What comes to mind when you think of Jamaica? The name of that tiny Caribbean island most likely conjures thoughts of sunny tropical beaches, sugar cane, reggae music, and dreadlocks. Less well-known is the island’s tumultuous history as a haven for pirates, as well as some clever and courageous Jews who fought valiantly to keep the Spanish Inquisition off their backs.

Christopher Columbus discovered the island in 1494, on his second voyage. Some historians believe that he was a Jew fleeing the Inquisition; today, members of Jamaica’s tiny remaining Jewish community claim Columbus as a forebear. The Columbus family gained ownership of Jamaica and control over the Church there, making Jamaica a safe haven from the Inquisition. The Jews of Jamaica no longer had to live in fear of being tortured or burned at the stake.

That situation lasted for over a century, until the Spanish government found an excuse to send the Inquisition to Jamaica. By that time, the island was ripe for conquest, and Jews played a pivotal role in liberating Jamaica from Spanish rule.

In 1655, a Jewish pilot named Campoe Sabada navigated an English invasion fleet into Jamaica’s harbor, to wrest the island from Spain. The Spanish soon surrendered Jamaica to England. Under English rule, Jamaica’s Jews were able to live openly as Jews. Spanish and Portuguese Jews from all over the New World immigrated to Jamaica, as well; there, they could live freely and prosper.

Jamaica also became a home for pirates. The island’s Port Royal attracted French and English buccaneers, who found in that town many customers for their loot stolen from Spain, in addition to the sensuous pleasures that they craved and the ability to repair their ships.

As the pirates prospered, so did Jamaica’s Jewish community. Between 1666 and 1670, led by the famed English pirate Henry Morgan, the buccaneers repeatedly invaded the Spanish colonies of the New World and forcibly robbed the Spaniards of their wealth. They were backed by the Jewish merchants of Port Royal. Morgan carried out six raids on Spanish ports, and finally in brought the Spanish Empire to its knees. Spain’s dominance in the New World came to an end.

Throughout Jamaica’s history, there were rumors that Christopher Columbus had discovered a secret gold mine while on the island. In 1663, three wealthy Dutch Jewish men and their sons trekked into the mountains of Jamaica to search for the mine. They claimed that Jamaica’s secret Jews had told them about the mine during the era of Spanish rule, and convinced the English King Charles to back their two-year expedition. Charles’s patience only lasted one year, though; due to their failure to locate the mine, Charles accused them of fraud and expelled them from Jamaica. However, by the time the king’s ordered reached Jamaica in 1664, the gold-seeking Jews from Holland were already gone.

One of those Dutch Jews, Abraham Cohen Henriques, may have returned to Jamaica to continue his search. In 1670, he secretly staked his claim to a large piece of property near the mouth of northern Jamaica’s Oracabessa River. Others, too, have tried to locate the mine, but it still has never been found. Does Columbus’s legendary mine actually exist? Ainsley Henriques, Abraham Cohen Henriques’s descendant and the current leader of Jamaica’s Jewish community, is quite skeptical. “The gold is in the story,” he has asserted. (1) However, one can never be too sure.

Despite numerous difficulties, the Jamaican Jewish community continued to thrive after its liberation from Spanish rule. The Jewish population has dwindled to fewer than 200 persons. Still, the aged Sha’are Shalom synagogue continues to function in Kingston, near the southern coast. An Israeli-born caterer named Vered Maoz runs a kosher food business in Kingston, as well. (2) In addition, Chabad has recently established a presence in Montego Bay, at the island’s north side, to provide visitors with opportunities to engage in Jewish practice. (3) Ainsley Henriques hosts Jewish history conferences, and opened a museum near Sha’re Shalom. Henriques aims to inform the public about Jamaica’s once-flourishing Jewish life. (4)

Pirate combat, a lost gold mine, stunning scenery, and a rich history spanning more than five centuries: Jamaica remains a fascinating locale, still ripe for new discovery…and adventure novels. Stay tuned!
 
