05 Sep ROSH HASHANA – NITZAVIM/VAYELECH THE WORLD IS NOT DEAF TO YOUR PRAYERS HOW THE RABBI CONVINCED SIMON WIESENTHAL TO PRAY

How Can He Be
So Insensitive?
The Haftarah for
the first day of Rosh
Hashanah tells the
story of Chanah, the
mother of the prophet Samuel. Chanah, the
childless wife of Elkanah, came to Shiloh
(where the Sanctuary stood before King
Solomon built the Holy Temple in
Jerusalem) to pray for a child.
Chanah’s soul was pained. She prayed to
G-d, weeping profusely. And she vowed a
vow and said: “O Lord of hosts… If You
will give Your maidservant a child, I shall
dedicate him to G-d all the days of his
life…”
Eli, the High Priest at Shiloh, watched as
she prayed profusely before G-d. She spoke
with her heart, the prophet relates. Only her
lips moved; her voice was not heard. Eli
thought her to be a drunkard. He says to
her: “How long shall you be drunken! Put
away your wine and sober up!”
Chanah replies: “No, my master, I am a
woman whose spirit is in pain. I have drunk
neither wine nor any other alcohol. Rather,
I have poured out my soul before G-d; do
not think of me as inappropriate…”
Eli blesses her that G-d should grant her
request. That year, indeed, Chanah gave
birth to a son, whom she named Shmuel
(which means “asked from G-d”). After
weaning him, she fulfilled her vow to
dedicate him to the service of G-d by
bringing him to Shiloh, where he was raised
by Eli and the priests. Shmuel grew up to
become one of the greatest prophets of
Israel.
The story seems senseless.
The pain of a woman who craves a child
and cannot fulfill her dream is profound
beyond words. (Rachel tells Jacob, “If I
can’t have a child, I am considered dead.”)
Yet in this story, a woman comes to the
sanctuary to plead with G-d for a child, and
the High Priest of Israel—the Kohen Gadol,
considered the spiritual master of the age—
considers her a drunkard, demanding from
her to go sober up, join AA, and then come
back and pray? Could the spiritual leader of
Israel at the time not distinguish between a
plastered drunkard and a sincere
worshipper? How callous, clueless, and
insensitive can one be? Just because she is
whispering her prayers in silence, and she
seems deeply disturbed, does it mean she is
inebriated?

The Drunk Cries and Laughs
One of the most illustrious Rabbis of the
19th century, Rabbi Moshe Sofer, known as
the Chasam Sofer, offers this insight.
Eli was not heartless. Rather, he was
struck by an enigma. He saw a woman who
on one hand seemed broken-hearted,
devastated, and grief-stricken. But when he
looked again, he saw simultaneously a
person projecting serenity, confidence, joy,
and inner calmness. How can both emotions
coexist in the same person at the same time?
They can’t unless he or she is… smashed!
We have all seen people plastered: They cry
one moment; then break out in laughter the
next. They are unpredictable, inconsistent,
and erratic. They love you and then a
moment later hate you. They hug you and
then they curse you. They kiss you and they
smite you. They are happy, and they are
sad. They are unbalanced physically,
verbally, and mentally. (Those of us who
grew up in homes with alcoholics know the
pain and fear of living with someone who is
completely unpredictable. His or her
kindness in one moment can turn into
unbridled rage the next). Eli thus presumed
that Chanah must be inebriated. That’s why
she can cry and laugh at the same time.
Chanah understands his thinking. Listen to
her words to him: And Hannah answered
and said: No, my master, I am a woman of
sorrowful spirit, and neither new wine nor
old wine have I drunk; rather I poured out
my soul before G-d.
Chanah is explaining to Eli who she is.
She is broken. She is scarred. She carries a
deep pain in her soul. She wants a child, and
she can’t have one. Her life is tinged by
sadness and she can’t deny that. How then
can she be full of vitality and be filled with
an inner serenity and majesty? For this, she
continues: “I poured out my soul before
G-d.” I have a G-d to speak to, so my
brokenness and sadness are tempered by a
sense of calmness and grandeur. Chanah is
both bruised and whole; she is full of
anguish but also full of rapture. She feels
dejected but also embraced. She is scared
but she is also a whole. Not because she is
drunk, but because she has a G-d whom she
can speak to openly, intimately, to whom
she can—in her words— “pour out her
soul.”
She says to Eli: I am been talking to G-d.
Will he answer my prayers? I hope so. But
the very fact that I am able to come and talk
to G-d, gives me a measure of peace. The
fact that I feel I am not alone, someone is
holding my hand, as I tread the rough terrain

