What exactly is ‘Mesiras Nefesh’? I know ‘Sacrificing Your Life for Hashem’. But what does it really mean ‘giving up your life’? I’m only a 14 year-old boy, born in 1994. Thank G-d I wasn’t alive in the times of the Crusades or the infamous Holocaust. So I can’t understand as well what Mesiras Nefesh really is. Unfortunately, in view of the recent events, I think I now know what it means. Now, I never personally knew the Holtzbergs, like my sister Pesha Leah did. But, yet, it all affected me very deeply. I guess it’s because we are all brothers and sisters. I guess everyone had some Mesiras Nefesh when they heard the news. So, really, Mesiras Nefesh is not just giving up your physical bodies for Hashem, like Rabbi Gavriel and Rivkie did. Also, to a certain extent, giving up your emotional body, as well as your desires, I guess. That is also true Mesiras Nefesh. That is living for Hashem!
Living With Mesiras Nefesh
If I would ask you what Mesiras Nefesh means, you’d probably say ‘giving up your life for Hashem’. Right? Well you are right, but it’s really more than that. Mesiras Nefesh can also mean giving up your desires. What do I mean, you ask? Well, if for example, you want to oh… go to a basketball game. But you know it’s wrong. Yet you really want to go. What can you do? You could, maybe, leave early, or go outside and learn during the halftime, or whatever. That’s also Mesiras Nefesh. You’re sacrificing your desires.
There once was a sheperd, who also had Mesiras Nefesh, in this aspect. His name was Akiva. One day, he saw a rock that had a hole drilled into it. When he enquired about it, he was told that the water dripping on it, made a hole. If water can penetrate a rock, he thought to himself. Why can’t torah penetrate my head? So giving up all worldly desires, he then studied torah, became Rabbi Akiva, and had many students. That was also Mesiras Nefesh.
Physically Mesiras Nefesh
As everyone knows, Mesiras Nefesh means giving up your life for Hashem, literally. Like the Kedoshim in Mumbai did. Unfortunately, there were many other times in our history, where people gave up their lives. For example, the infamous holocaust. Millions of Jews were killed, in order to sanctify the name of Hashem. They were Mesiras Nefesh with their complete physical body.
There is one time in history though, that I want to talk about. This is the story of The Ten Martyrs (The עשרה הרוגי מלכות).
The day the Bais Hamikdosh was destroyed, the first one was killed. His name was Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel. He was the father of Rabbi Yehudah the Nosi (prince). Later, Rabbi Yishmoel ben Elisha, the Cohen Gadol (the High Priest). Sixty years following the destruction, Rabbi Akiva, the same one I talked about earlier, was killed. His was the worst. The Romans tore off his skin with tons of iron combs. Thirteen years passed. The other seven, were then killed in horrible ways. Some were burnt alive; some had their tongue cut off, while one was stabbed with 300 iron laces. Their names were: Rabbi Yehudah ben Bava, Rabbi Chanina ben Tradion, Rabbi Yeshavav the sofer (scribe), and Rabbi Elazar ben Dama. There was also, Rabbi Chanina ben Chakinai, and Rabbi Chutzpith the Translator. Last of all, Rabbi Elazar ben Shamua. He was the greatest genius of his time. He also bor the title ‘Best of the Sages’. Rabbi Yehudah the Nosi was his student.
Now, some, replace Rabbi Chanina ben Chakinai, Rabbi Elazar ben Dama, and Rabbi Elazar ben Shamua with Rabbi Yehudah the Baker, Ben Azzai, and Rabbi Tarfon. But, the first opinion is more reasonable. That is the story of the Ten Martyrs.
So now, hopefully, all of us, including myself, understand a bit more about Mesiras Nefesh, and what it means to us as Jews. Just like ה' avenged the blood of the Ten Martyrs, so too, He will avenge the blood of Rabbi Gavriel and Rivkie, along with the other innocent terror victims of Mumbai. There are many things being done in honor of the Kedoshim, including ‘Mitzvos for Mumbai’. I hope that by writing this essay, I too have fulfilled a portion in this mitzvah.
