איך נפלו גיבורים- How the Mighty have Fallen: An Open Letter to the Families of our Soldiers

Dear Families,

I never had the privilege to meet your child, but he is my hero. For most of you, I was born about 6000 miles away from where you child was born. And yet right now, as I write this letter, bitter tears are being shed from my eyes like an endless waterfall as a result of the acute pain I feel from losing a family member. My pillow is drenched with tears of sorrow. I cry because instead of being with you at this moment, telling you in person how grateful I am to you for the mighty heroes you have raised, and instead of crying with you at your Shiva house, I am thousands of miles away, in a country by and large numb to what you are going through. But you should know that in addition to the hundreds of people you have seen come to mourn with you, there are thousands more who you don't see, whose hearts are quite simply broken. There are tens of thousands more of your extended family who are crying with you. I wish I could have met your holy child. I wish I could have met the Kadosh who valiantly fought for his Eternal People. I wish I had the merit to meet the individual who sacrificed his holy soul for the sake of the security of the Jewish Nation. I wish I only could have met the person who inspires me to no end with his dedication to Am Yisroel.

      Obviously nothing I say can alleviate the unbearable pain you are suffering through. But you should know that as you cry, we cry. Your tears are our tears; your agony is our agony. G-d should bless you with courage and strength. 

I love you very much, and am constantly thinking about you. You are our inspiration, and may the holy soul of you child be for a blessing, and shine upon us from it's eternal resting spot in Gan Eden. G-d bless you all. 

המקום ינחם אתכם בתוך אבילי ציון וירושלים

With deep heart felt love,

Danny Wolfe 

Goodbye Twitter, Facebook and Times of Israel.

      Three boys kidnapped, and murdered because they are Jews, and general silence in the world media. Rockets being fired at school buses filled with innocent Jewish children on a daily basis, and silence from the world media. A 20 year old Israeli girl from Afula stabbed 17 times by an Arab taxi driver. You've never heard about this, but it happened in May.  A man shooting up a Jewish Community center in Kansas City. A terrorist shooting up a Jewish museum, murdering Israelis visiting Belgium. And today, shots fired near a house occupied by Israelis in New Dehli.
     And now, what appears to be a cruel, grotesque, mortifying and horrific TRUE Blood Libel, minus the "libel", fueling the dangerous flames of anti-Semitism around the world to levels I don't ever remember before witnessing.  And, well meaning Jews posting articles and opinions about this which absolutely promotes further Jew-hatred. I can't take it any more. If I read one more news article, I will vomit. I am sickened. I am going to uninstall Twitter from my phone, remove Safari from my iphone and turn it all off- so that I can focus on being a good father and husband. Someone please wake me when this is all over. In the mean time, I am going to pray- with every ounce of my soul, for the well being of my brothers and sisters in the Holy Land, and everywhere else in this scary world of ours.

