I hope this finds you all well and happy and enjoying ‘Yeshiva week’. There are so many topics in this parsha, from which to choose, but I finally settled on conveying to you the following story, one that teaches us something very basic but valuable, about ‘ Kibud Av v’Eim ‘ (honoring parents), I found in an unidentified parsha-letter. The author brings it from a sefer called ‘Nitzotzos’. First, a short historical anecdote:

Among the devastating events that we commemorate on Tish’a b’Av, is the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, for on that day (July 30) in 1492, after a four month warning period, Spain became “Judenrein” – officially ‘cleansed’ of its 250,000-strong Jewish population. There were some though, who stayed, by ostensibly converting to Christianity while secretly remaining true to Hashem and the Torah. We know them as the Marranos, and they were the primary targets of inquisition spies who actively sought to catch them doing Jewish things and then to burn them at the stake as heretics in accordance with Inquisition ‘law’.
Many of these marranos were very wealthy merchants or people who held positions of power and prestige in government. King Ferdinand himself, was completely unaware of the fact that his closest advisor and confidant, a man by the name of Don Pedro (fictitious name), was one of these secret Jews. However, as was so often the case, others in the royal court who burned inside with jealousy at the close relationship between Don Pedro and the king, decided to use the inquisition to their advantage. They collected enough evidence (and not much was needed) to convince the tribunal of Don Pedro’s guilt. Not only was he convicted of heresy against the church, but also of the unforgiveable crime of treason for deceiving the king, queen and the entire royal court. He was sentenced to be burned at the stake.
During his short confinement in prison, messengers were sent by the king to plead with Don Pedro to publicly apologize, reject Judaism and vow to, from then on, conduct his life in accordance with the catholic faith. That would be all that would be needed for the king to exercise his authority of pardon. Nevertheless, the now-openly Jewish minister adamantly refused to do anything of the sort.
At last, the appointed day arrived. An “auto-de-fe” was set up in the main city square. These gruesome events always attracted many spectators, but it wasn’t often that the king himself attended. This time he did. The prisoner, looking worn and weary, was dragged in chains, out to the platform. The shackles were removed so that he could step up to be strapped to the cross. Unexpectedly, the king bolted out of his chair and ran up to Don Pedro. “ Please my dearest friend,” he whispered, as the entire crowd silenced themselves and struggled to eavesdrop on the conversation, “ For my sake as well as yours – renounce your Judaism right now, and I can reinstate you in your position immediately! Please, it hurts me so to see you suffer needlessly like this!”
Don Pedro, the suffering but determined Jew, did not whisper his response – he let out an anguished wail, “ The chain! The chain! ”
No one understood what he meant by these strange words. The king looked down just to confirm that the shackles had been removed, and then tried to reassure Don Pedro, “ The chains have been removed my brother. Why are you moaning about chains? Why does this seem to be so painful when it could be so easy?”
“ Do you want to know what chain I am talking about? “ his voiced now boomed with Jewish pride and defiance. “ I am talking about the great chain that links me back, through my parents and grandparents, all the way to Avraham our forefather. I am only one small but nevertheless important part of our history, entrusted with passing down our heritage, our continuing relationship with G-D, to the next links in the chain. I have no right, nor do I have the slightest inclination to sever that connection. Do with me what you will, but I will never renounce my faith and loyalty to G-D and the Torah!”