May Hashem avenge the blood of all those who died על קידוש ה' (Sanctifying Hashem’s Name), in these tragic events. Along with those who perished in our entire history, now! אמן!
About The Editor
- Dovid Nissan Roetter
- Oak Park, Michigan, United States
- I am a 16 year old student in the 11th grade at Y.N.S. - Trocki High School For Boys, NJ. I love to read and write.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Want Freedom? Work For It!
Chapter 1
Weo-Weo-Weo! The sirens were piercing the air! Seven patrol cars came zooming down the dirt road, and came to a screeching halt in front of a small cottage. Two cops jumped out of each car and surrounded the house. Half of them drew their guns and entered the cottage by breaking down the door. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes passed. Forty minutes passed. Finally, after two hours, four of the policemen come out dragging a teen, about 16 or 17, and garbage bags upon garbage bags of drugs, nicotine, cocaine, boxes of cigarettes and cases of whiskey. Following them, the others came out with their guns pointed at the young adult. The teenager is shoved into a patrol car, which speeds off. The rest then follow suit.
Chapter 2
“Order in the court! Order in the court!” the Judge cried, while banging his gravel. “This court will now come to order! Will the accused please rise?”
A teenager named Josh Santriso slowly stands up.
“Are you, or are you not Josh Santriso?” the Judge asked.
“I am, your Honor.” The young boy replied.
“And did you, or did you not have drugs and alcohol in your possession?”
“Yes, your Honor. But-”
“I did not ask for any further information.” The Judge replied. “You will answer what you have been asked and only that. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your Honor.” The boy answered meekly.
“Good! Now, back to where we were. You admit to having drugs and alcohol in your possession. Now, how old are you?”
“Sixteen, your Honor.”
“Sixteen. Wow! To young to smoke, yet you had packs of cigarettes; to young to drink, yet you had cases of whisky; and definitely to young to use drugs! Wow! Wow-whee! So, how do you plead: Innocent or Guilty?”
“Innocent.” The boy replied. “Your Honor.” He quickly added.
“Innocent?! Why, I’m surprised! All the evidence proves you guilty, and yet you plead innocent. That takes a lot of guts.”
“May I speak, your Honor?”
“You don’t have much hope, but go on.”
“Thank you. Honorable Judge, Men of the Jury, and all those present. Do you want to see an innocent man rot in jail, for a crime that he did not commit?”
“What on earth are you saying?! If it wasn’t you, then, just, who was it?”
“Your Honor, I work in a McDonald’s and I have a ‘competitor’, who works in a Taco Bell, by the name of George Shaproe. This past year, I had a lot more costumers than him. So, naturally, George was mad. He vowed to get me back. Don’t you think that these objects were planted on me, so that my ‘competitor’ can get rid of me?”
“How many times did you rehearse that? Don’t answer me! It doesn’t matter! All in all, it’s a very far-fetched story. But it’s not up to me.” Turning to the Jury, he exclaimed: “Men of the Jury, you know the facts. You saw the evidence. You heard Mr. Santriso’s story. Now it’s up to you to see if he is innocent, and should be let free, or if he is guilty, and if so he’ll be sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. You are dismissed.”
The Jury takes leave of the courtroom.
Chapter 3
“Mr. Foreman?” the guard said.
“Yes?” he replied.
“If you need anything just knock on the door.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
The door closes and the click of the lock is heard.
The Foreman asked for attention.
“We were lucky not to get a case of life and death. But, that does not mean that we could take this case lightly. I think that we should start off with a silent vote.”
The Foreman then ripped up a large piece of paper into twelve pieces and handed it out to the Jurors.
“Please write your vote on the piece of paper, and pass it back up to me.
A couple minutes pass, with only the sound of pen on paper heard.
“Alright! Is that all of them?”
“Yep! I believe so,” said Juror# 7
“Good! Now, let’s see: Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“Innocent!”
“Guilty!”
“Innocent!”
“Guilty!”
“Innocent!”
“Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“And… Guilty!”
“Ok! It’s 9 to 3 – Guilty! What should we do now?”