 
References:

1. Kritzler, Edward, Jewish Pirates of the Caribbean. New York: Random House (2008).
2. http://www.aish.com/jw/s/Jews-of-Jamaica.html
3. http://www.jewishjamaica.com/general-info/
4. http://www.haaretz.com/jewish/features/1.647047

The name “Antiochus” has been known throughout the ages to Jewish children around the world. It’s the name of one of the chief villains of Jewish history, the Seleucid Greek tyrant whom the Maccabees defeated in the story of Chanukah. Relatively recent excavations in Israel have verified traditional accounts regarding this interesting historical character from the Hellenic era and his military and political strategies. Discoveries at the site of Antiochus’s military stronghold in Jerusalem can help us to appreciate the sheer magnitude of the Chanukah miracles.

A descendant of Greek rulers including Alexander IV of Macedon and Seleucus I Nicator, Antiochus IV Epiphanes ruled the Land of Israel with an iron fist. In contrast to his father and predecessor, Antiochus III, who had treated the Jews of Israel in a benign manner, Antiochus IV forbade the study of the Torah and many additional aspects of traditional Jewish life. Recent excavations have uncovered a veritable treasure trove of knowledge regarding Antiochus and his citadel. While the Jewish rebellion that began in the year 168 BCE under Judah Maccabee, and the Maccabees’ miraculous triumph, tell an inspiring story, Antiochus’s military stronghold provides a fascinating tale in its own right.

Antiochus IV erected a fortress known as the Acra, and used it during his siege of Jerusalem. This fortress, mentioned both in the Book of Maccabees and by the historian Flavius Josephus, eventually fell to Shimon Maccabee, Judah’s brother. The fortress’s location allowed the Acra to control all approaches to the Temple. It also cut off the Temple from southern Jerusalem. Antiochus’s strategic placement of the Acra is consistent with what we know to be the Selucid Greek’s broader goal: the imposition of Hellenistic culture to replace Judaism. Antiochus IV’s efforts at Hellenization included the placement of Greek pagan idols in the Temple itself and the abolition of Temple sacrifices. He also banned three specific practices that undergird the Jewish worldview: the Sabbath, the weekly Jewish day of rest; the celebration of the Jewish New Month; and circumcision.

Ruins of the Acra were excavated in November 2015, after over a century of searches by archaeologists. Evidence of the fortress’s existence included “…a section of a massive wall, a tower of impressive dimensions (width about 12 ft, length 60 ft, estimated height 54 ft.) and a slanted slope which was built next to the wall, a defensive element made of layers of earth, stone and stucco, designed to keep attackers from the base of the wall. The slope came down to the Tyropoeon ravine that split the city in ancient times, which was an additional obstacle in defending the fort.” (1)

At the site, archaeologists found numerous weapons, including ballista stones imprinted with pitchforks (Antiochus’s symbol), bronze arrowheads, a catapult, and lead sling stones. A cache of coins dated between the reigns of Antiochus IV and Antiochus VII was uncovered there, as well. According to researchers involved, the coins and “…the large number of wine jars (amphorae) that were imported form the Aegean region to Jerusalem and were found at the site bear witness to the citadel’s age, as well as to the non-Jewish identity of its inhabitants.” (2)

What lessons can we take from the unearthing of the Chanukah villain’s ancient stronghold? Perhaps this discovery can fortify our faith in the enduring nature of the Jewish People. Antiochus and his ilk had it all: wealth, power, and the most advanced weaponry that the old world had to offer. Yet, they did not realize that their society was indeed ancient, and that the very people whom they struggled to subjugate would, one day, be found picking through their artifacts. More importantly, the Jewish People would still be living by their timeless Torah long after the demise of the mighty Greek Empire. Despite the Greeks’ seemingly indomitable military and cultural machine, they were brought down by a fiercely dedicated band of Jews who resisted Greek influence with all of the strength that they could muster.

Our continued survival is the greatest miracle that G-d has ever performed for the Jewish People. We will continue to thrive and to reach heavenward, come what may, like the burning wicks that we kindle nightly at this very special time of year.


