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RH Day 1 Sermon - 2011
RH Day 2 Sermon - 2011
Kol Nidre Sermon - 2011
Yom Kippur Sermon - 2011


A FEW PRE-SHABBAT WORDS FROM RABBI AARON

The Small Aleph
The opening word of this week's parasha is vayikra. Currently, on the parasha-related pdf below, you can see the Hebrew graphic which shows the little aleph which ends the word. Generations of scribes have passed down a body of tradition which mandates that certain letters be written in a special fashion. Why the little aleph?

Here's one take...
“God called to Moshe…”
Our sages teach us that the small Aleph is indicative of Moshe’s extraordinary humility. How does the small letter teach us this and furthermore, why is this message specifically embedded in the word Vayikra?

Because of his extreme humility, Moshe was determined that the very first word in  Sefer Vayikra should not indicate his special relationship with Hashem. Whereas Vayikra is a term which connotes God’s exceptional love for Moshe (see Rashi on this posuk), the term vayikar (Vayikra without an Aleph) means that Hashem happened to appear to Moshe, which to some extent minimizes the potency of that special relationship. 

Note: In Numbers 23:4 the word vayikar is used: "And God met Balaam..." While Balaam is a prophet, our tradition accords him a far lower rank than Moses. Furthermore, the text portrays Balaam as a haughty individual, continually referring to his own prophetic talents.

Take 2 - Humility: an [almost] invisible Afghani man named Sultan Munadi (of blessed memory); why we should remember him
When we tell the stories of war, we might tell of the heroic deeds of a soldier or a medic. We might recount the brilliant strategy of a general, the bold vision of a statesman. Of course, wars are a tangle of so many stories that intersect, so many people who usually remain anonymous - the wounded, the refugees. This is a story of a translator, a foreign journalist. Many of them have perished in the two wars in which our country is engaged. The life of this man, Sultan Munadi, reminds me of the little aleph - a story that could easily slip away. But if I never read it, I'd be missing an important [if painful] emotional truth of the wars, and if I didn't pass it along, I'd fail to bear witness. Vayikra, after all, means "and He called..." And Vayikra is called Torat Kohanim, the teaching of the Priests, Leviticus, the manual of sacrifice. Instead of the contextual meaning - God called Moshe, this take is about someone's self-sacrifice calling out to God...

Sultan Munadi: A Gentle Stalwart, by David Rohde (NYT, September 9, 2009)

Skinny as a beanpole, generous to an extreme and with an easy laugh, Sultan Munadi was an Afghan striver. He worked for The New York Times for four years before leaving to start his own public service radio station. He received top marks in a grueling, yearlong preparatory course for a public policy master’s degree program in Germany. During his spare time, he joined a social networking site for book lovers and chatted online with readers in Paraguay.

After this reporter escaped from Taliban captivity in June, Mr. Munadi sent a typically ebullient e-mail message. “Oh my God!” he wrote. “I’m really really happy for this great news. I’ll thank billions of times the God for this freedom.” Early Wednesday morning, Mr. Munadi died in a predawn raid by British commandos trying to rescue him and Stephen Farrell, a correspondent for The Times, from Taliban captivity. The two men had been kidnapped in northern Afghanistan on Saturday while reporting on a NATO bombing that killed scores of people, possibly including many civilians.

Mr. Munadi was killed as he tried to lead Mr. Farrell to safety. Walking in front of Mr. Farrell as they tried to reach British forces, Mr. Munadi stepped out from behind a wall, raised his hands and identified himself as a journalist. A hail of bullets immediately felled him. “He was trying to protect me up to the last minute,” Mr. Farrell said. The death of Mr. Munadi illustrated two grim truths of the war in Afghanistan: vastly more Afghans than foreigners have died battling the Taliban, and foreign journalists are only as good as the Afghan reporters who work with them. Mr. Munadi, 34, the father of two boys, worked as an office manager and reporter in the Kabul bureau. He and other Afghan reporters who work with foreign journalists are vastly more than interpreters.