#RememberOurBoys

       Anger. Bewilderment. Pain. Confusion. Agony. Grief. These are all the words that best described my reaction to the horrific news coming out of Israel yesterday, that our three holy brothers, Gil-ad Shaer, Eyal Yifrah, and Naftali Frenkel z'l HYD were murdered in cold blood for no other reason than the fact that they are Jews. For the last two and a half weeks, from the time they had been kidnapped until yesterday morning, I went to sleep with my phone next to my bed, so I could check the news first thing in the morning, to see if they had been found. Last night, I went to sleep with my phone next to my bed, so that I could check the news this morning to see the details of their funerals.
      When I first heard the news yesterday, I was in the middle of a jovial, fun-filled family road trip. And then, as I was filling up gas somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania, my mood drastically changed. How do I get back in the car, and  pretend I am fine, just like I was before I got out of the car to fill up the gas? How do I explain to my precious, angelic children, ages one, three, and five, that the reason that I am suddenly so sullen, removed, and absent is because three of our brothers were murdered because they are Jews? How do I explain to them that while I am physically in Pennsylvania, my heart and soul are in bereavement alongside my 6+ million Jewish brothers and sisters in our Homeland? How do I tell them that my sudden miserable mood and demeanor is a result of a bleeding heart; a tearful soul? How can I tell them that all they wanted to do was go home to their loving Mommy's and Totty's for Shabbos, when instead they went home to their Totty in Himmel (Father in Heaven) for eternity?
     Honestly, I don't have any words, or explanations.
     But what I do know, is that these last two and a half weeks I have seen more achdus, (Jewish unity), than any time in my life. Jews of all backgrounds, shapes, and sizes have been bonded together in prayer and action on behalf of these three holy boys. We have merged as one massive family in a way that I have never in my life witnessed. These Kedoshim (martyrs) have united the Jewish people.
Two days ago we began the month of Tammuz-- a month that begins a three week mourning period for the Jewish people (the 17th of Tammuz) when we start grieving for the destroyed Temples. About two thousand years ago, our Holy Second Temple sat in ruins, as the Jews entered a bitter and painful exile which plagues us until today. Our Rabbis explain that Temple was destroyed because Jews had a baseless hatred for one another. Jews were divided, and could not get along. They harbored resentment for one another.
     Now, as a result of the indescribable pain we as a nation and People are feeling, we are united. Those petty differences are gone. Our job, and obligation, is to make sure that this is not a flukey, temporary situation. This must become the permanent state of the Jewish people. What I pledge to do, to honor these Holy boys, who died al kiddush Hashem, is to love three more Jews, without any other reason than the fact that they are my three Jewish brothers and sisters. I am picking one Jew to my political/religious left, one to my political/religious right, and one who shares my beliefs and opinions because it does not matter what any other Jew believes or thinks-- all that matters is that they are my beloved family members. If the Temple was destroyed because of baseless hatred, it stands to reason it can be rebuilt for 'baseless' love.
     G-d willing we can remain united as a people. Right now, we are crying and mourning together. In G-d's incredible mercy we should soon be laughing and dancing together, shedding tears of joy as we celebrate the rebuilding of our Holy Temple, B'mheyra B'yomeinu.
May the Holy memories of Yaakov Naftali, Gil-ad Michael, and Eyal be for a blessing.

An Open Thank You Letter to the Dude who Taught me about Relationships

Dear Dude who lives on Manning Street who who I see outside every morning at 7:15 AM,

      You do not know who I am, and I don't know you; but you inspire me greatly. You don't know me, and likely have never seen me, but I feel like I have known you for years. I, like many other passengers in automotive vehicles frequent the street in which you live. Your street helps me get from one point to the next. And by passing your house every morning, I have observed you do one thing for which you have become a profound role model: You spend time time with your daughter. In the freezing winter, this meant simply waiting with her in the bitter cold, as she awaited her school bus. In the spring it has meant playing catch with a baseball in front of your house, awaiting the bus. But you don't just spend time with her, playing catch when you know it will only be for a short time before her bus comes. Because I have also seen you outside on the weekend with her, with no place to go, tossing a ball back and forth with lacrosse sticks.

      At first I was unsure why exactly watching you had been so inspiring to me. And then I recalled my own youth, where my parents did the exact same thing: My pops played catch with me, coached my baseball teams, and hit my groundballs. And my momma was cheering me on in the bleachers. And perhaps without even consciously realizing it at the time, the love that they were showing me seeped into my bones, enabling me to feel secure, confident, happy, and beloved. 

     One of the three things the Torah contractually requires a man to provide for his wife is "onah." There are different understandings as to what exactly this word means, but I have heard quoted in the name if a tremendously brilliant and righteous rabbi, that in its most simple form, "onah" means time. In modern hebrew, "onah" means "season." Thus, according to this most literal understanding of the verse describing a man's legal obligations to his wife is that he must give her time. Perhaps this means that they have dinner together. And during dinner, the TV is off, the cell phone is charging in the other room, and the newspapers (if the couple is archaic and still gets newspapers) are put away. It is just one-on-one time-- an opportunity for the couple to connect and to convey the feeling of how they thoroughly enjoy being in the presence of their beloved. 