Sources:
1. "Ancient Mystery Solved: Hellenistic Citadel that Restricted Jewish Rule in Hasmonean Jerusalem", The Jewish Press. http://www.jewishpress.com/news/israel/jerusalem/ancient-mystery-solved-hellenistic-citadel-that-restricted-jewish-rule-in-hasmonean-jerusalem/2015/11/03/0/?print
2. "The History and Archaeology of Chanukah," Jewish Home LA. https://jewishhomela.com/2015/12/09/the-history-and-archaeology-of-chanukah/
 
 

I stood in our synagogue’s social hall on a typical Saturday night, while my sons and I began listening to Havdalah, the Separation service that officially marks the weekly transition from the Jewish Sabbath to weekday activity. As usual, I was not planning on fulfilling the mitzvah (commandment) of Havdalah by listening to its recitation by others; rather, I expected to go home in order to perform the service for my wife, my daughter and myself. My teenaged son decided to walk home alone from the synagogue before Havdalah was over. I bid him farewell, and he left. A moment later, he surprised me by returning to the room.

“Mommy’s outside, waiting to pick us up,” he told me, “and she’s in a hurry.”

That didn’t sound good. It was a ten-to-fifteen-minute walk home, and there was usually no need to pick us up from the synagogue at the conclusion of the Sabbath. The last time such a thing had happened, Havdalah was followed by a rushed drive to the ICU to visit my ailing mother, Simha Wyckoff. What in the world was going on tonight?

I nervously gathered my five sons and led them outside, where my wife awaited us in our family’s SUV. She was visibly shaken; after quickly urging everyone into the vehicle, she raced down the familiar streets of our neighborhood. On the way home, she answered our curious children’s relentless questions with an uncharacteristic annoyance. Before long, she hastily parked in front of our house and then quickly instructed the children to exit the vehicle. Something was wrong, very wrong.

In our bedroom, with the door locked and no children present, my wife dropped a bomb. “Your mother died last night. I’m sorry.” She then left me alone and allowed my shocked mind to absorb the horror that I had just heard. The four and a half months that my mother’s frail body had spent fighting illness after ruthless illness had finally come to a bitter end. I broke down in tears and then turned on my phone to call my father, stunned by the magnitude of our loss.

As Jews, we are taught not to forsake “Torat imecha,” the “Torah of your mother.” Although fathers are obligated to teach their children the facts and logic that comprise the incredibly vast body of the Written and Oral Torah, the Jewish mother is responsible for creating a home environment that fosters a Torah-true life. The mother provides her children with an indispensable experiential knowledge in her warm and loving Jewish home. In this regard, my mother was – and remains – an unparalleled success. She was my first and best Torah teacher.

In my earliest memories, my mother filled our home with the sights, sounds and scents of a vivid, meaningful and true Jewish life. I called her “Mama.” The smell of her freshly baked challah (bread baked in honor of the Sabbath) and cooked chamin (a Sabbath stew cooked overnight, known in Ashkenazi communities as “cholent”) tantalized me every Friday afternoon and Sabbath day. My mother casually sang songs about Jerusalem and the Kineret as she walked around the house, tending to domestic matters. The lucid images of her lighting the weekly Sabbath candles and of her helping my brothers and me to kindle our Chanukah menorahs every year will always remain with me. She taught me the melodies that I still use for the Friday night Kiddush (Sanctification of the Sabbath Day) and for the Passover Seder. Further, she ignited my yearning for Jewish knowledge by telling a myriad of fascinating stories, including tales from the Tanach (the Jewish Holy Scriptures) and accounts of great individuals from Jewish history. Every year on Passover, she brought the Exodus from Egypt to life. And I will never forget my mother’s anecdotes about the deeds of her righteous parents; although poor, they attended diligently to the needs of people more destitute than they.

A descendant of the Moroccan Jews who had founded the Jewish community of Tiberias in the nineteenth century, my mother was raised in the home of Rabbi Machluf and Rivka Koubbi. She was the youngest of eight children, and grew up with a deep faith in our Creator and an abiding commitment to righteousness and Jewish scholarship. She was born before the outbreak of World War II. As a child, she observed her father standing by the mezuzah (a scroll containing scriptural passages and placed at the doorway of a Jewish home) every morning, tearfully supplicating on behalf of the Jews who were being brutally persecuted and murdered in Europe. After the war, her parents excelled at the Jewish trait of kindness, opening their modest home to numerous Jewish refugees from Europe who had nowhere else to go. A multitude of guests were hosted and treated well in the Koubbi family home every Sabbath and holiday. Her parents perpetually gave charity to the poor, and Machluf studied the Torah without a stop.

