aleichem to the rosh yeshiva. We started to say a dvar Torah, a pilpul. After ten fifteen minutes he asked what we were doing there, and explained that on merkos shlichus, selling books, talking to people about kashrus, etc. The rosh yeshiva said, "bittul Torah?"

Yosef abrams was the only American who looked like a Russian, and I looked like an Israeli. I came with my Israeli chutzpah, "how many bochurim you have in your yeshiva?" sixty, seventy. Where are they now? Summer camp, home, it's the nine days. So I said, what's so bad if we, instead of going home, are going around talking about yiddishkeit? He wanted to give me a smack. That was the attitude. The only people doing outreach was lubavitch. Everyone else laughed at us.

A couple years before that tzach was in lod, the bochurim went around doing mivtzoyim. We were all from Russia, didn't speak too much hebrew, but then there were a few Israelis who knew Hebrew, who did mivtzoyim. They went to a kibbutz "shomer hatzair", the most left leaning place, worse than communists. As a hiddur mitzvah they ate pork yom kippur night.

The bochurim went there for an "erev chabad", speak a little, sing niggunim. The frum world thought lubavitch was nuts.

One time Avremel Sussonkin, five years older than me, a very good friend of mine. In those days no one had cars. After ten there were no buses. The bochurim who went to the kibbutz, ended at midnight, there were no buses. One of the locals drove them back in his "tender", a pickup truck with benches and a tarp roof in the back.

The bochurim going back laid down on the benches to sleep, but they didn't actually fall asleep. Also there was one old and one young kibbutznik. The old one, thinking the Lubavitchers were sleeping, said to his fellow kibbutznik, "Idiot, what are you getting excited from these dark hats? In Russia we cut their heads off! What are you getting excited for?" The young one replied, "You're a donkey the son of a donkey! For ten years I've lived here, my life has been empty-tonight I finally have something to live for!"

The chassidim then didn't know the Rebbe's plan. But now? We can look at Basi Legani '11, it's like a state of the union address, tells us the plan.

The Rebbe wanted that every place in the world should be influenced-places only Moshe Kotlarsky could spell!

The Rebbe sent me in 1962 to Brunoy along with five other bochurim. I didn't know English, but I knew Hebrew. The bochurim had no clue. They were amazed, "The police stop cars for the rebbe to go on tashlich?!"

Back then, people were afraid to say they were Jewish. The Sephardim were not there-only the shattered remnants of the Holocaust. They were afraid of their own shadow! You went to a store, they didn't want their own employees to know they were Jewish.

And today is a different world. To go to Philly on MS? It's an insult! You have to go at least to Kenya, or maybe somewhere you can't spell.

Every organization now does "kiruv rechokim". The Rebbe is very happy. The only not good thing is that they deny who started it. But there's enough work for everybody.

When I came to Texas I brought ten bochurim (hippies) to 770. I gave them yarmulkes, but their hair was too long, the yarmulkes fell off! So I gave them all cowboy hats, and brought them by the Rebbe, who smiled. Then I brought them to Morristown to learn.

Half of these bochurim are now shluchim-they were college students, you wouldn't recognize them. Once a student came for the summer, and he wanted to stay. The Rebbe told him no, he was in third year pharmacy school, so he finished that, came to Morristown for three years, and became a Shliach!

We are very lucky. We have a Rebbe. This Rebbe leads us to prepare for moshiach. The whole world is jealous of us. They try to emulate us, to copy us. We can't waste our time. The more you know how to learn nigleh and chassidus, the more people you can attract. If you don't know anything, you just attract crazies. We need talented people-but the only way to get them is through having what to sell, because lawyers and doctors and pharmacists don't want to buy nothing.

In 1990 was the Gulf War. There were very few American casualties, and most of them were from friendly fire. Sometimes in Lubavitch we have the same thing, very stupid people who hurt lubavitch. We don't need people who know how to change light bulbs. All right, so it's still needed. In the Beis Hamikdash they also had bookkeepers, and if you used one of them, you were using hekdesh.

In 1990 I made a niggun to go with that year's kapitel.

"Watch out from friendly fire. Shoot only on your enemies. Don't shoot on your own two feet. Don't be a loser, don't be a suicide, don't be a misfit."