      This idea is a secret for success in any relationship today in which we find ourselves: with a friend, a spouse, or a child. We need to give one another time. Sometimes it is hard, in a world with so many distractions: we could be checking our email on our iphones, or speaking to Siri, or avoid spending time  with someone by emailing or texting them. Yet it is obvious that the most cherished, scarce, fleeting gift we have is time. What possible better way to show you love someone, than by investing your precious time in them. 

     For this profound lesson, Dude who Lives on Manning, I thank you.

Sincerely,

Danny Wolfe

SMH

5-8-2014

Dear Henry,
       I hate to be a Debbie Downer, but I am SMH. Sorry for being such a negative Nancy, but I cannot stop SMH. For those of you out there in the vast universe who are currently reading my blogg, who are not as updated in the the times we live in as I am, let me explain what SMH means. SMH, oh Henry, means "Shaking my head." It means shaking my head in disgust or bewilderment at something one reads, sees or hears. And Henry, two days ago, I was SMH when I read an article on ESPN.com excitedly describing how two former athletes, Gilbert Arenas, and Tracy 'T-Mac' Mcgrady "trolled" the struggling center for the Indiana Pacers, Roy Hibbert. (For those older readers out there, "trolled" is a nicer word for "bullied" (http://espn.go.com/sportsnation/post/_/id/10889007/gilbert-arenas-tracy-mcgrady-troll-roy-hibbert-pacers-loss-wizards). Arenas posted a fake jeopardy answer on his instagram page, describing how this "all star" is averaging 1.7 rebounds per game in April, and a picture of someone who posted a meme, describing how Hibbert was Mr. 0'0- 0 points, 0 rebounds. Retired ball player TracyMcGrady tweeted, "Me and Roy Hibbert had the same amount of points and rebounds tonight."Mcgrady, was watching from his couch, while Hibbert was playing in the game. The ESPN article then goes on to excitedly post other comments from random people on the internet, further making fun of Roy Hibbert.
     After reading this article, I was sickened. Call me old fashioned. Call me reactionary. Call me radical. Call me extreme. But whatever you do, please do not call me late for dinner. This article was disgusting, and down right cruel. It is one thing to talk trash to someone you're playing against in the heat of an intense game. Its quite another thing for retired players to smack an innocent, very talented guy, when he is down. And the fact that ESPN proudly posts this article, is yet another reason I am SMH.
       (As I am editing this blogg post, ready to post it, I come across a post on twitter from bleacherreport.com, condescendingly reporting that " Even the NFL’s official Twitter account mocked Johnny Manziel’s draft fall http://bit.ly/1ja5vSH ." Johnny Manziel is a quarterback for the Cleveland Browns who was drafted last night. He was once projected be one of the very top choices of the draft, but he was passed over by team after team during the draft. The Official Twitter handle of the NFL posted "#SadManziel?")
      One has to wonder: What exactly compels people to berate others when they are down? Why kick someone when they are in pain? If I would find someone in the street suffering, and I slapped them in the face, what would that say about me? Am I so weak and pathetic, that I think the only way to attain happiness or respectability is by making other people feel like dirt? Lest you say, "he makes millions of dollars, he deserves it," is that really true? Just because a person is fortunate enough to make a good living, people have a right to be downright cruel and hateful? I am not a psychologist, but it seems to me that the only types of people who would act in such a manner are people with an extreme lack of self-worth, and a boat-load of insecurities. And for that, I feel sorry for T-Mac and Arenas.
      The Torah teaches that one should love his neighbor like he loves himself, and the Talmud elaborates with the famous statement of Rabbi Akiva that," One should not do to others what he would not want done to himself." If Tracy Mcgrady and Gilbert Arenas would not want to be taunted and ridiculed after humiliating games in their careers, they have no business making fun of Roy Hibbert.