Juror #11 spoke up. “I think that we should see why those that claimed innocent did so. But it’s just a thought,” he trailed off.
“I think,” said the Foreman, “that it’s a great idea! If nobody minds, all those that claim innocent, please raise your hand.”
Jurors #3, 8 and 12 slowly raised their hands.
The Foreman called on Juror #3. “Why do you say innocent?”
“Well, I for one believe his story.” “Now, what is this?!” yelled Juror #5. “We went into his **** story enough! He works in no McDonald’s! In fact, he doesn’t even work at all! Plus, there is no such person as George Shaproe. What kind of name is ‘Shaproe’ anyways?” he said with a sneer.
“Sorry mister.” Juror #3 replied.
Juror #12 put down his hand. “I had the same reason,” he said.
“Well,” said the Foreman. “Now it’s 11 to 1 – Guilty. So Juror #8, why do you say innocent?”
“Aw! Gee! I-I-I don’t really know. I mean, my conscience just doesn’t let me say guilty, and have a kid sit in a dark, dingy cell for 25 years.”
“But he told a stupid story under oath!” yelled Juror #2.
“I-I know, I know. But lying under oath is only five years, not twenty-five.”
“Oh! Shut it about you and your stupid conscience!” juror #2 started yelling. “Knowing you, you probably would let a murderer get off free, because you don’t want to make him go to the ‘Electric Chair’!” he sneered at him.
Then #7 got up. “What are you doing, you animal? He’s entitled to his rights as an American; and as part of this jury, he can claim innocent or guilty without being ashamed for it!”
Juror #2 sat down, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he grunted.
“Good!” said Juror #7. “Now, Juror #8, he does have a point. He’s guilty, all the way, and you know it.” “Yah…. I know. You’re right. I claim guilty.”
“Alright!” said the Foreman. He knocked on the door.
“Yes?” said the guard.
“We have reached a verdict.”
The Jury files into the courtroom.
The Judge bangs his gravel for attention. “The Jury has come to verdict. Mr. Foreman, if you please?” “The Jury proclaims the accused guilty, of all charges, your Honor.”
“It’s settled then!” the Judge said. “I herby sentence the accused, Mr. Josh Santriso, to twenty-five years in prison! Case dismissed!” He bangs his gravel twice.
All those present, file out of the courtroom. Josh Santriso is lead away, handcuffed.
Chapter 4
It’s 1:37 am, on Wednesday, December 7th, 1993. All is quiet. Everyone is fast asleep. All that is, except for one person. A person in a dark, dingy cell, shared with the mice and the rats. A cell with only a small barred up window, a hard wooden bench to sleep on and a small doggy-door, where his daily ration of bread, soup, water, chicken and cheese come in. that person is none other than, our infamous Josh Santriso.
Seventeen years have passed. The 16 year old Josh we once knew, is now a 33 year old man. He wasn’t skinny, but he wasn’t fat either. He, of course, wasn’t married. In only 8 years he would be free. He’s been thinking about life, and he decided, that when he gets out, he’s going to get a real job. He’s going to earn enough money to support himself for many years to come.
But will he ever get out? Eight years is like an eternity. Sure, people come to visit, and sure, it’s not so bad, but it’s eight years! Maybe, he thought, that since he was good, he can bail himself out. But alas! No! He was to be in jail eight more dreadful years.
Chapter 5
8 years later…
Josh was in a very happy mood. He was getting out any day now! He was now 41 years old. He was getting some gray hairs already. Five days pass. Ten days pass. When was he getting out already?! After a month and a half, there’s a knock on his cell door.
The guard opens the door, and leaves it wide open. “You’re free!” he said. “You can go home!” Finally! The day he was waiting for, waiting over twenty-five years for, has come. He was free! He was going home today!
He quickly packed the few belongings he had, and walked out of the jail cell. He walked out into the courtyard, and for the first time in over twenty-five years… he passed the jail gates! Freedom! What everybody dreams about! How good it is to be free! How he won’t take advantage of something like freedom again!