My mother made formal Jewish education as important as the experiences that she provided in the home. She excelled at the top institutions in Tiberias and Jerusalem, and later brought her wealth of knowledge and wisdom into the classrooms of Jewish schools in order to teach the next generation. After spending a number of years at schools in Israel and in England, she followed her adventurous spirit to tame the Jewish badlands of the San Fernando Valley. In 1970, she moved to North Hollywood, California, to accept a full-time teaching position at a new Jewish day school, Emek (Valley) Hebrew Academy. The traditionally religious Jewish community in the Valley was quite small in those days, and Jewish education was a difficult challenge for many parents. My mother was instrumental in bringing Torah knowledge to children who otherwise would have had no opportunities to learn their people’s traditions. Not long after moving to the Valley, she met and married my father. Emek was my first school, and will always occupy a special place in my heart.

Financial struggles made it difficult for my parents to provide a continuous religious Jewish education for my brothers and me. With a heavy heart, and feeling forced by unbearable financial pressures, my mother withdrew us from Jewish day school. I finished my elementary school education in a public school setting, and attended public middle and high schools. After-school religious educational programs were available, but they were poor substitutes for day school.

Although I did not make many close friends in public school, my mother saw to it that I survived that experience with a healthy, intact self-esteem. She consistently reassured me that, no matter what came my way, I had worth, lots of worth. I was loved. I mattered. And I had every right to hold my head high; my mother built me up in ways that no other person on Earth could. I felt privileged to have a mother like her (along with an equally loving and devoted father).

My mother’s most prominent, defining characteristic was her inner strength. She was remarkably tough, and had more guts that anyone else I knew. When I was in my late teens, a stationery store that my parents had run jointly for over a decade failed. A couple of real estate investments went poorly, as well, when my parents’ renters simply refused to pay their rent. My mother was hungry for a new challenge, and she chose an intellectual one. She would return to education, this time taking on the task of teaching children with special needs. To do so, she required a degree from the American university system. The first step was to tackle the local community college. She flew through the Associate of Arts program in record time, taking many courses at once. From there, it was on to a California State University, where she quickly completed her B.A. degree and then progressed to a Master’s Degree in Special Education. None of the common excuses and rationalizations stood in her way; she pursued her goals with fierce grit and determination. Whenever she set her mind to something, my mother could be described by only one adjective: unstoppable.

When I was a university student, my interest in learning the Torah, along with traditional Jewish life and practice, was reignited. It was an interest that had, at worst, grown dormant within me, but had never been fully extinguished, over my years of secular education. My mother bragged to friends about my plans to travel to various English-speaking yeshivot (religious schools) in Israel in order to enhance my Torah knowledge. She was elated by each of my decisions to take the observance of a mitzvah more seriously. Throughout the 1990s, I steadily increased my Jewish knowledge and practice, to my mother’s delight. She took great pride in my achievements, reveling in the awareness that Judaism in our family was to continue.
I rarely saw my mother happier than on the day that I announced to her my engagement. Janna was a charming, wise young woman who called my mother “Imma,” the Hebrew word meaning “mother.” After devoting herself tirelessly to raising three sons, my mother was now being rewarded with a daughter. At our wedding, my mother stood by me under a chuppah (Jewish wedding canopy) and cried tears of joy. She could now add a beautiful daughter-in-law to her well-earned arsenal of bragging rights.