I can't talk too graphic why I made this song, you'll faint. I'll give you a hint. Sometime when we think were a chacham, and we make a big chilul lubavitch, and the misnagdim make big problems for shluchim, people don't want to go-whose fault is this? It's our own fault. It started in 1990.

I made up this niggun while sitting in the White House waiting to meet President Bush. Avremel Shemtov and Zalman Posner started getting scared, told me to be quite, I wasn't nispael, sang even louder, they tried even harder to make me quiet, I started saying the maamar reishis goyim amalek, they all got quiet.
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In the army, before you go to the battlefield, the general gives a speech explaining what it's all about. The same thing we had before MS, rabbi chodakov explained before what we should do.

First send out planes to bomb, then send out commandos. You don't win with this, it's only a start. You have tanks who come in bombarding, but this still doesn't win the war. What wins the war? The foot soldiers. The infantry.

In MS is the same thing. A couple bochurim come for a day or two to bombard the city, and them maybe make a camp or something, a month or two. Then a regular Shliach moves in and works on every person.

If you learned, if you have what to sell, then fine. But if you don't learn, if you don't anything? You'll have nothing to do when you go to the army! Whatever you can give, that's what you can get.

There's an interesting letter from the FR-there's no place chabad. You can take it everywhere. But really, every place has four walls, a roof, a ceiling.

One wall is chassidus, one is mikveh every morning, one is to think over chassidus before davening, and the fourth is to daven slowly with a little voice and a tune. Misnagdim kvetch when they daven. A chassid davens nicely. What is the floor? Midos tovos and love of our fellow chassidim. We're all family. We don't only care about ourselves. We are here to care about everyone.

In every class there's a square guy, a nudnik, a guy who asks for tzurris, who asks to be hit. The best guys nowadays were those guys. We gave it to them. Hazing. What does chassidus teach us? Mivtzoyim isn't only on Friday afternoons!

Dor hashishi is to love a Jew you never even met. Dor hashvi'i is to love the Jew you know.

And the ceiling of chassidus? Is to learn chassidus with haskala. We're still mugbal though, there's a ceiling, our intellect is limited. But a chassidishe hergesh? There's no ceiling. There's no boundaries. We can't be selfish, we have to be selfless. Even when you're doing the right thing, it's not enough. You have to help the guy who is less than you. For sure not to gang up on him.

If you want haskala, you don't need a farbrengen. You need to open a maamar. What's a farbrengen? To internalize what you learn. Don't be a misnaged with chabad clothing. You have to have ahavas rayim.

I once said to a gerrer chassid, what makes you a chassid! You put on tefillin backwards like a misnaged, you only know mishna brura and daf yomi, you don't even learn poilishe chassidus! You're a misnaged dressed in chassidishe clothing.

Think about your classmates. You have the power, if you are mekarev him, to be responsible for bringing forth generations of chassidim. And if not? Chas v'shalom you could accomplish the opposite.

If you see a friend of yours who's a loser, a misfit, you have to help him!
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The bottom line, what I'm trying to accomplish, what I'm trying to drill into your heads, is that there's no way to waste. You have to pack as much into your bags as possible now. At the same time, you have to practice what you preach, to love your fellows. What's all your Torah and mitzvos worth if you don't do this?

The hanhala has their cheshbonos what you have to accomplish. But you don't have these! All you have to know is that you have to to what you have to do. It's not enough to only think about yourself. You have to think about every person.

Everyone nowadays is into shlichus, to do the Rebbe's work. But we have to know that we have to do it now! Not everyone is smart in learning, not everyone is good in everything. But does that mean you can ignore him now and help him when you're on shlichus in ten years?!

You think every day by me is so easy? Once I did a lot for someone, a lot, and he spit me in the face. I was very angry with him. R' Mendel Futerfas told me, "If you do a favor for someone, expect back bad. If he doesn't do anything, be happy. If he does a favor back to you? Be grateful!" Once he said, "A guy is throwing big stones at me, I ask him, 'Why are you throwing big stones at me? I understand regular stones, but big? I never did you a favor!'"

I had this many times, I give my life for someone, he calls me at two in the morning, and a year later, when he doesn't need me! He stabs me in the back. But am I better than Moshe Rabbeinu?

