I heard the following story just recently.
It was after the war. Like many other people, Efraim Greenfeld and Yechiel Weinberger had no one left. The two young men, barely out of their teens found comfort in their friendship. When the authorities who ran the DP (displaced persons) camp that they called home after they were released from Auschwitz made an announcement. They told them that it was now possible to fill out forms requesting I and migration to Canada, and that there was a good chance at being accepted. They wasted no time. When the responses came in, they found out that only one of them was given a positive reply. Efraim Greenfeld was presented with travel documents, a visa and instructions as to how to find the Jewish organization that sponsored him. Yechiel was turned down. He had typhus, and the government of Canada had no interest in taking in a person who would inevitably just be a drain on their economy. He was distraught. He saw time and life as an endless expanse, peopled by Others, people who had friends, family, and a future. When the day came to escort Efraim to the dock, he couldn’t hold back the stream of words and tears that had become one in a pain laden attempt at saying goodbye. “We will never see each other again”, he said again and again, “I have no one” There was nothing Efraim could say. It was very possibly true; Yechiel’s name was on the Bad List. He was marked off as an unwanted remnant of a war no one wanted to think about too deeply. Instead of speaking, he went to his vest pocket, and quietly handed Yechiel h is travel documents, tickets, and address book. “From now on, your name is Efraim Greenfeld. No one will ever know the difference”
It worked.
Years later, Efriam Greenfeld, who was known by everyone he had met since that fateful afternoon as Yechiel Weinberger, began to ask himself some questions. He decided to address the questions to the Rebbe of Vizhnitz in Monsey. He told him the story and asked, “should I change my name back to Efraim Greenfeld. Efraim is the name I was given at my bris. Greenfeld is the name my family carried. It will take some effort, (I imagine that he meant with all of the formal and legal issues involved in changing your name), but if it’s right, that’s what I’ll do”.
The Rebbe’s answer was succinct, and passionate. “Don’t change it. Whenever anyone calls you by the name you used to save a life, Hashem hears it as defense of the Jewish people. You have no idea of what you may be achieving”.
You may be wondering what this story has to do with you.
You have made all sorts of choices. Some are dramatic and some aren’t. The yetzer ha ra will devalue the choices that you made. He won’t let you see that your existence here on the planet called earth may be so significant that it would justify not only your existence, but the existence of all of may those you touch. The yetzer hara will demand drama. He will also demoralize you by making you “forget” the moments of meaning.
This week’s parshah or more correctly, one of this week’s parshiot (there are two), is kedoshim. It begins by Hashem telling us that we can be holy. It also tells you why you can be holy. The text tells you that the reason is, Because He is.
You are in His image.
The parshah continues with one perek (16) listing many of the interpersonal mitzvot. One of the observations that you may find meaningful is one that Maharal made in Netivot Olam, his chapter on loving your neighbor. The most available way to “learn” Hashem is by seeing His image through the prism of loving your friends, seeing their greatness
And perhaps seeing your own while you’re at it.
