In this week’s Torah portion, Isaac asks Esau to prepare a meal for him. Was he just hungry?

Someone Who Can Keep a Secret

Since coming to America, I’ve learned that there are three Jewish holidays: Rosh Hashanah, Passover, and Thanksgiving. Everyone seems to love Thanksgiving. You don’t have to go to synagogue. You don’t have to eat bitter herbs or read the Haggadah. There’s nothing else you’re required to do.

Of course, Thanksgiving isn’t a Jewish holiday at all. But the idea behind it is very Jewish.

Jewish law teaches that when a person experiences a miracle, he should thank G-d. The custom is to invite friends and loved ones to a meal, tell them about the miracle, and thank G-d for His kindness. Many Jews made the day they were liberated from Auschwitz a day of thanksgiving for themselves and their descendants. Others celebrate the day they first set foot in America, a day of joy and gratitude for the miracle they experienced. (Piskei Teshuvos, end of section 218)

Today, I’d like to share the story behind a Chassidic thanksgiving celebration that has been observed since 1977.

It was Simchas Torah, 5738, at the Rebbe’s synagogue, 770 Eastern Parkway. Thousands of people were dancing and celebrating. Then, right in the middle of the hakafos, the dancing with the Torahs, the Rebbe suddenly turned pale and asked to sit down.

Only afterward did people realize that the Rebbe had suffered a severe heart attack. It’s impossible to describe the commotion in the synagogue at that moment.

Nobody knew what to do. Within a short time, most of the synagogue had emptied out, and the Rebbe went upstairs to his office. The doctors examined him and said that he needed to be hospitalized. The Rebbe objected. He said that moving a heart patient could be dangerous.

So instead of taking the Rebbe to the hospital, they brought the hospital to the Rebbe. Doctors, nurses, and the most advanced equipment available for treating his condition were brought into that small room. That was where they cared for him.

The Rebbe remained there for five weeks. Then, on Rosh Chodesh Kislev, the first day of the Hebrew month of Kislev, he left his office and went home for the first time. The Chassidim sang and danced. Their joy knew no bounds.

About a month later, on the final day of Chanukah, known as Zos Chanukah, the Rebbe called Rabbi Yaakov Yehuda Hecht into his office. Rabbi Hecht was one of the Chassidim closest to him. The Rebbe explained that he was looking for a “baal meretz u’baal sod”—someone who could get things done and keep a secret. That was why he had called him.

The Rebbe wanted to hold a special farbrengen, a Chassidic gathering, that afternoon after Mincha.

Having recovered from the heart attack, the Rebbe wanted to make a seudas hoda’ah, a meal of thanksgiving. But he asked Rabbi Hecht to keep it completely secret until the gathering was about to begin.

Why the secrecy?

First, the last day of Chanukah fell on a Monday that year. This would be a gathering in the middle of a workday. The Rebbe didn’t want people to rush over and miss a day’s work because of him.

The Rebbe gave another reason. The second set of Tablets, he explained, was given quietly. Our Sages teach that the first Tablets were given with great fanfare, in front of everyone, and the ayin hara, the evil eye, affected them. They were broken. When Moses brought the second Tablets on Yom Kippur, he returned to the camp quietly, without everyone watching. The Rebbe wanted this occasion kept quiet too.

He asked Rabbi Hecht to prepare wine, challah, and everything else needed for the farbrengen. But again, nobody was to know in advance.

Then the Rebbe asked him whether he really knew how to keep a secret.

There are three kinds of people who keep secrets, the Rebbe explained. The first hears a secret and immediately tells everyone that he knows one. Put a little pressure on him, and he can’t resist. Out comes the secret.

The second person will never tell. But you can see from his face that he’s carrying around something important.

The third person doesn’t tell, and you can’t even tell that he knows anything you don’t.

Rabbi Hecht asked whether he could tell the Rebbe’s secretaries about the farbrengen. The Rebbe said no.

“Should I say something to the yeshiva students here at 770?”

“If you tell them,” the Rebbe replied, “the secret will soon reach Australia.”

“Can I at least tell my son?”

“Tell your son to be here,” the Rebbe said, “but don’t tell him why.”

When Rabbi Hecht left the office, the secretary asked what the Rebbe had told him. Of course, Rabbi Hecht gave him a different explanation for the visit.

He went out and bought everything needed for the farbrengen, then kept it all in the trunk of his car. Only as Mincha approached did word get out that the Rebbe would be holding a thanksgiving farbrengen.

It was a complete surprise.

A Blessing in Exchange for a Meal?

What is the idea behind a seudas hoda’ah? When we want to thank and praise G-d, we do it over a meal. As the Talmud puts it, “Ein omrim Hallel ela al nefesh seveiah v’keres meleiah”—we say Hallel, the psalms of praise, when we feel satisfied and our stomachs are full. (Taanis 25b)

We find the same idea in this week’s Torah portion, Toldos. When Isaac wanted to bless Esau, he called him in and asked him to prepare the food he loved and bring it to him to eat, so that he could give him his heartfelt blessing. (Bereishis 27:4)

Now, if Isaac wanted to bless Esau, why not simply call him in and bless him? Where does the food come in?

Later, Jacob brings the food, and he receives the blessings. What does a meal have to do with a blessing? A blessing is spiritual. Food is about as physical as it gets!

Rabbeinu Bachya explains that Isaac wasn’t looking for the pleasure of a good meal. He wanted to feel joyful and uplifted. When the body’s strength is renewed, it gives the soul’s powers a lift too. That inner joy would allow him to receive Divine inspiration.

In plain English, if you want to give another Jew a blessing, you need to be in a happy frame of mind. A meal helps you get there. It’s hard to feel joyful when you’re hungry.

That also explains why Jacob brought more than food. He brought wine: “Vayavei lo yayin vayesht”—he brought him wine, and he drank. (Bereishis 27:25)

But Isaac hadn’t asked for wine!

Jacob knew that meat and wine bring joy. If he wanted a good blessing, the wine would help put his father in an even happier frame of mind.

When we want to thank G-d, we sit down to a meal. That’s what we do when we celebrate a happy occasion with a kiddush in the synagogue. It’s really a meal of thanksgiving for all the goodness and blessings G-d gives us.

And that’s the perfect opportunity to turn to the person sitting next to you and give him a blessing—for everything he needs, materially and spiritually.