The old and crumbling building housed a synagogue that was a "gift" from Joseph Stalin to the Jews of Odessa. Historically, Odessa was a metropolis with a large Jewish population and many dozens of synagogues of all types. With the advent of the communist regime, and especially under Stalin's heavy fisted rule, almost all of those synagogues were closed down.
However, for some reason, Stalin permitted the Jewish community to preserve this one synagogue. For many decades, it was the only Jewish house of worship that was permitted in the entire city. It still functions today and is located in a sleazy section of the city, not far from the waterfront.
In 1991, at exactly the time of the outbreak of the Gulf War, I was sent as a delegate from the Jewish community of Baltimore to the Jewish community of Odessa. The Iron Curtain had recently fallen, and many Jewish organizations were eager to do what they could to help formerly isolated Jewish communities in the former Soviet Union. My assignment was to visit the city of Odessa and determine how the Baltimore community could be helpful materially and spiritually.
I vividly remember my first morning in Odessa, when I first visited that old shul. I was surprised that there were quite a few people who were present but was disappointed when I realized that they had no clue about the prayer services. They had come to light yahrzeit candles in the small chapel attached to the main sanctuary. Memorializing their dear departed loved ones was part of their religious consciousness, but prayer was not something that survived seventy years of communist domination.
However, with about fifteen or twenty men, and five or six women, you can figure out enough about prayer to join in the services. Some were foreign visitors like me, but others were Jews who had somehow held on to the rudiments of our tradition in spite of their many trials and ordeals.
It was a Thursday morning, and they removed a Sefer Torah from the Ark and read from it. In many ways, the scene resembled most other synagogues on an early weekday morning. But my companion and I were haunted by a strong sense that something was missing. For a while, we could not quite put our finger on what that was. Suddenly, and simultaneously, it dawned on both of us that there was no tzedakah box, or collection plate, within which to collect even a few coins for charity.
Communism had successfully expunged the practice of charity from the value system of these noble Jews. The time-honored Jewish practice of tzedakah was gone. After all, from the Communist perspective, it made no sense to give some of one's own property or possessions to another person. For his own survival, he had learned to carefully hoard everything that he had managed to accumulate. The notion of voluntarily giving it away to another was unimaginable.
Every year, as this week's Torah portion, Parshat Re'eh (Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17) approaches, I envision the picture of that old shul with the missing charity box. For it is in this week's parsha that we read in exquisite detail about the mitzvah par excellence, tzedakah:
"If there is a needy person among you…do not harden your heart and shut your hand against your needy kinsman. Rather, you must open your hand and lend him sufficient for what ever he needs…Give to him readily and have no regrets when you do so, for in return the Lord your God will bless you in all your efforts and in all your undertakings. For there will never cease to be needy ones in your land, which is why I command you to open your hand to the poor and needy kinsman in your land."
(Deuteronomy 15:7-11)
Excerpt from Rabbi Weinreb's commentary on this weeks Torah Portion
Giving Tzedakah is one of the highest attributes of God that we can emulate.
Just as much as God loves to bless us so we should strive to give of ourselves and His provision to others. Yes I said that right.... His provision. It's not ours, but His blessings bestowed upon us to use wisely.
I challenge you....increase your giving and see what happens....שלום לכם
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