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe

PS. Thank the Lord Above for real role models like Kevin Durant, who so beautifully thanked his mother for his success. (Go to 23:00 of this video, and hold a box of tissues as you watch.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxVAOoQeNJ8

Reflections on Broncos Super-Blow (out)

Dear Henry,
       My name is Danny Wolfe, and I am a Broncoholic. (For more on this see previous post, http://rabbidannywolfe.blogspot.com/2014/01/love-and-confessions-of-broncoholic.html)
I was very confident that the Denver Broncos would win Superbowl 48 against the lowly Seattle Seahawks. I made arrogant predictions to my thousands of followers worldwide on the social media. I tried to arrange campaigns to send me to the Superbowl. I had grandiose visions of Peyton Manning and Champ Bailey hoisting up the Lombardi trophy. I debated in my head if I should take off a few days and fly to Denver for the victory parade. I was so pumped up for the game, that immediately prior to going to watch it, despite the weather being about 20 degrees here, I unknowingly left my coat on the hanger at my synagogue, after reciting the evening service. I was amped up-- the adrenaline was pumping like a stream of regular unleaded gas into my glowing, golden Hyundai.
      And then the game started. And 12 seconds into the game, I had to literally pinch myself, to see if I was experiencing a nightmare. And then, after the first play of the second half, in which Percy Harvin returned the kick for a touchdown, I realized that this was no nightmare-- that in fact, I was watching the ugliest, most disturbing football game I had ever seen in my life-- the complete unravelling of the Broncos as they were absolutely demolished to the Seahawks in the Superbowl.
     During the commercial break after that touchdown, I turned my attention to Facebook-- to peruse the  statuses, and to be able to commiserate with my fellow Broncos fans. This perusal of Facebook instantly and radically changed my entire life perspective. You see, Henry, as I was looking at Facebook after the first play of the third quarter, a play that made the game an unreachable 29-0, I felt some sadness, and downright sorry for myself. And as I felt this sadness I took a glance at a status from a dear friend who less than a week ago tragically suddenly lost a very beloved, close family member. She had written a status update, vividly describing the profound pain she was experiencing, the flow of tears she had shed, and her unbearable heartbreak.  And with that jarring, eye-opening glance on Facebook, any 'pain' or 'sorrow' I had due to the Broncos game, instantly evaporated. I was coming home, alive and well, to my loving family, alive and well. There is nothing in the world that I have a right to be sad about, or to complain about.
     Upon reaching this stirring realization, I reflected to myself, that literally about 48 hours earlier, I was by the bedside of a comatose young teenager, praying for his full recovery, as a dear friend of mine played the guitar for him.  And the timing of all of this hit me like a ton of bricks: Within a five day span, on one hand, a dear friend experienced such a tragic loss, and I am by the bedside of a child who is in a coma, and l'havdil elef havdalos, on the other side, the Broncos lose the Superbowl by 35 points. The enormity of the difference between these events gave me extreme clarity.  I learned from the proximity of these three events a very stark lesson: I need to be exceedingly grateful for every gift I have, and G-d forbid I should ever, ever pity myself over something as stupid as a meaningless game.
      The Torah teaches us, Eizeh hu Ashir? HaSameach b'Chelko. Who is rich, the one who is happy with what he has.  Each and every one of us, no matter how difficult life can be at time, still has a tremendous amount for what we can be grateful. No matter how bad any one in the world ever has it, there is always someone else, who would trade places with them in a heartbeat. (For more on this see http://www.aish.com/sp/f/48968901.html).
     The night of the Super Bowl, I did not sleep well-- but not because the Broncos lost-- but because of the genuine pain I felt for my friend.
     This stirring experience taught me one crucial lesson about football that I would like to convey to hundreds of thousands of my fellow Broncos fans world-wide, still seeped in a deep depression after the brutal loss: It's just a lousy game.
   