You think Dassan and Aviram were motorcycle bums? Of course not. They had long peyos, long coats, they only spoke Yiddish, they were more frum than Moshe! And Korach, the frummest guy, had a lot of money, Dassan and Aviram loved him! And when they went down into the pit, they had their tongues stuck out at Moshe.

Being a Shliach is a thankless job. You only do it because Hashem wants you to do it, because the Rebbe wants to do it. And we can't be misnagdim with a Lubavitcher beard and hat.

Everyone wants to be a Shliach. Some people are teachers, roshei yeshiva, rabbanim, executive director, fundraiser, program director, bullsh---er. They're all shluchim!

There were two guys, good friends. One was a doormat, no one listened to him, they treated him like trash. The other one was like a king in his own house-no one dared contradict him. The loser asked him for advice, and he told him, "Listen, on my first date, I took out a cat and tore it right in half. Since then no one ever bothers me." The loser thought it sounded good, and he went home with a cat and tore it right in half. And they threw him into the loony bin. He went to his friend and complained, "What kind of advice did you give me?"

A guy once called in the shtetl, "Yankel is a thief!" Yankel was very insulted, brought him to a din Torah. The rav paskened, he embarrassed him in public, next shabbos he has to scream in shul, "Yankel is not a thief!"

That shabbos the shul was packed, and the guy got up and said exactly what the Rav told him to say, "Yankel-is not a thief?"

Once again yankel took him to beis din, and the rabbi said, what were you thinking? Yankel said, "I said what you told me to say, but you never told me what tune I should use."

Rabbi Holtzberg, the same way he was in Mumbai, that's the way he was in yeshiva.

When we went into yechidus we knew that the Rebbe could see right through us. Once I had a severe family problem, in the eighties. That year shemini atzeres was thursday, simchas torah was friday, shabbos bereishis was the next day. In years that simchas Torah was in the middle of the week, I came for shabbos bereishis. But this kvius I would come by shabbos noach.

My sister in law worked by a modern orthodox guy who could help us, and we went. He asked us if we had asked the Rebbe. I answered of course, but he didn't yet answer. The guy said, it makes sense to me that in the fifties the Rebbe knew everyone, but now, there's so many more people, it's not possible. I said, of course the Rebbe knows everybody! The guy said, so how come you, a Shliach in Texas, the Rebbe doesn't answer you? I got angry at him, but I was trying to be polite, I tried to explain that things take time, etc.

At that time, it was before beepers announced farbrengens, someone would go around telling everyone that there was a farbrengen. I ran there, leaving the modern orthodox guy, and even though I wasn't wearing a kapote like I normally would for a farbrengen I went there.I was thinking there, I was depressed, I didn't know what to say. The Rebbe started looking at me, and I thought he must be looking at someone else and I started looking around to see who it was. A mazkir said, no, it's you! The Rebbe pointed to me to say a lchaim, and I took a small cup. The Rebbe made a hand motion for a big cup of lchaim, and shouted across the room, "Shimon, stop being a moreh schorah!"

All my friends afterwords were very impressed, I got so embarassed, the Rebbe had caught me with my pants down!

This was already after the Rebbe had stopped sending letters, but the next day I got six lines directing me how to do everything, who tomeet, etc. I did everything, and called up the modern orthodox guy and told him what happened. He was very impressed, and he became closer to the Rebbe because of it.
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I went shlichus in Texas in 1972. In 1973 I heard from the president of the federation that Shazar is coming to speak in Mexico, and he's making a stopover in Houston because Air France didn't fly direct.

In every airport there's a VIP room for special people who have a stopover, and since I'm a Lubavitcher and Shazar has a connection to Lubavitch he wants to know if I should come. I immediately called up my supervisor, I was a young, I couldn't do whatever I want, and I asked Rabbi Chadokov what I should do. I heard a buzz on the line, that the Rebbe was on the phone, and Rabbi Chadokov asked me if I knew what the next day was. I said that the next day was gimmel tammuz, and the Rebbe had farbrenged in 1958 that Gimmel Tammuz was greater than
12 Tammuz, along with a whole explanation.