Epilogue
25 years later…
Josh Santriso, a man of 66, now lives with his wife and five children in Los Angeles, California. He owns a pretty successful business. I am glad to say that Josh has learned his lesson very, very well. He also learned that you have to work for everything, even… freedom!
Weo-Weo-Weo! The sirens were piercing the air! Seven patrol cars came zooming down the dirt road, and came to a screeching halt in front of a small cottage. Two cops jumped out of each car and surrounded the house. Half of them drew their guns and entered the cottage by breaking down the door. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes passed. Forty minutes passed. Finally, after two hours, four of the policemen come out dragging a teen, about 16 or 17, and garbage bags upon garbage bags of drugs, nicotine, cocaine, boxes of cigarettes and cases of whiskey. Following them, the others came out with their guns pointed at the young adult. The teenager is shoved into a patrol car, which speeds off. The rest then follow suit.
Chapter 2
“Order in the court! Order in the court!” the Judge cried, while banging his gravel. “This court will now come to order! Will the accused please rise?”
A teenager named Josh Santriso slowly stands up.
“Are you, or are you not Josh Santriso?” the Judge asked.
“I am, your Honor.” The young boy replied.
“And did you, or did you not have drugs and alcohol in your possession?”
“Yes, your Honor. But-”
“I did not ask for any further information.” The Judge replied. “You will answer what you have been asked and only that. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your Honor.” The boy answered meekly.
“Good! Now, back to where we were. You admit to having drugs and alcohol in your possession. Now, how old are you?”
“Sixteen, your Honor.”
“Sixteen. Wow! To young to smoke, yet you had packs of cigarettes; to young to drink, yet you had cases of whisky; and definitely to young to use drugs! Wow! Wow-whee! So, how do you plead: Innocent or Guilty?”
“Innocent.” The boy replied. “Your Honor.” He quickly added.
“Innocent?! Why, I’m surprised! All the evidence proves you guilty, and yet you plead innocent. That takes a lot of guts.”
“May I speak, your Honor?”
“You don’t have much hope, but go on.”
“Thank you. Honorable Judge, Men of the Jury, and all those present. Do you want to see an innocent man rot in jail, for a crime that he did not commit?”
“What on earth are you saying?! If it wasn’t you, then, just, who was it?”
“Your Honor, I work in a McDonald’s and I have a ‘competitor’, who works in a Taco Bell, by the name of George Shaproe. This past year, I had a lot more costumers than him. So, naturally, George was mad. He vowed to get me back. Don’t you think that these objects were planted on me, so that my ‘competitor’ can get rid of me?”
“How many times did you rehearse that? Don’t answer me! It doesn’t matter! All in all, it’s a very far-fetched story. But it’s not up to me.” Turning to the Jury, he exclaimed: “Men of the Jury, you know the facts. You saw the evidence. You heard Mr. Santriso’s story. Now it’s up to you to see if he is innocent, and should be let free, or if he is guilty, and if so he’ll be sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. You are dismissed.”
The Jury takes leave of the courtroom.
Chapter 3
“Mr. Foreman?” the guard said.
“Yes?” he replied.
“If you need anything just knock on the door.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
The door closes and the click of the lock is heard.
The Foreman asked for attention.
“We were lucky not to get a case of life and death. But, that does not mean that we could take this case lightly. I think that we should start off with a silent vote.”
The Foreman then ripped up a large piece of paper into twelve pieces and handed it out to the Jurors.
“Please write your vote on the piece of paper, and pass it back up to me.
A couple minutes pass, with only the sound of pen on paper heard.
“Alright! Is that all of them?”
“Yep! I believe so,” said Juror# 7
“Good! Now, let’s see: Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“Innocent!”
“Guilty!”
“Innocent!”
“Guilty!”
“Innocent!”
“Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“And… Guilty!”
“Ok! It’s 9 to 3 – Guilty! What should we do now?”
Juror #11 spoke up. “I think that we should see why those that claimed innocent did so. But it’s just a thought,” he trailed off.
“I think,” said the Foreman, “that it’s a great idea! If nobody minds, all those that claim innocent, please raise your hand.”