Confessions of a Broncoholic

1/20/2014      

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Dear Henry,
                Euphoria. Delight. Unadulterated Joy. Pure Happiness. Contentment. These are the only adequate words to describe my mood yesterday. No, I did not have a child. Yes, the Broncos dismantled the New England Patriots.
                As I left synagogue after dutifully reciting the afternoon and evening service, and became aware that the score was now 20-3 in favor of the Good Guys, I was astounded at my genuine sense of delight and happiness. Utter joy, that I literally have not felt since holding my youngest in my arms on the night he was born a year and a half ago. Indeed, I was one very, very happy rabbi.
               This feeling of genuine simcha (happiness) kind of surprised me.  I have not lived in Colorado in over ten years. I am now in my late twenties. I do not own a television-- not wanting to be bothered by the values promoted on it. I traded in my Eminem CDs for 8th Day CDs. I like to wake up early in the morning to immerse myself in the vast Sea of the Talmud.  As I matured, I came to realize, at the end of the day, how futile professional sports are. After all, what personal connection do I have to the Broncos? Because I happened to be born in Colorado, the Broncos success can really determine my happiness? Do the players know I exist, care about me, or root for me in my own life?  Some might be good guys, while others mights be arrogant, violent, and downright nasty people.
         And when I reflected further, I grappled with some of my emotions: How I was delighted when Wes Welker took out Akib Talib from the game; how I was cherishing Bill Belichek's scouring, kvetching, and downright suffering; how I was savoring the Tom Brady pout, with his head buried miserably in his shaky hands; and most  satisfying of all--how I vengefully mocked the miserable Boston sports fans who were so nasty in their arrogant comments about the Rockies in the 2007 World Series. I eagerly opened Boston Sports news articles, and websites, rejoicing over their misery.
             And yet, I am a peace-loving, revenge-hating rabbi. I don't want people getting injured. I don't want people to be sad. And I don't believe in revenge.
            These mixed emotions really troubled me, and I asked my better half why it is that I love the Broncos so much. As always, she told me something incredibly profound:You have spent your whole life investing crazy amounts of time in the Broncos-- you cannot suddenly stop loving them. That love does not just disappear. She is right. Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler famously teaches that in hebrew, the root of the word for "love" means "to give." The Torah teaches that the more one invests, and gives to another, the more he comes to love them. And I have invested hours upon hours of my life into this team--I love them.
          I will conclude this piece as confused, and bewildered and perplexed as I began this piece: On one hand I have the pure joy of victory under my belt-- and absolute confidence that the Broncos will take care of business in two weeks in New York shutting up Richard Sherman for hopefully a very long time. And yet, on the other hand, I have profound disappointment in my sadistic emotions about my team defeating the other team. I am better than that.
        However, one lesson that I can take out of all of this with absolute clarity, is the following logical argument: If I have invested immense amounts of time and effort into loving my local football team- your Denver Broncos, the best offensive team in the history of the National Football League, who I do not even know, who don't know me, who have never tangibly ever given anything to me, then certainly, without a doubt, I ought to invest all the time and effort in the world into loving my fellow man--those I interact with on a daily basis. The Torah teaches us that we are required to love our fellow human being as we love ourselves. This is puzzling--after all, how can the Torah command us to feel an emotion such as love? One answer is that we can in fact choose to love-- by investing, and giving to others. The more you invest, the more you love. Any parent can tell you, the more sleepless nights you have taking care of your children; the more diapers changed, the more you absolutely adore your precious child.
      My New Years resolution is to start to love others, the way I love the Broncos-- to learn from the way I invest time into the Broncos, and to apply that to everyone else around me. Maybe then, will I discover the futility of my relationship with the soon to be three time Super Bowl Champs--The Denver Broncos.

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe

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