Rabbi Chadokov told me, go to the room tomorow and tell Shazar this, and bring a bottle of mashke.

I was told to come at 2:00, they started at 1:30, I came in at 2:00, the place was already full, and Shazar, sitting at the head of the table, put on his hat and stood up, stretched out his hands, and said, "A Lubavitcher yungerman!" Everyone else looked at me and thought, "Who is this schnook?" Shazar said, in Yiddish, "Who are you?" I said, my name is Shimon. "How's by the Rebbe?" Then he said to his guard "Lubavitch is everywhere, even on the moon!"

Again he asked me, "What does the Rebbe say?" I said that the Rebbe sent his regards, and that the Rebbe wanted me to tell him over what today is, gimmel tammuz. He got a little confused, said, "Yeah, in a week, it's 12 Tammuz." I told him the vort, Gimmel Tammuz is even higher!" He got very excited, and I started to poor mashke for everyone, but he motioned don't bother, just poor for me and you."

After it was all over Shazar asked my name again, and said, "On my way back from Mexico I'll go through New York, can you arrange a yechidus?" Who was I to arrange a yechidus, but eved Avraham anochi, I called up Rabbi Chadokov again, reported what happened.

6 or 7 Tammuz I got a phone call from Rabbi Klein, they arranged a yechidus, would you come to new York?" I of course said ok, and flew there and was in the yechidus the first ten minutes. The Rebbe said to shazar, this is the yungerman you met in Houston, Shimon Lazaroff. He's named after his grandfather who was rav in leningrad." Shazar said, "Alazaroff?" The Rebbe said, "No, he was in Charkov, this is Lazaroff from Leningrad."

That year shazer passed away, it was the last time he was by the Rebbe. I saw an article a little later that said that the Israeli consulate was very impressed, they had relayed to the Rebbe that shazar wanted to visit, and the Rebbe knew about it already!

This reminds me, when Shamir was a Mossad agent in Russia, he would come to report to the Rebbe, and the Rebbe knew everything already. He would say, "In Charkov I met a yellow guy, I don't remember his name-" the Rebbe would say, "chatzkel." Shamir would say, "Yeah, that's him." Then he would continue, and again the Rebbe would help him along. The Shluchim of the Rebbe kept him well informed, better than the mossad. l

Rainy Days

You know what rain does to the iPod Touch? Not good things. Here's a pre-made maamar instead, originally published on November 12, 2007, entitled Here's your religion. Enjoy.

All righty then, here's your daily religious dose. It's from a Maamar that was said by the Rebbe Rashab in 1898. Basically, the Yetzer Hora is not essentially bad. The reason we know this is because before the first sin (the one with the tree) man was created with two drives, one towards Chessed, kindness, and one towards Gevurah, strictness. Neither of these is necessarily bad. What happened with the sin was that Adam used too much Gevurah when he prohibited his wife Chavah from even touching the tree, therefore causing Gevurah to fall down much farther than Chessed. So the drive towards Gevurah became the drive towards sin. But even this is not a constant; after all, it is possible that a surfeit of love can cause bad. We can see this from the case of a child who cries for a knife. A person who gives it is doing it out of love, after all, the child is crying for it! Nevertheless, obviously it's a bad thing. So we can see that Gevurah is not necessarily bad, nor Chessed necessarily good. Just that normally from Gevurah comes bad. When Moshiach comes the truth will be revealed, that Gevurah is really good. Because remember, strictness is not bad.

Anyway, for a little humor, there was once a haberdasher who had a minister walk into his business. The clothes-seller was so honored that a minister should come to his store that he gave the guy a free suit. A week later the minister sent a bible as a thank you. A month later a priest came in, and the same thing, except that the priest sent a beautiful gold cross. A month later a Rabbi walks in, and the same thing happens. And the gift? A week after the Rabbi gets his suit, another Rabbi walks in.

OK, so it's cute. Deal with it.

There and back: A wet journey

Today's HaYom Yom, as graciously provided by Chabad.org, says the following:

Our teacher the Baal Shem Tov said: Every single thing one sees or hears is an instruction for his conduct in the service of G-d. This is the idea of avoda, service, to comprehend and discern in all things a way in which to serve G-d.