An expanded family in Los Angeles meant even more devotion. My mother supported us in every possible way throughout the births of six children, and participated actively in their upbringing. She cooked and baked for us, watched our children, carried them around while speaking to them in Hebrew and singing Hebrew songs for them, and bought them gifts. She prepared massive meals in honor of Jewish holidays, sometimes celebrating them with us and sometimes sending food to our home in order to enhance our celebrations. I will never forget the joy that she expressed at the brit milah (circumcision) of our fifth child, Eliyahu, who was named after her saintly grandfather, the Moroccan-born Torah sage, Rabbi Eliyahu Yiloz.
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Ultimately, her family was the only thing that mattered to my mother. Her passing not only ruptured our familial structure itself, but threw our entire dynamic off track. Nearly every month of the year, someone’s birthday was celebrated at her home, with a delicious meal, birthday cake, gifts, and the type of entertainment that only grandparents can provide. The Bat Mitzvah and Bar Mitzvah celebrations of our two eldest children were only the beginning of a long cycle of rewards reaped for my mother’s selfless dedication and her efforts to provide a Jewish home. She loved to attend our younger children’s siddur (prayer-book) parties, our elder children’s graduations, and the annual Purim meals at our house. Imma, you left us too soon.

Against all of my better hopes that I was simply dreaming a horrible nightmare from which I would soon awake, the dreaded day finally arrived. I was scheduled to get on an airplane and fly to Israel, where I would accompany my mother to her final rest in her hometown, the holy city of Tiberias. She would now share a commonality with the Rambam and the Tanna Rabbi Meir. On the morning of my flight, Janna faced the formidable task of consoling a husband who lay in bed, sobbing uncontrollably.
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“It’s not goodbye forever,” she said to me, exhibiting her typical sagacity. “Some day, we will be together with Hashem (G-d).”

She was right, of course. The concepts of the eventual Resurrection of the Dead and the World to Come are integral to Jewish belief. As is generally true in Jewish philosophy, these principles have sound rational bases. The human being is a combination of body and soul; although the needs of the soul are primary, the body is also destined to receive its just reward for having enabled the soul to carry out its Divine purpose during a person’s Earthly existence. The eventual reunification of body and soul on Earth will coincide with the Messianic Era, described in our daily prayers with the words, “On that day, G-d will be One, and His Name will be One.” (Zechariah 14:9) Imma, I pray fervently for that day to arrive very soon. I miss you.

Some individuals and groups stand out for their selflessness and their devotion to brightening the lives of others. In southern California, two such remarkable organizations are the Friendship Circle and Chai Lifeline. Both groups are dedicated to assisting children with disabilities. Recently, my kids have given their time, their energy and their talents to support the work of these wonderful organizations.

The Friendship Circle provides social and recreational experiences to children with special needs. Among the Friendship Circle’s many activities are karate and basketball clubs, winter and summer camps, and programs such as the Sunday Circle that pair typical teenagers with special-needs children. Professional behaviorists and others provide guidance and supervision for volunteers.

At the Friendship Circle of Los Angeles annual Garden Party on May 13th, 370 volunteers were honored for all that they do. Our daughter was among 39 young people who received the Friendship Circle’s prestigious Fellowship Award for their outstanding dedication. As a Sunday Circle volunteer for the past four years, she has devoted many mornings to helping younger children engage in playground exercise, music, gymnastics, birthday parties, and other activities. Some of those children have been wheelchair-bound or nonverbal, and have benefited greatly from those interactions. Equally important, the program fosters true, lasting friendships between the volunteers and the children whom they assist, along with a sense of inclusion. In addition, our daughter has developed invaluable, hands-on training in the field of special education. She has also refined her sensitivity toward the less fortunate or “capable” among us.

Chai Lifeline is an international health support network that supports children with serious illnesses, along with their families and communities. The organization’s professionals and trained volunteers produce multiple recreational events to restore equilibrium, happiness and fun for families whose lives have been disrupted by childhood illness. Activities include holiday parties, concerts, camps, retreats, and much more.

My two eldest sons recently contributed their talents to one of Chai Lifeline’s special events. Over the past year, the boys in their school’s upper grades have formed a circus-performing troupe known as “Simcha Productions.” “Simcha” is a Hebrew word for “happiness.” The boys have learned to perform numerous feats, like unicycle riding, music, gymnastics, and other skills. Our eldest boy has picked up a real knack for the yo-yo, and has learned to juggle. His brother is a talented gymnast. Both of them have mastered the unicycle, and all of the boys in Simcha Productions have discovered hidden talents.