of this planet, someone is
listening to me, someone cares to
know how I am feeling—that
itself provides me with a sense of
calmness.
That’s what we learn from
Chanah. I can pour out my heart
and my soul to G-d. I can just talk
to G-d without a script, knowing
that the universe is not deaf to my
plight and my anguish. I do not
know what He will do about my
conversation, but I can reach out and talk to
Him heart to heart.
As one person wrote: G-d does not have an
iPhone, but He is my favorite contact. He
does not have Facebook, but He is my best
friend. He does not have Twitter, but I
follow him nonetheless. He has a massive
communication system, but never puts me
on hold.
And note this fact: Chanah did not follow
“shul” protocol. “She spoke what is on her
heart,” the story says. She does her own
thing. The prayer book may be the
facilitator, but the essence of prayer is the
personal, intimate, heart-to-heart bonding
time with our Creator.
The Sidur in the Camps
Simon Wiesenthal (1908 – 2005) was an
Austrian Holocaust survivor who spent four
and a half years in the German concentration
camps such as Janowska, Plaszow, and
Mauthausen.
After the war, he became famous for his
work as a Nazi hunter. Wiesenthal dedicated
most of his life to tracking down and
gathering information on fugitive Nazis so
that they could be brought to justice.
At a conference of European Rabbis in
Bratislava, Slovakia the Rabbis presented
the 91-year-old Simon Wiesenthal with an
award, and Mr. Wiesenthal visibly moved,
told the Rabbis the following encounter that
he had with Rabbi Eliezer Silver.
Rabbi Eliezer Silver (1882 – 1968) was
among American Jewry’s foremost
religious leaders, and most noted for
spearheading efforts in rescuing as many
Jews as possible from Europe. He raised
funds, requested exemptions on immigration
quotas, offered to ransom concentration
camp prisoners for cash and tractors – talks
that freed hundreds from Bergen-Belsen
and other death camps—and organized
rallies in Washington. After the war, he
traveled to Europe and worked tirelessly on
the ground to assist his brethren.

It was in Mauthausen after liberation that
Simon Wiesenthal was visited by Rabbi
Silver when he had come to help and
comfort the survivors. Rabbi Silver had
organized a special prayer service and he
invited Wiesenthal to join the other
survivors in praying. Mr. Wiesenthal
declined and explained his position.
“When I was in camp, I saw many different
types of people do things. There was one
religious man of whom I was in awe. This
man had managed to smuggle a Siddur
(Jewish prayer book) into the camp. I was
amazed that he took the risk of his life in
order to bring the Siddur in.
“The next day, to my horror, I realized that
this was no religious man. He was renting
the Siddur in exchange for people giving
him their last piece of bread. I was so angry
with this Jew, how could he take a Siddur
and use it to take a person’s last piece of
bread away? So I am not going to pray, if
this is how religious Jews behave.”
As Wiesenthal turned to walk away, Rabbi
Silver tapped him on the shoulder and
gently said in Yiddish, “Oy naar, naar.”
Wiesenthal was intrigued why had the
Rabbi called him childish. The answer
wasn’t long in coming.
Rabbi Silver continued, “Why do you look
at the manipulative Jew who rented out his
Siddur to take away people’s last meals?
Why do you look at that less-than-noble
person? Why don’t you focus on the dozens
of Jews who gave up their last piece of
bread in order to be able to use a Siddur? To
be able to talk to G-d? Why don’t you look
at those awesome people who in spite of all
their suffering still felt they can connect to
their Creator?
“The Germans deprived them of
everything! They had nothing left. The last
thing they owned, their courage, hope,
faith—that the Germans could not take
away from them. Is this inspiring or what?!”
Asked Rabbi Silver.
Wiesenthal joined the service and shared
the story some sixty years later.