This idea was really brought home this morning when I came to my ride rendezvous location place twelve minutes early, and waited 27 minutes, and then found out my ride left three minutes before I arrived. Gee, thanks for telling me. Then I went to 770, and after praying the Shacharis services with joy and verve I took a nap on a bench for an hour while waiting for another ride. Note to self: Next time, don't sleep right next to where the congregational responses will be being responded-it's not conducive to sleeping.

So there I was, standing in the rain, and I find out that there's no room for me in the car. Gee, thanks for picking up your phone an hour and a half ago so I could have taken a train back to Morristown. At this point though, it wasn't even worth it, because by the time I'd have gotten to the Rabbinical College of America I would have missed shiur, which was the only reason to go. So instead I just trudged back to my dear sis's in the rain and went to sleep on a couch for three hours.

So what's the lesson I learned out of all of this in my service of the good G-d? I'm not sure if I have learned one yet. Sure, it was frustrating for about three minutes, but I got over it pretty quickly. There's more important things in life. Still though, I rather doubt that this is what I was supposed to learn today. Oh well, maybe I'll find out, maybe I won't.

To infinity, plus one!

Someone today asked me to publicize their father's Facebook page. I protested that I don't even have facebook. Besides, a quick Google search revealed that it didn't really exist. At least, I couldn't find it.

Just imagine that I had Facebook.

Scary thought, isn't it? I mean, I'd waste even more time online than I do now. I'd be involved in the insanity that is "friending". I'd look at pictures of my friends doing nothing. I'd-all right, enough of this. I can't take it anymore. I'll go sign up now.

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Meanwhile, in other news, it's time for another Haveil Havalim. Read and enjoy.

Dear TRS: A roaring success!

Once again, folks, you're privileged to read another fascinating edition of Dear TRS. How about a brief preface from today's Shulchan Oruch? So let's say you have a cow in a room, and there's a lion nail in the cow's back. There also happens to be a lion having a nap outside the room. Is the cow kosher? If the lion nail came from the lion, then the cow isn't kosher, it's a treifah. So what's the safek? Maybe the lion never went into the room. And even if it did, maybe it got a nail stick in the wall, and then the cow walked over to scratch it's back, and the nail got implanted in the cow, in which case the cow is still kosher. The Shulchan Oruch rules that the cow is kosher because it's a sfek sfekah.

The obvious question is, why? There would seem to only be one sfekah here, whether the lion put the nail in or not. Otherwise, how'd the nail get there if the lion never came in the room? (At this point in shiur I suggested aliens, but Rabbi Chaim Schapiro wasn't too taken with my answer). Another interesting factoid that emerged from today's shiur is that lions have poison in their claws! Who knew? It would also appear that even the Darchei Moshe (the Ramah) couldn't answer this question, so we're in good company.

The point of this was to demonstrate that I don't know all the answers (surprise, surprise) to all these genuine questions. On that note, here goes.

Dear Sir:

What is the purpose of the comment field on a blog?

sincerely,

170 comments on my shirt today :-)
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Dear anon:

To leave comments, of course.
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Dear Sir:
Why penguins? Why not parrots or some other exotic bird?

Sincerely,

Colorful Bochur
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Dear uniform-challenged young man:

Penguins can swim underwater (mikveh), and they wear tuxedos. Could there be a better role model for our youth?
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Dear Sir:

Which is faster, to New York or by train?

Sincerely,

Joseph Biden
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Dear foot-in-mouth:

I prefer aeroplanes, myself.
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Dear Sir:

Please rephrase the following sentence so that it doesn't end with a preposition:
Land is not worth risking your life for.

Sincerely,

The Almighty Editor (retired)
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Dear crotchety baldy:

How about, "Yes it is."?
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Dear Sir:

I am a crocodile. I stole a child. I told the father that I would give it back if the father could accurately answer the following question:

Will I (the crocodile) give back the child? The father guessed that I would not return the child. Now what should I do?

Crying crocodile tears, yours do I remain,

Mr. Croc
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Dear Mr. Croc:

Have you ever considered investing in 240,00 pairs of crocs, five dollars each, for sale outside of the United States of America? The proceeds would allow the father to buy a new child to replace the one you ate, and that child to buy a new father to replace the one you ate for dessert.
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Dear Sir:

How do you deal with a Big Meanie that is controlling your life and using your labor? Do you run away? Do you stop working? Do you confront them?

