What is a Maamar?
According to Chabad.org, a maamar is more than just a teaching. It is a concept derived from the word amar, which means “to say.” In the Chabad tradition, when a leader, a rebbe, states a Maamar, he is understood as bringing a new bright light into the world. In a sense, it is a vision.
I have instituted a tradition for myself. On every Shabbat that I am in Haverford, Pennsylvania, I walk to the Chabad of the Main Line which is a bit over 3 miles each way. I attend the afternoon service, Mincha, listen to a half hour or forty-five minute lecture by the Rabbi, and then after nightfall, doven with all of the others, the Maariv service.
For me the walk, the fellowship, the prayers, and the discussion is a perfect end to the peace, harmony, and holiness of the Sabbath. Oftentimes I show up sweaty, wet from rain, or freezing cold. Nevertheless, I always receive a warm reception from those who seem surprised that anyone would so enjoy the physical exercise and the mental challenge of the walk.
On one particular Shabbat, the shiur, lesson or lecture, was delivered by a popular attendee, who is in the filmmaking business, insofar as I know. He is an animated speaker with a spiritual bent. His name is Bentzi Avtzon. He was speaking of the maamar authored by Rabbi Sholom Dov Ber Schneerson, the Fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe.
He talked about what it meant to attempt an understanding of G-dliness. He explained that it was not the same as being “spiritual.” After some discussion, he explained that the rare state of achieving the understanding of G-dliness is by the performance of mitzvoth. The performance of mitzvoth is sometimes misunderstood as the doing of good deeds. Wrong! Mitzvoth are requirements attendant to Jewish observance and what it means to live a quality life.
Suddenly I was struck by a recent experience that I had almost forgotten about. For the last number of years, I have been asked by the Rabbi of the Chabad of the Main Line, Shraga Sherman, to go to an assisted living center on one or both days of Rosh Hashanah and sound the shofar for the residents there. I have undertaken to do that every year, and to do my own little schtick. I do a few of the prayers, sermonize on the Torah reading, and sound the shofar. The people who run the assisted living center are hospitable, not a bit nonplussed that this Jewish guy is showing up with a big animal horn and sounding the required blasts on the instrument, all in conformity with almost 3000 years of history.
It is not easy to go into an assisted living center, and for many people, it is not very uplifting. I recalled as a child going with my father to visit his mother, my grandma, at the Hebrew Home for the Aged overlooking the Hudson River. My father and his brother were determined to see their mother receive the best care possible and to enjoy her remaining years. To this day, I have clear recollections of people that my father visited or developed a rapport with, who were not necessarily regular mainstream folks. One man was a paraplegic who worked in the jewelry business on 42nd Street in New York City. Another man and his family had obvious emotional deficits. Nevertheless, my father treated them with the greatest of respect, reached out to these people, and showed enormous kindness.
On another occasion I recall vividly walking with my father down Allenwood Road in our hometown. An elderly woman who lived across the street suddenly fell on the pavement. My father ran across the street, carried her into her house, wiped the blood off of her face, and offered to call her family, even though it was Shabbat. He spent a few minutes talking with her to make she was uninjured. When we left, I told my father how proud of him I was. He explained to me that he did not especially like the woman and told me the reason. His reason made sense, but his decency and ability to put aside whatever he thought privately was much more impressive to me.
One time as a kid I complained about an older person being annoying. It seemed like everyone in my family was older because I was born later in my parents’ life, later than most people had kids in those days. My grandparents were elderly when I was growing up, as were many other family members. When I made an inappropriate crack about older people, my father’s immediate response was, “Don’t worry about it son; if G-d is good to you and you live long enough, you will be old too someday.” I never forgot that.
As past president of a small upstate Pennsylvania synagogue, I visited many elderly people who were sick and dying. I sat with more than a few as they took their last breath. Attending funerals was part of the job of a smalltown Schule president.
When I came out of the assisted living center in Philadelphia after sounding the shofar, I looked at the beauty of the day, and I felt compelled to have a short discussion with G-d. I thanked the Lord for all of the marvelous people and experiences in my own life. Gratitude was on my lips for the joy that I received going to the assisted living center, talking a little Judaism, and sounding the shofar.
What made this particular Rosh Hashanah unusual is that I have never been stopped as many times on the street by people who wished me well for the holidays, wished me a happy new year, and who asked me to sound the shofar for them. There I was standing on Montgomery Avenue in Haverford sounding the Ibex horn while motorists stopped and looked. There is no question that many of the people who stopped me or greeted me along the way on those two days were not Jewish and, of course, others were. The outpouring of positivity and good will was a thankful response to all the misery, suffering, and political wars that we are all experiencing currently.
I felt the answer of G-d to my expression of appreciation in the warmth of the day, the kindness of the people that I met, and the appreciation of the elderly whom I had served.
When I heard the maamar at Main Line Synagogue, I realized that I had not thanked Rabbi Sherman for suggesting my name as the person to sound the shofar at the assisted living center. I made sure to do that before the evening was through.
I am now convinced that it is quite true that a relationship with G-d is based on the deeds we perform. If we could just bring a little light into the life of someone less fortunate, or who may even be doing wonderfully in life, we have performed in a way that the Bible and western civilization commands.