The concept of children showing reverence and loyalty to the heritage and to the legacies imparted to them by their parents, has always been a powerfully motivating and life-altering one – and that could be a positive thing or not. ( Still, I think one of the most insidious parts of current western culture is the ridicule and disrespect with which it treats many things old and established; but anyways…). If children would appreciate how much energy parents expend, to convey to them those things that they consider important, the children would understand that following in a parent’s GOOD footsteps, greatly honors that parent and earns the child a mitzvah of “Kibud Av v’Eim”.
R’ Avrohom Abba Weingort, an orator of note in Yerushalayim, was once invited to speak to a small, intimate audience in Modiin. The topic he chose was this very mitzvah of honoring one’s parents. In the course of his talk, he was reminded of an incident that happened with his Rebbe, to which he too, was a witness.
His Rebbe, R’ Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg ZT”L (1884-1966), famous for, among other things, his colossal halachic work, “Seridei Aish”, served as Rosh Yeshiva at the Hildesheimer Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin, between the two world wars. At a time when so much of German Jewry had embraced the reform movement or outright secularism, he was a beacon of strength and light, representing true orthodoxy despite the crushing adversity. Most of the time, he devoted and confined himself to his duties as Rosh Yeshiva, but every Yom Kippur, he made it his practice to daven at the great Central Synagogue of Berlin, and that, despite the added hardship of it being located quite a distance from his home.
The year was 1921. Yom Kippur was a day, as it is even in our times, whose seriousness inspired even the most secular of Jews to attend Shul, and many still chose to daven in the traditional orthodox setting. There was an air of solemnity and decorum throughout Shacharis, as all in attendance concentrated deeply and genuinely as they communicated with their Creator. At the conclusion of the Haftorah, the Gabbai announced “Yizkor!”. Immediately, most of the young people, and others who had not by then, lost any close relatives, exited the Shul and went to wait outside until Yizkor would conclude and Mussaf would commence.
All of a sudden, a large, black limousine, escorted front and rear by two police motorcycles, pulled up and stopped directly in front of the Shul. With impatient curiosity, the crowd mulling about, turned to see who would be coming out of the official-looking vehicle. The rear passenger door opened abruptly, and out stepped the Foreign minister of the German “Weimar” Republic, Walter Rathenau. Most onlookers were shocked and surprised to see this man even come near a Shul. Yes, he was indeed a Jew, but one who had quite publicly forsaken anything and everything associated with Judaism and the Jewish people.
The minister ignored the hushed mumbling around him, and rushed up the steps of the entrance to the Shul with a look of satisfaction on his face when he realized that he had arrived just on time for Yizkor. Many observers seemed untroubled by Rathenau’s appearance, but a number of others had strong opinions against his ‘hypocritical’ attendance at Shul – they argued too, that it was offensive to them that for the sake of a mere custom, Yizkor, this man would arrogantly desecrate the sanctity of the holiest day of the year by driving right up to the front of the Shul. Discussions turned into arguments and continued after Yizkor had finished, even as they took their seats to begin Mussaf. Fortunately, the minister did not hear any of these nasty comments as he left and disappeared back into his limo.
The Chazzan approached the Bima to begin Mussaf, when unexpectedly and uncharacteristically, R’ Weinberg stood up and advanced toward the Bima. Signalling to the Chazzan to wait, he began to speak. “ Rabosai,” he roared, “ What were some of you thinking when you disparaged and mocked a man who, in all sincerity, came to Shul to pay proper Jewish respect to his father’s memory. Can any one of us, even imagine how much tumultuous thought went into his decision to do this, a full five years after his father’s demise? I tell you all now,” he said sternly, “ Anyone who shows this kind of respect to his parents, guarantees for himself, the zechus of possibly he, but definitely his descendants, returning to the fold and doing Teshuvah! With this one tiny act, Herr Rathenau has shown that he has not completely removed himself from the heritage passed down to him. He has not severed the great chain of Jewish history!” With that, the Rav returned to his seat, his terse words making a huge impression on the entire congregation.
R’ Weingort, having concluded the story, scanned the small audience in Modiin to gage their reaction. Suddenly, one of the men got up, shaking and looking somewhat faint. Everyone in the room turned his way and it was clear that the man had been crying. “ The Rav mentioned Walter Rathenau!” he said, obviously still very emotional. “ That was the last Yom Kippur of his life – he was brutally assassinated about nine months later! Walter Rathenau was my great-grandfather! I am here attending this shiur today, because his grandson, my father, became a Baal Teshuvah! Indeed, as the Rav promised, the chain has been revived!”

Another short vignette: There was a small Shul in north Tel-Aviv that generally struggled to scrape together a minyan. One day, an elderly man began frequenting the Shul for davening. He didn’t socialize with anyone and would hurry out right after davening ended. The Rav’s curiosity was piqued by this man who looked like someone who had not been a regular attendee at Shul for most of his life. It was quite an anomaly for an older person to become a Baal Teshuvah, and finally after a few days the Rav approached him. “ Shalom Aleichem sir,” he said to the man as he caught him hurrying as usual, out of Shul. “ We’re glad to see that you are becoming one of our ‘regulars’.”
“ Yes, Aleichem Shalom,” he replied. “ I just recently became religious.”
“ Oh, how wonderful,” the Rav responded with a warm grin. “ If you don’t mind my asking, what made you make such a drastic life-change at your age?”
“ Well,” offered the man willingly, “ did you hear about the case of Rav Ravitz Z”L?”
The Rav was indeed aware of the case, and of the Kiddush Hashem resulting from it. R’ Ravitz was in dire need of a kidney transplant. All of his children were eager to help and ended up arguing over who would have the zechus of donating their kidney to him. They could not reach agreement on their own, and brought the case to R’ Elyashiv ZT”L, who ruled that the Bechor, the firstborn, had first rights to this zechus. The case received much interest, even in the media, and resulted in a great Kiddush Hashem.
The Rav nodded and the man continued. “ Well I was in the same position as R’ Ravitz. I too, urgently required a kidney transplant and the doctors approached my children, whose kidneys would be the best match for me. My son apologetically refused because he was set to take an extended business trip abroad and was afraid that the surgery would render him too weak to function effectively. My daughter also turned them down because she was poised to begin a new semester at university, and also feared being too weak to address her studies diligently. “So you see,” said the old man, tears now running down his wrinkled cheeks,” I gave them life. I invested everything, time, money and physical effort for them, and they still abandoned me in my time of need. I was so hurt! And it was just then, at this low point in my life, that I read about the case of Rav Ravitz and realized the greatness, the transcendence of Torah and the Torah life. If my children, nebich, in their ‘progressive’ lives, were no longer sensitive to the chain of decency and ‘Hakaras Hatov’ taught by Judaism, I was not going to let my own life slip away, disconnected from my forefather’s heritage. I felt an urgent need to grab hold of the chain, at least for myself – right then and there, I began my Teshuvah journey!”