Parshas Tzav (Shabbos HaGadol) 5786
- Torah Tavlin
- 4 days ago
- 3 min read
אש תמיד תוקד על המזבח לא תכבה ... (ו-ו)
Parshas Tzav begins with a command that a constant fire must burn upon the Mizbeach and may not be extinguished. This teaches us that not only is there a technical requirement to keep the fire going, but also that even when the camp traveled, the flame of the korban olah remained lit and was always carried with them. In other words, the korban olah represents a steady, unwavering commitment - an Aish Tamid - that accompanies a Jew wherever life takes them. This week is also Shabbos HaGadol, when our ancestors in Mitzrayim publicly set aside the Korban Pesach and took their first courageous step toward redemption. These two ideas connect. The inner constancy symbolized by the olah and the public courage of Shabbos HaGadol together remind us that both quiet dedication and bold action are essential parts of our journey toward geulah.
A number of years ago, in the quiet hum of a kosher restaurant in Southern Florida, Rabbi Ephraim Eliyahu sat with his wife and daughter when the atmosphere of the dining room was suddenly shattered by a harsh commotion. Four young women, visitors from a foreign country, were relentlessly lambasting their waiter. They shouted over trivialities - the temperature of their drinks and the quality of the cheese. Their words were sharp, public, and demeaning, aimed at a young man in his early twenties who stood defenseless against the verbal onslaught. The waiter, a man by the name of Shoam, stood paralyzed. He didn’t fight back; he didn’t offer a sharp retort. Instead, he absorbed the humiliation in silence.
Rabbi Eliyahu watched the scene with a mix of indignation and hesitation. He felt he should intervene, perhaps even ask the women to leave the establishment for their reprehensible behavior, but he found himself frozen in place. It was his wife who broke the spell. She reminded him of the words of Chazal that when a person is publicly shamed and chooses to suffer his humiliation in silence, they are granted a rare and potent spiritual power to bestow a beracha upon others.
“Call the waiter over,” she urged her husband. “Ask him for a beracha.”
Reluctant but trusting, the Rabbi called Shoam to their table. He asked the young man his name and his age. Shoam, still reeling from the public lashing, looked at the Rabbi with confusion, wondering if this was just another part of the joke. “I am a Rabbi in this community,” he said with absolute sincerity. “You were just humiliated, and you stayed silent. You have the power to give a blessing right now, and I want one for my family.” Moved by this sudden pivot from cruelty to profound respect, Shoam mumbled a blessing of sorts, but as he walked away, the tears he had been holding back finally came crashing down.
Five minutes later, Shoam returned to the table, his face transformed. He asked to speak with the Rabbi and shared a story that had been buried for nearly two decades. Shoam had been raised religious (dati) in Israel, studying Mishnayos with his father. But the connection began to fray. By twelve, he had drifted away. By seventeen, he had left Israel for America, entirely disconnected from his heritage. He was living a completely secular life. He married a non-religious woman from Argentina and they were building a life in North Miami Beach, far removed from the world of the yeshivah.
“Rabbi,” Shoam said, his voice thick with emotion, “it has been sixteen years since I felt I had any relationship with my family or my faith. But if you could care about me - a total stranger, a mere waiter in a small food establishment - and if you believe that I have the power to give a blessing, then I am ready to come back into the fold. I am ready to be religious again.”
The rabbi and his family were shocked at first, and then delighted with his decision. The recognition of Shoam’s inherent kedusha even in his moment of lowest humiliation was the spark. Shoam began the journey of becoming a real baal teshuva.
Rabbi Eliyahu helped him find a study partner to begin learning Torah again. Over the next few years, the transformation was total. Shoam’s non-religious wife joined him on this path of return. They traveled to Israel to reaffirm their marriage in a religious ceremony. A year later, Shoam called Rabbi Eliyahu to invite him to the bris of his newborn son.
Today, Shoam and his wife are among the most dedicated members of their community in North Miami Beach. They are true pillars of faith, all because a stranger chose to see the power of his soul instead of the stains on his apron.