Jurors #3, 8 and 12 slowly raised their hands.
The Foreman called on Juror #3. “Why do you say innocent?”
“Well, I for one believe his story.” “Now, what is this?!” yelled Juror #5. “We went into his **** story enough! He works in no McDonald’s! In fact, he doesn’t even work at all! Plus, there is no such person as George Shaproe. What kind of name is ‘Shaproe’ anyways?” he said with a sneer.
“Sorry mister.” Juror #3 replied.
Juror #12 put down his hand. “I had the same reason,” he said.
“Well,” said the Foreman. “Now it’s 11 to 1 – Guilty. So Juror #8, why do you say innocent?”
“Aw! Gee! I-I-I don’t really know. I mean, my conscience just doesn’t let me say guilty, and have a kid sit in a dark, dingy cell for 25 years.”
“But he told a stupid story under oath!” yelled Juror #2.
“I-I know, I know. But lying under oath is only five years, not twenty-five.”
“Oh! Shut it about you and your stupid conscience!” juror #2 started yelling. “Knowing you, you probably would let a murderer get off free, because you don’t want to make him go to the ‘Electric Chair’!” he sneered at him.
Then #7 got up. “What are you doing, you animal? He’s entitled to his rights as an American; and as part of this jury, he can claim innocent or guilty without being ashamed for it!”
Juror #2 sat down, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he grunted.
“Good!” said Juror #7. “Now, Juror #8, he does have a point. He’s guilty, all the way, and you know it.” “Yah…. I know. You’re right. I claim guilty.”
“Alright!” said the Foreman. He knocked on the door.
“Yes?” said the guard.
“We have reached a verdict.”
The Jury files into the courtroom.
The Judge bangs his gravel for attention. “The Jury has come to verdict. Mr. Foreman, if you please?” “The Jury proclaims the accused guilty, of all charges, your Honor.”
“It’s settled then!” the Judge said. “I herby sentence the accused, Mr. Josh Santriso, to twenty-five years in prison! Case dismissed!” He bangs his gravel twice.
All those present, file out of the courtroom. Josh Santriso is lead away, handcuffed.
Chapter 4
It’s 1:37 am, on Wednesday, December 7th, 1993. All is quiet. Everyone is fast asleep. All that is, except for one person. A person in a dark, dingy cell, shared with the mice and the rats. A cell with only a small barred up window, a hard wooden bench to sleep on and a small doggy-door, where his daily ration of bread, soup, water, chicken and cheese come in. that person is none other than, our infamous Josh Santriso.
Seventeen years have passed. The 16 year old Josh we once knew, is now a 33 year old man. He wasn’t skinny, but he wasn’t fat either. He, of course, wasn’t married. In only 8 years he would be free. He’s been thinking about life, and he decided, that when he gets out, he’s going to get a real job. He’s going to earn enough money to support himself for many years to come.
But will he ever get out? Eight years is like an eternity. Sure, people come to visit, and sure, it’s not so bad, but it’s eight years! Maybe, he thought, that since he was good, he can bail himself out. But alas! No! He was to be in jail eight more dreadful years.
Chapter 5
8 years later…
Josh was in a very happy mood. He was getting out any day now! He was now 41 years old. He was getting some gray hairs already. Five days pass. Ten days pass. When was he getting out already?! After a month and a half, there’s a knock on his cell door.
The guard opens the door, and leaves it wide open. “You’re free!” he said. “You can go home!” Finally! The day he was waiting for, waiting over twenty-five years for, has come. He was free! He was going home today!
He quickly packed the few belongings he had, and walked out of the jail cell. He walked out into the courtyard, and for the first time in over twenty-five years… he passed the jail gates! Freedom! What everybody dreams about! How good it is to be free! How he won’t take advantage of something like freedom again!
Epilogue
25 years later…
Josh Santriso, a man of 66, now lives with his wife and five children in Los Angeles, California. He owns a pretty successful business. I am glad to say that Josh has learned his lesson very, very well. He also learned that you have to work for everything, even… freedom!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)