Russian Jews vs Yemenite Jews

Why do the two paragraphs of Shema have the same passages twice?

The Mayor’s Question

Back in the 1950s, about 50,000 Jews from Yemen were brought to Israel in what was called Operation Magic Carpet. When they arrived, the government placed them in temporary camps—ma’abarot—in different cities around the country.

The problem was, outside of places like Jerusalem, Bnei Brak, Kfar Chabad, and a bit in Petach Tikvah, there just weren’t any religious schools, and these were observant families. So these new immigrant kids had nowhere to go for a Torah education.

The Rebbe told the Chassidim in Israel: step in and fill the gap. Open schools for the Yemenite children.

In Kfar Saba, which had a large Yemenite community, Chabad Chassidim went door to door, asking parents if they wanted a religious education for their kids. Ninety families signed up. Armed with those signatures, they went to the head of the local council and said, “Look, we’ve got 90 kids who need a school. Will the city help fund it—just like you support the other schools?”

The mayor said, “There’s no budget for that.”

So they offered a compromise: “Let us try to raise the money ourselves. Just help us with a basic building—a hut, even.”

Again, the answer was no. “There’s no land left in Kfar Saba,” the mayor said. “Every piece of open space is already allocated.”

They pushed and pushed, and by the end of the meeting, the mayor was getting frustrated. He raised his voice and said, “I don’t understand—what does Chabad have to do with the Yemenites? If your own community lived here and wanted a school, I’d get it. But what connection do you have to them?”

And it’s a good question. What connection was there between Yiddish-speaking Chassidim from Russia and Arabic-speaking Yemenite Jews?

The Chassidim answered simply: “We actually feel very close to them. In Yemen, just like in Russia, Jews held onto Torah and mitzvos with mesiras nefesh—self-sacrifice. That’s the connection. We come from different places, but we’re the same people.”

Still, the meeting ended with no results. 

From “Satan” to Supporter

After the explosive meeting with the mayor of Kfar Saba, the Chassidim wrote to the Rebbe, describing their frustration. They referred to the mayor as “the satan himself,” saying he was doing everything possible to block the opening of a religious school in the city.

But the Rebbe’s response was that, on the contrary, he believed the mayor was a good Jew—he just needed to be awakened and brought closer. With the right approach, the Rebbe said, this same mayor could become not an obstacle, but an ally.

Encouraged by the Rebbe’s words, one of the Chassidim—a community activist—tried to set up another meeting with the mayor to speak heart to heart. But he couldn’t get past the front desk.

There’s a saying: “If you can’t get in through the door—go through the window.” And that’s exactly what he did. Literally. He climbed into the mayor’s office through the window.

Needless to say, the mayor had no choice but to meet with him. But despite the Chassid’s sincere efforts, the conversation went nowhere. The mayor remained firm in his refusal.

The Chassidim turned to the city’s financial officer and asked him to speak with the mayor. He agreed. After the meeting, he reported back with the mayor’s blunt response: “A religious school will be built in this city when hair grows on the palm of my hand.”

Still undeterred, the Chassidim opened the school inside the local Yemenite synagogue. But after a few weeks, the gabbai received an official notice from the city telling them to remove the school.

They relocated to an empty shack elsewhere in town. The next day, a municipal tractor came and tore it down.

Meanwhile, the Rebbe instructed the Chassidim to send the mayor mishloach manos for Purim in his name. That marked the beginning of a change.

Later, the Rebbe sent him matzah for Pesach, which softened him further. Then, before Rosh Hashanah, the Rebbe sent a personal letter of blessing. The mayor was deeply moved that the Rebbe remembered him.

In time, the man who the Chassidim had once called “the satan” became a friend—and a strong supporter of the very school he had once tried to stop. (Based on the biography of Rabbi Meir Blizinsky, p. 27 and on.)

A Legacy to Remember

But to be fair, the mayor’s question wasn’t a bad one: What do Chabad Chassidim have to do with Yemenite immigrants? Why should they care whether or not there’s a school for their kids? Let the Chassidim worry about their own children—and that’s it.

But that’s not the Jewish way.

There’s a story in the Talmud about a man named Yehoshua ben Gamla. He served as Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, toward the end of the Second Temple era—about 2,000 years ago. The Gemara (Bava Basra 21a) says about him, “Zachur l’tov”—may he be remembered for the good.

Why? Because in his time, there were no schools for young children. Only teenagers—14, 15 years old—went off to yeshivah. Younger kids were taught at home, with each father fulfilling the mitzvah from the Shema: “And you shall teach them to your children.” But if a child didn’t have a father at home, he often didn’t get a Torah education at all.

Yehoshua ben Gamla changed that. He established that every city in Israel must have schools for young children, where they could learn Torah. And for that, the sages said: Zachur l’tov—he deserves to be remembered for the good. (See Sichos Kodesh 5733, p. 717)

A Shared Responsibility

This week, we read the second paragraph of the Shema. At first glance, it seems to repeat many of the same mitzvos as the first paragraph—especially the obligation to teach Torah to our children. So what’s the difference?

The sages explain that the verse in this week’s portion refers to a father teaching his own children. But the verse in Parshas Vaeschanan—“You shall teach them to your children”—is understood by Rashi to mean not only biological children, but also students. As Rashi says, “Your children—this refers to your students, because we find that students are called children” (Devarim 6:7).

This is why halacha rules that there’s a communal obligation to provide Torah education. The Alter Rebbe writes (Shulchan Aruch HaRav, Hilchos Talmud Torah 1:3) that it’s a rabbinic enactment to appoint teachers for children in every city—and to fund their salaries through a tax on the entire community. Even someone who doesn’t have children is still obligated to help.

So yes, it’s the responsibility of a Yiddish-speaking immigrant from Russia to make sure that Yemenite children get a Jewish education. And yes, it’s the responsibility of a Chassid in New York to move across the world to some far-off place in China—just to make sure that the local Jewish children there can grow up with a Jewish education.

Because when it comes to Jewish children and Torah, it’s not their responsibility. It’s ours.