Those talents came to the fore on June 11, when Simcha Productions performed for a group of Chai Lifeline’s children. The show began with yo-yo tricks and juggling. Next came balancing acts, including one boy’s balancing a chair on his chin. Those feats were followed by unicycle rides and gymnastics. Among the highlights of the show, several boys rode their unicycles under the legs of another boy who stood on stilts. The gymnastics truly dazzled the audience. Most of the boys ran and leapt into the air, then did flips, landed on their feet, and came back to flip again.

My children have gained a valuable life principle: the dedication of one’s time, energy and talents for a higher purpose. One’s training and skills are put to best use when they bring joy and life to the less fortunate. My kids, and others like them, have truly learned to think beyond themselves. They are all special children.

Last week, our family took advantage of one of our city’s most valuable resources: the California Science Center. Our visit there was a chance for all of us to expand our horizons. The experience brought our children’s education to life in many ways, both expected and unexpected.

The highlight of our visit was the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibition. This traveling exhibit, housed at the California Science Center through September 7, showcases the archaeology of ancient Israel, from the Biblical period of Kings Saul, David and Solomon (the Iron Age) to the era shortly following the destruction of the First Temple (586 BCE). The Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered by a Bedouin boy in 1947, in a cave near the Dead Sea. Thanks to the darkness, low humidity and high temperatures in that cave, these scrolls were remarkably well preserved. At the California Science Center, only small portions of the actual Dead Sea Scrolls are presented for public viewing. Before seeing them, we were introduced to a multitude of other fascinating antiquities. We saw a model of a four-room house inhabited by Jews of old, constructed with rooms for animals on its lower floor. Other impressive artifacts included idols, sacrificial altars, coins, and royal jugs. Some small female figurines were said to be of unknown purpose; my wife suggested that they were dolls. An audio guide told of ten thousand fish bones found in the City of David in Jerusalem, probably from the time of King David, evidence of sophisticated trade among the countries in the region.

The Dead Sea Scrolls exhibition made our children’s education seem more real, and reinforced the idea of Judaism as a continuous, vibrant heritage. It provided a glimpse into the society of ancient Israel, showing items and practices that are still part and parcel of Jewish life. Among the displayed scrolls were fragments of Biblical verses and portions of a ketuba, a traditional Jewish marriage contract. Our children were able to read parts of the scrolls, which were written in an ancient form of the Hebrew alphabet. In addition, they learned firsthand information about Biblical stories that they knew. For example, the exhibition told of sacrificial monuments made by King Yerovam as an alternative to the offering of sacrifices in the Temple. It also told of tunnels built by King Hezkiyahu to protect the Jews from attack by the Assyrians. One artifact was a Tyrian coin, brought to the Temple as a tax, which had to be exchanged for a new coin, due to the Biblical prohibition against graven images. The exhibit seemed to resonate most powerfully with my daughter, the eldest of our six children, who had learned extensively about those eras.

Another source of inspiration came from a most unexpected source: the gift shop. I bought the kids a home electronics kit, to give them some real-world scientific experience. It includes various components, such as transistors and LED lights. On the box were pictures of some great things that they could put together, like a burglar alarm and a reading light. The younger kids were fascinated.

We brought it home and soon got to work. Two of our five boys joined me in opening the box and finding the parts required for the first activity. It was an electrical conductivity tester, designed to check how well electricity can flow through a circuit or other medium. Following the instructions, we found the necessary printed circuit board, resistor, wires, light, and other items. The boys were dismayed to learn that the project called for a 9-volt battery; they were sure that we had none at home. I soon relieved their distress by finding one. With great excitement, they assembled the few required household items: salt, water, and soil.

