Rabbi Heller's Blog

Sorry for the broken link- Shabbat Shalom for Thanksgiving weekend is at https://www.bnaitorah.org/rabbi-heller-blog?post_id=1478887

Eleh Toldot Yitzchak Ben Avraham- Avraham Holid et Yitzchak. “These are the generations of Isaac. Abraham begat Isaac.” The words that begin our portion this week resonate for me in a deep way at this moment. The portion tells us that Isaac’s journey to parenthood can only be seen in the context of his father’s struggles, and the legacy that his son will carry forward. 

We are living in a historic moment. Current events in Israel and for Jews around the world are-- and should be-- a major focus of our thoughts and efforts. I am proud that we had dozens of members of our congregation marching in Washington, DC. But historic moments are historic not just on their own, but because they are part of a flow from past to present to future.

This week I almost had the feeling of stepping out of the flow of time, or perhaps being carried forward by a much mightier stream. I was in Los Angeles helping to train new Mohels who will be performing the sacred rite of brit milah in communities in the USA, Canada and Brazil (don’t worry, my expertise is in the non-knife parts). I was disappointed not to be able to join 300,000 people speaking up at this very moment, but I had been called upon to replace a revered mentor now living in Israel and could not refuse. I recognized that I was perpetuating a legacy of covenant that traces back over 3,000 years and helping ensure that it would carry forward to the next generation.

While there, I heard the news of the passing of another of my most revered teachers, Dr. Israel Francus. Though diminutive in stature, his personality was larger than life. He could be acerbic and he would save his sharpest barbs for the sharpest students. I got my first taste of this in my rabbinical school interview. He rarely sat on interview committees, but they put him on mine. I had mentioned that I had been studying tractate Megillah in the Talmud, so his one interview question was on the interpretation of a very deep but obscure point from a commentary on one of the pages in the middle of the tractate.

My last taste came almost a decade ago. I gave a Rosh Hashanah sermon talking about how sometimes our experience of God comes through challenging experiences and moments of fear, not just moments of love. Shortly thereafter, I received an envelope from him. It contained a copy of the sermon with extensive commentary in the margins challenging and expanding upon my homiletic analysis. He added a lengthy personal note that alternately denied and exulted in my reflections on his character as a teacher. It included the message: “I hope that the fear that I so successfully instilled in my students extended to the fear of G-d for the rest of life.” While his handwritten comments were wry, their length alone clearly reflected the deep affection and care that he in fact had for each of his students.

His style of abrasive teaching is no longer en vogue. I was sitting with the physicians who we were training to be Mohalim, and some of them reflected on experiences of harshness in their own medical education and whether it had a positive or negative effect on their development as healers. At this moment I can only speak to what I learned and what I continue to learn, even now.

Dr. Francus was born in 1926 and he was a promising scholar until his studies in Yeshiva were disrupted by the Holocaust. He was the only member of his family to survive. He had found his way to the U.S and was working odd jobs, when a JTS scholar stumbled upon him, discovered that he was a Talmudic genius and brought him JTS. First to earn the undergraduate, then graduate and rabbinic degrees corresponding to the knowledge that he already had, and ultimately to serve on the faculty for over 50 years.

Dr. Francus rarely spoke of his experiences during the war. In 1996, during our year of study in Jerusalem, one of our classmates and his fiancée were murdered by a Hamas bomber. There is a picture of Dr. Francus at their funeral with the letters of his concentration camp tattoo just barely exposed as he raised his arm to lift a shovelful of earth. He saw the destruction of teachers and gifted colleagues in Yeshiva who had been murdered for being Jewish. I wonder what he was thinking as he saw the brightest of another generation cut down for the same reason. His remains are currently on his way to burial in Israel, where several of his grandchildren serve in the IDF trying to prevent that same murder from happening again in yet another generation.

The 97 years of his life bridged colossal chapters of both world and Jewish history. He was a link between a past that is no longer, and a future that is not yet. What remained constant were the sacred traditions and wisdom that he transmitted. I could not have taught the class that I taught this week without the textual skills from several great mentors, of whom he was one. But the greatest lesson I learned from him was not one of text. He taught me that the harshness of life, moments of challenge and even fear, are sometimes powerful educators, giving us insights that cannot be gained in any other way. At eight days, a Jewish boy’s very first mitzvah comes with at least a pinch of pain, even if it is quickly drowned in sweet Manischewitz. We cannot become our full selves-- our best selves-- as individuals, as a community, as a nation, without moments of challenge and fear. We survive those moments by knowing that they are indeed a link to a much broader history full of meaning, wisdom, and even love.