Thanks,

A simple slave
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Dear A Poshite Kabbalos Olnik:

Polish her floors (very early) in the morning, and when she wakes up she'll walk on them, slip, hit her head hard on the spotless floor, and have peculiar brain damage, such that she will lose her previous character and become a happy, healthy, contributing member of society once again.
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Dear Sir:

Is one allowed to dance around the bimah on Shabbos during the sefira?

Sincerely,

Permission to tango
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Dear Permission to engage in highly immoral activity:

What makes you think you can dance on any day of the year? This is the kind of leitzonus which is bringing the Jewish people into disrepute among the nations.
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Dear Sir:

If half of my French toast is runny and the other half is burnt, what changes in cooking should the cook implement?

Sincerely,

Butter side up
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Dear Butter side up:

Have you ever considered coming to the Rabbinical College of America, where Dovid Solomon makes a decent french toast every week?
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Dear Sir:

Is one allowed to eat a pas Yisroel cookie shaped like Harry Potter?

Sincerely,

Concerned Hogwarts parent
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Dear Vernon Dursley:

Is it yoshon?
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Dear Sir:

Why are literal penguins forbidden to bring into the zoos where figurative penguins (i.e. bochurim) have their habitats?

Sincerely,

Conservationist
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Dear tree-hugging liberal:

The bochurim's guano might prove too much for the penguins.
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Dear Sir:

If the measure of a philosopher is the quality of his hamburgers, what about vegetarian philosophers? Or philosophers who prefer hot dogs?

Sincerely,

Hugh Akston's Brother in law
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Dear One of the last great advocates of reason:

Well, what about vegetarian philosophers? Is nisht kein stirah!
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Dear Sir:

Why isn't a fish a cow?

Sincerely,

The other 4
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Dear plus 1:

Because if it was, all hell would break loose.
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Caveat enterers!

This past Yud Shvat I made a hachlata (as prompted by my mashpia) to refrain from any sort of untznius posting. Thus far I have stayed on the straight and narrow, but tonight that all comes to an end, because tonight it's time for Klalei Sfeik Sfeikah 2-9! I can tell you're all wildly excited. That's right folks. We're in for a fabulous evening's apocalypse, complete with omelets for everybody!

A warning for those readers of ours who are in possession of a youthful persuasion: the Sifsei Kohen does get a little, shall we say, "explicit", so if you're reading this (aren't you up past your bedtime anyway?) and not of the age of majority then you might wish to reconsider.

All right, on with the show!

A sfek sfekah is when there are two sfekos, two doubts regarding something. One of the classic cases regards a man who comes to his local orthodox beis din and declares, "My wife has had relations with a man other than me!" Upon finding this to be true, does the beis din immediately take her out to killing fields? Of course not.

Who said she had these relations when she was married? And even if she did have them while in a state of marriage, maybe she was raped? This is a case of sfek sfekah, because neither condition is dependent on the other. Even if she wasn't raped (i.e. it was consensual), who says it happened after she was married?

Another classic case of sfek sfekah is when there is a kosher hen and a possibly-kosher hen with one egg among them. (A possibly-kosher hen is one that might be a treifah). The question is, of course, is the egg kosher?

The first safek is that the egg might have come from the kosher hen; even if it didn't, who says that the other chicken isn't in fact kosher?

The question is, since one of the sfekos is on a d'oraisa, why don't we say sfeka d'oraisa l'chumrah? In English, since there's a possible Torah prohibition (if the bird is in fact not kosher), why don't we follow the dictum that whenever there's a possible Torah prohibition we rule stringently?

We answer that in this case, when we look at the egg (whose status we're examining), we find that after the first safek we can assume that the egg is from the kosher chicken. And even if it's not, maybe the other chicken is really kosher anyway?

The same principle can be found in a case where some blood is found on a sheet following marital cord (the opposite of discord, right?). Actually, if I recall correctly, the loshon in the Shach is that a husband and wife were doing there thing.