My sons experienced the joy of discovery, as we put together an electrical circuit, step by step. I showed them how to attach brass tacks to the circuit board with springs, and helped them to cut the necessary red and black wires. Together, we followed the process of attaching the resistor in the correct spot and connecting the wires, light and battery where they belonged. Finally, the moment of truth arrived. We inserted the dangling ends of a red wire and a black wire into a cup of salt water, and the LED lit up! Encouraged by their initial success, the boys couldn’t wait to test their new invention on several additional materials: plain water, cooking oil and moist soil in the yard. Now, they eagerly anticipate our next project, a plant watering monitor.

We can inspire a love of learning by making it real. Any subject – archaeology, electrical engineering, or even ancient history – can be related to daily life. My first novel, Yaakov the Pirate Hunter, tells of the Peretz family’s quest to save an ancient, sacred and very relevant artifact. To do so, they combine their love of old and modern wisdom. You may find the story inspiring and fun. Whether you do or not, I would love to hear from you. One thing is clear. If you make your education real, then the process of learning will be the journey of a lifetime.

In the Western world, many of us tend to take our liberties for granted. So, it was fascinating to hear the story of Rabbi Yosef Mendelevich, a former Soviet refusenik who spoke at my sons’ school during a recent visit to Los Angeles. Rabbi Mendelevich told an audience of teachers, students and parents of his daring struggle to practice Judaism despite seemingly insurmountable odds, and of his efforts that eventually led to the emancipation of Soviet Jewry. His personal tale can speak to all of us.

Rabbi Mendelevich related that, as a young man, he had lived the good life, by Soviet standards. He attained a university education, was a member of the Communist Party, and was well versed in Russian poetry. Although he knew that he was Jewish, he – like most Jews in the U.S.S.R. – initially felt ashamed to be a Jew. Later, he changed his attitude toward his Jewish identity, and considered it a privilege to be Jew. He and his Jewish friends were angered by the Soviet empire’s oppression of their people, and organized an underground movement to fight it. Behind the government’s back, they attended synagogue service, published a newspaper and taught others what little they knew of their Jewish heritage.

As the Jewish underground expanded, Yosef Mendelevich realized that the Soviet Union was no place for the Jewish people, and that their only choice was to emigrate to Israel. Yet, leaving the Soviet Union was no simple feat. After being turned down by the government officials, Yosef decided on a different tactic: he and his friends would hijack an airplane to a Western country and publicize the plight of Soviet Jewry. It was a great idea, until they were arrested at the airport and imprisoned.

From his cell, Yosef continued to combat his jailers, and came up with an ingenious strategy: by building a wall of separation between himself and them. His interrogators tried to convince him to cut his ties with Jews and with religion in general, to be a good Communist and to contribute to the country. Yosef openly defied them at every step of the way. His wrapped a handkerchief around his head to serve as a yarmulke, a traditional head covering. He found clever ways to pray and to observe the weekly Sabbath. Eventually, his captors realized that this Jewish prisoner could not be broken; when he finally left the Soviet Union, the very people who had earlier refused to let him leave their country escorted him to the airport.

Rabbi Mendelevich recounts his fascinating experience in his book, Unbroken Spirit, which you can purchase here. His story is a lesson for us all, Jews and non-Jews alike. In a broader sense, the struggle against Soviet oppression was a battle against the stifling mind-set that the Soviets represented. It’s a mind-set that poses a danger to people in Western societies, too.

The world expects little of the typical person. Society demands that we perform at tolerable, acceptable levels, rather than pushing ourselves to achieve our very best. Seth Godin has articulated this point well: “The safest thing you can do, it seems, is to fit in. Total deniability. Hey, I’m just doing what the masses do.” Average performance is not only the expectation; it’s the demand. Creative thinking and innovation are frowned upon and feared. Who among us has the courage to be different? You have to be crazy to fight back against that tide of withering assimilation and conformity.

One of the most important lessons to teach our children, and ourselves, is that sometimes you have to be a little crazy. Whether in the four walls of a Soviet prison or the four walls of an office cubicle, think of achieving something beyond your natural limitations. Yosef Mendelevich had an easy way out: drop all of that religious nonsense, the stuff of underdeveloped people, and just be a good Soviet citizen. Instead, he dreamed of something bigger, and fought back. Today, he is celebrated as one of the many heroes who brought down the Evil Empire. We can all be heroes, too.