הֲ רֵ י אָ נוּ וּבָ נֵ ינוּ וּבְ נֵ י בָ נֵ ינוּ מְ שֻ עְ בָ דִ ים הָ יִ ינוּ לְ פַ רְ עֹה בְ מִ צְ רָ יִ ם
We, our children and our children’s children would have remained enslaved to Pharaoh in Egypt
Chief Rabbi of South Africa, Rabbi Warren Goldstein, came up with a wonderful idea: Sinai Indaba. Indaba is a South African word meaning, “Conference for important matters.” Gathering speakers from around the world, the annual Sinai Indaba held in South Africa serves as a forum for topics of great importance to be addressed.
In 2013, Rabbi Goldstein called me and said, “Rabbi Krohn, would you be able to come to South Africa? We are gathering thousands of Jews together in three locations – Johannesburg, Cape Town and Durban – and bringing in speakers from all around the world. We would like you to speak to four-thousand Jews on Saturday night along with three other speakers. On Sunday, there will be sessions continuing all day and another four speakers addressing the audience on Sunday night.” Hearing of such a wonderful idea, I said that I would be honored to attend. “But, if I may ask,” I continued, “could you tell me who the other speakers are?”
As soon as I asked this question, Rabbi Goldstein immediately took to it. “I actually wanted to speak to you about that. One of the other speakers is Rabbi Berel Wein. He and I have together written a book about Lithuanian Jewry called “The Legacy,” and were actually looking to publicly speak about it. Do you think you would be able to mediate an interview at the four o’clock session on Sunday?” “Of course,” I said, “it will be my pleasure.”
Arriving in South Africa a few days before the Sinai Indaba, I spoke on one of the South African Jewish radio stations. As I was just about finishing and getting ready to leave, in walked Rabbi Wein. “Oh Rabbi Wein,” I said, “it is so nice to see you. I am planning on interviewing you and Rabbi Goldstein on Sunday about your new book. Do you want to tell me what questions I should ask you?” “No, it is okay,” Rabbi Wein replied, “whatever you would like to ask will be fine.”
It was now Sunday afternoon. With every session starting and ending punctiliously on time and lasting forty minutes, as four o’clock arrived we began. After asking numerous questions, I was left with five minutes. Having one particular question in mind, I knew that now would be my last opportunity to ask. Turning to Rabbi Wein, I said, “Can I ask you a question which has been bothering me for forty years?” Rabbi Wein looked up at me. “Forty years? Please, go ahead.”
“Rabbi Wein,” I began to say, “do you remember how forty years ago you were the Rabbi in a big Shul in Miami? One Chol Hamoed Pesach you called me and asked if I could perform a brit for someone in the Miami community during the last two days of Pesach. Replying that I would be very happy to do so, I came to Miami to perform the brit and spend the last few days of Yom Tov with you and your family.
As Yom Tov drew to a close and we were just about to daven Maariv in your Shul, I began looking around the room and noticed something very interesting. You were the only man in Miami without a suntan. I then starting thinking to myself, “It is amazing that you never leave your house to go outside. You are always writing, teaching, making CDs, videos, newsletters and books. You have produced in forty years more than companies have produced. It is unimaginable that one person could do so much! Don’t you ever get tired?”
As I asked this question, Rabbi Wein grew very serious and said, “Let me tell you a story that happened to me when I was a child.”
It was 1946 and I was an eleven-year old boy growing up in Chicago. One day my father told me that we are going to the airport because a big tzaddik, Rav Isaac HaLevi Herzog, is coming to Chicago and will be addressing all the rabbis and yeshiva boys. As we all came to the airport, Rav Herzog arrived. We then proceeded to the Synagogue where Rav Herzog lectured to all the Rabbis. And then, after the lecture, he said, “Now I want to speak to all of you, especially the young boys.”
“I just returned from visiting Pope Pius in Rome. The purpose of my meeting with him was to discuss the names of ten thousand Jewish boys and girls who have been indoctrinated and baptized into the Christian belief. “Give me back these children!” I said to him, “they are ours! They survived the war and you have taken them away from us.”
But the Pope would not hear of it. “I am not going to give you back even one child. We have a rule that if any child has been baptized he cannot be given back to any other religion. All these ten thousand children have been baptized.”
Despite begging and pleading with the Pope, it was all in vain. He would not give me back even one Jewish boy or girl.
As Rabbi Herzog was relating this disheartening news to us, he put his head down on the podium and wept hysterically. And then he picked up his head and with his face red like a lion screamed, “I can’t do anything for those ten thousand kids anymore! But what are you going to do for the future children of Klal Yisrael? Are you going to remember what I said? You are the ones who are going to save the future Jewish children of our nation!”
And then he stopped.
As everybody afterwards passed Rabbi Herzog to shake his hand, when my turn arrived, he stopped and looked me straight in the face. “Are you going to remember what I said? What are you going to do for the future children of Klal Yisrael?”
And then Rabbi Wein concluded answering my question. “I am able to accomplish so much because every time I get tired, every time I want to put down my pen, every time I want to put my head on my pillow, I am haunted by those words: what are you going to do for the children of Klal Yisrael?”
That is the question each of us must ask ourselves tonight.