Once again, there are two sfekos here. Who says the blood is from the woman? Maybe the guy was scratched?And even if the blood is of female origin, who says it's prohibited niddah blood (from the womb)? Perhaps it's from one of the corridors?

By the way, why is a woman every a niddah? After all, it's a always a safek! Well yes, that's true, but it's safek d'oraisa l'chumra. Regardless, in the above case, we can say the same thing as the chickens. We start with the the assumption that there's no problem, that the blood came from the hubbie. And even if it didn't, maybe it was non-niddah blood.

So how about if a possibly-treif chicken gets mixed up with a bunch of kosher chickens? Is there a sfek sfekah, because who says you've got that chicken, and even if this is it, who says it's treif anyway?

Actually, we rule that there is no sfek sfekah here. The reason is that we there are two different sfekos here, one in the body of the chicken itself (whether it itself is treif or not) and one in the mixture (whether you've got the possibly-treif one or not). This is called safek echad b'guf v'safek echad b'taaruvos, and it's not a sfek sfekah. A true sfek sfekah always is on one body, for example one egg, or one woman.

The mateh binyamin does permit this chicken, in fact, in a case where the safek was only recognized later, for example where the chicken's being a safek treifah was only revealed after it had been mixed up. The Shach rules that we can rely on this heter in a case of hefsed merubah (large financial loss) or else when the food is needed for a seudas mitzvah.

How about one last bonus case? It's called "tolin" and it only applies in a public domain.

What if there's two paths and one of those paths has a dead body buried underneath it. Problem is, we don't know which path it is. If someone walks on either of those paths he doesn't become tameh because he can always say that the other path is the impure one.

And what if two people walk on those paths? If they come before a rabbi separately, then they are both pure, because both can say that the other guy is the impure one. However, if they come together, then they're both impure, because one of them is certainly impure, and the safek is only which one it is. Since we say safek d'oraisa l'chumra, they're both impure.

Well, that was fun, I sure hope you all enjoyed it.

Pinnie the Pooh-by M. M. Farmilnt

Pinnie the Pooh said to his friend Seymour, "Hey, Seymour, what's going on?" Seymour groaned and said, "Life is terrible. If you were a sheep you'd know life was terrible. But no, you're a Pooh, so you think life is good." Pinnie the Pooh was disconcerted for a moment, but then he thought of a sure way to cheer his friend. "Hey Seymour!" said Pinnie the Pooh, "do you want some of my delicious pot of cholent? Yum Yum!"

At that moment little Goatlet bounded onto the scene and squealed, "Oh boy, cholent!" Cower (the cow) bounced in at this point and proceeded to upset the pot of cholent all over Seymour. Goatlet wasn't very happy at this turn of events, and Seymour said, "See, I knew this wouldn't turn out well."

Chezky ambled by and cleaned up the mess that had been made. He admonished Cower for making such a tumult, and brought them all inside to have their teeth be brushed and say shema in preparation for bed.

(And that's exactly where I'm going!)

Kol haposel

You all ready for some shulchan oruch I learned today? Excellent. This is in no way intended to replace a thoroughly competent orthodox rabbinical figure, and anyone who paskens from here deserved whatever happens to them.

The mechaber writes, in siman 110 Halacha 7, concerning any mixture of kosher food and food that is not able to be nullified, for example a live animal, an insect, a piece of meat worthy of being served for a guest, or a forbidden item that will in the future be permitted. If one of these non-Kosher foods is mixed up (not cooked) with a similar kosher food then the entire mixture is forbidden because it's impossible to know what is kosher and what is not kosher. If, however, one of the pieces of the mixture is lost forever, for example it's eaten by someone accidentally, then the remainder may be eaten, provided that double the amount of original forbidden food is consumed each time consumption occurs.

For example, if someone has ten kosher steaks and a tenth non-kosher steak gets mixed up among them, and then one of the steaks is accidentally eaten, then a person could eat two steaks at a time, no problem. Why two? Because then there's always at least biblical permission to eat the one (potential) non-Kosher steak. If there's only one then at some point you'll definitely be eating treif, and of course it's forbidden to eat treif. The same reasoning would apply if three treif pieces originally fell into the pot; you'd have to eat six pieces every time, in order to make certain of the biblically-mandated majority kosher meat.