“The story calls him an ‘interpreter,’ which misleads the reader about what these great people do for us,” Barry Bearak, a Times correspondent who worked with Mr. Munadi in 2001 and 2002, said, referring to an article about Mr. Munadi’s death. “They serve as our walking history books, political analysts,” he added, “managers of logistics, taking equal the risks without equal the glory or pay.” Those who worked with him said his country’s turmoil did not dampen his spirit or limit his determination. During Taliban rule, he worked with the International Red Cross in his native Panjshir Valley, a mountainous area north of Kabul that was never ruled by the Taliban, even when they dominated the country from 1996 to 2001.

That year, he began working with the foreign journalists who flooded northern Afghanistan as American forces prepared to invade. He was impartial and showed a remarkable attention to detail. “He would always pause for a second before starting to translate, as if thinking it over, making sure he had it right, then say, ‘O.K.,’ and launch in,” Amy Waldman, a former Times correspondent who worked with Mr. Munadi from 2002 to 2005, said. “If he’d realized he’d forgotten a detail, he’d call or e-mail to make sure you had it, a kind of meticulousness that comes not from rote compulsion, but from a profound need to do justice to whomever or whatever we were writing about.”

Jane Scott Long, who revamped the Kabul bureau with Mr. Munadi in 2002, remembered the same qualities. He deftly guided foreigners through a city filled with merchants eager to exact the highest prices from outsiders. “He was my eyes, ears and voice in unfamiliar territory after the fall of the Taliban,” Ms. Scott Long said. “I trusted his judgment with negotiations, and I trusted him with my life. No question.” Mr. Munadi’s decision to leave The Times in 2005 was a reflection of his commitment to his country. Staying in the newspaper’s Kabul bureau — a stable, comparatively well-paid job for an Afghan — was the easy path. Instead, he joined an Afghanistan public service radio station and production company owned by a friend because he believed independent Afghan media were vital to stabilizing his country.

“His motivation was not self-serving, but to gain knowledge to bring back to Afghanistan,” Tyler Hicks, a photographer for the newspaper who has covered Afghanistan since 2001, said. “He was a patriot in the truest form.” For years he had pushed himself to excel. After the fall of the Taliban, he completed his university studies while working for The Times. In his personal life, he married an educated woman, fathered two sons and bragged that his wife studied at a university, a brave act in a nation where extremists regularly attack schools for girls.

Mr. Munadi left the station after he won admission to a two-year master’s degree program in public policy at Erfurt University in eastern Germany. He had spent the last year in an intensive, English-language preparatory program at the university. In October, he was scheduled to begin the first year of the program. Before resuming his studies in Germany, Mr. Munadi agreed to work as a reporter for The Times for a month around the Aug. 20 elections. Mr. Farrell expressed despair Wednesday at Mr. Munadi’s death, saying he was “three seconds away from safety” when he was shot.

An Education Fund for Sultan Munadi's Children

The colleagues and friends of Sultan Munadi, who was slain during a rescue operation in Afghanistan, would like to thank readers for the many generous donations they made to help his family. Sultan’s family is extraordinarily grateful to them as well.

Sultan’s family currently has the funds they need to cover their basic living costs. As a result, Sultan’s friends and colleagues have decided to use the reader donations to create a fund to educate his children. Sultan passionately believed that education was the key to stabilizing Afghanistan. His friends and colleagues believe that educating Sultan’s children is the best way to honor his memory. Our goal is to raise enough funds to allow his children to receive the best education possible.

The education fund will include the donations readers have made since Sultan was killed in September 2009 and new contributions from Sultan’s friends and colleagues at The New York Times. If readers would like to contribute to the education fund, details are below. We thank readers again for the donations they have already made. If you would like to contribute via mail, please send your check to:

Foreign Desk / The New York Times
620 Eighth Avenue, 3rd Fl.
New York, NY 10018
Checks should be made payable to “The New York Times,” noting “Munadi Education Fund” in the memo field.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Aaron

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Note from Rabbi Aaron

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