Shabbos Parahas Noach was designated by Rabbi Warren Goldstein, chief rabbi of South Africa, and many other rabbis as a Shabbos of outreach, involvement, and commitment. In preparation for that special Shabbos a couple of weeks ago, women gathered on Thursday night to bake challahs. I was asked to give a short message for the occasion. I did so via video, relating my memories of Shabbos in Bergen Belsen – my memories of the challah that lasted years, the challah we managed to package and take with us. How did we carry it? Why wasn’t it confiscated? We had a special hiding place where no one could detect it. That hiding place was in the crevices of our hearts. It kept us going. It told us that we were the angels of Shabbos, nourished on royal food – on the challah in our hearts.
Years have passed and, baruch Hashem, we Jews now live in freedom. Here in the golden land of America we have the opportunity to truly observe Shabbos, with elaborate dinners, magnificent candelabras, and challahs baked with the finest ingredients. Paradoxically, though, our children do not know they are angels of Shabbos. Their hearts are empty. No one told them that challah is hidden in the crevices of their hearts or that their eyes sparkle with Shabbos lights or that they are angels of Shabbos. Somewhere, someplace, somehow, we lost the kedushah.
My saintly mother, Rebbetzin Miriam Jungreis, a”h, who baked the most scrumptious challah, was often asked for the ingredients that made her challah so special. My mother happily shared it. My father, however, would smile and tell us Mommy left out one basic ingredient and that her challah would never be the same if someone else baked it – her total love of Hashem, her total faith and commitment. That was the secret ingredient that made Mama’s challah so special and made her dough rise higher and higher.
May I suggest, dear readers, that you take your fresh baked challah and knock on the door of your neighbors – neighbors who’ve never tasted homemade challah – and say to them, “I baked this just for you.” And invite them to your house for a Shabbos seudah. Do the same at your office. Reach out to your co-workers who’ve never experienced a true Shabbos. You can change the world by inspiring our brothers and sisters to kindle those lights, to partake of that challah, and to become angels of Shabbos.
The days of the week in the holy tongue have no names; rather, they are all numbers. Sunday is Yom Rishon, the first day. Monday is Yom Sheni, the second day, and so on. The only day of the week designated with a name is Shabbos. And it is Shabbos that lends meaning to our lives.
We the Jewish people work the entire week so that we may have a beautiful Shabbos. We don’t rest so that we can work more efficiently or make more money or be better athletes. Moreover, Shabbos is not a day we take offbut it is a day we are on.
It is written that if all the Jewish people would observe just one Shabbos we could bring Mashiach and an end to our suffering, our exile.
When my family came to America following the Holocaust, I was a mere teenager but was appalled at the desecration of Shabbos in my newly adopted country. I was, however, buoyed by the idea if we could get our people to keep just one Shabbos it could change the world and bring the Messiah. It would be so simple, I reasoned. Surely everyone would listen. I ran to my Tatty with my plan.