The Taz (ches) asks why the Mechaber allows the remainder of the previously-forbidden mixture to be eaten. It's because we consider the missing piece to have been the forbidden piece. The question then arises, why didn't the rabbis forbid this mixture, because we should be scared that someone will then intentionally eat one piece in order to permit the remaining pieces.

The reason the rabbis didn't forbid this is because what this person would in effect be doing is eating a piece of treif meat (remember, that's what we consider the missing piece to be) in order to make the rest of the meat kosher. But if he cares about the rest of the meat being kosher, then he's not going to eat the treif! And if he doesn't care, then he's going to eat it anyway! So either way, you're fine.

The Taz says, this can't be right. Of course no Torah-observing Jew is going to eat treif, but who's to say he won't get rid of it somehow else, like by giving it to a non-Jew or dog, or by throwing it into the sea? Therefore the Taz says that we do in fact prohibit the entire mixture, even if a piece is accidentally lost.

The house

You will recall (for so have I commanded) that last week one of my posts referenced the next great American novel, or something very much like it. Well, here it is. As the Magratheans would have it, "We are not proud".
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Chapter One:

I was helping my father, the Rabbi, put his sefarim on the bookshelf when the blue minivan pulled up in the driveway for the first time. My father was tall, with a long, black beard, hints if orange in odd places, and prematurely graying hair. I was seven years old, the firstborn, a regular-looking boy, with my mother's eyes and my father's nose.

The doorbell rang, and my father, embarrassed as always, let my mother answer it. She walked into the living room from the kitchen with a slight frown on her face. "Oh, thank you," she said, "how very kind." It was a homemade apple pie, presented by a woman, a year or two older than my mother. My mother didn't yet know how to say that she couldn't take the pie, it wasn't kosher, her family only ate kosher-thoughts tumbled through her head, and she raced to respond appropriately.

"My name is Mrs. Simons," said the woman at the door, "welcome to the neighborhood." My mother didn't yet even know how to respond to this midwestern friendliness, and she hadn't even had time to think of something to do with the pie resting in her hands. Helplessly, she invited Mrs. Simons into the house, directing her past my father and I putting books on the shelves and into the kitchen.

My mother put the pie down and offered her guest a drink. "I'm sorry we only have water and iced tea," my mother said, taking a jug out of the nearly empty fridge, "we've only just moved in." Mrs. Simons replied, "That's no problem."

I heard this exchange from the living room and wondered if I should get a glass of iced tea myself. My father had stopped putting sefarim on the shelves because he had found one that was interesting. Later that night he would read it aloud to us around the dinner table, translating the Hebrew words into English for my mother. In any case she was too preoccupied with my younger siblings to pay much attention to what my father was reading. I would listen though, not understanding everything, but feeling a bit of the awe my father felt for the words contained in the book. This was no ordinary book, it was a transcription of a farbrengen, words written down by wise men, guided by the divine and the expectations of the many.

Years later, when I too could read these farbrengens, I felt a bit of the awe my father felt. But it would never be the same. He had been by the Rebbe when these words had been spoken; actually, I had also been there sometimes, but I was too young to remember anything that had been said.

When I was in high school, writing short stories for my own enjoyment, I never wrote of the Rebbe or his farbrengens. They were holy, above fiction. There were so many stories told about him, and they all professed to be true. No one was brave enough to mention him, even in passing, without at least claiming to be true. Of course, not all the stories could be true-only a fool would believe them all, but at the same time, they could have happened.

To put this man of truth in fiction, a lie? To knowingly say or write that he did what he did not? Leave that for historians, who neither know nor care. For us the pain was too great, the knowledge too dear.

My stories instead featured a boy named Joshua who challenged all the belief's his author held. I didn't realize it at the time, but the stories were cries for what I could not allow myself to have. I wrote of a youth in turns cynical, sarcastic, and above all humorous; I strived for all three, but only managed to produce what I was, a confused mess of ideas, tangled beliefs, and teenage humor.

Laughing at jokes I could not comprehend and making light of elders who comprehended too much. Pretension I hated above all, yet no matter how hard I fought to keep it out of my stories it came through in great chunks, with little spaces in between for my laugh at society and its moors.

[the end]