What’s in a name?

***
This week we meet quite an interesting character. His name: Korach.
Who was Korach? Well, first of all, he was one of Israel’s greatest sages. In addition, he was very wealthy – I mean extremely wealthy. (Even today, the expression “rich like Korach” describes extraordinary affluence.) And to top it all off, he was a close relative of Moshe!
And with all of his titles and connections, what did he do? He messed up! He created an opposition party, leading two hundred fifty sages, along with a couple of other veteran trouble makers, Doson and Avirom, against his cousin Moshe. Wanting to replace Aharon as the High priest, he approached Moshe with some interesting questions in Torah law and complained: “Why do you raise yourselves above all of us? Aren’t all Jews holy?”
Unfortunately, Hashem didn’t appreciate his advocacy for equal rights, and caused the earth to swallow Korach and his family alive. A heavenly fire burnt the sages, and more the fourteen thousand Jews died in a plague!
Yet, shockingly, the name of this week’s Torah portion is Korach. What is the meaning of naming one of the 53 Torah portions after a sinner? Is their a positive attribute that we can learn from Korach?
Yes! We learn from Korach how one must strive for greatness. One must remain focused and continuously look upward, yearning to reach new heights and maximize his or her potential.
However, greatness does not consist of putting another down to make one seem more powerful. And it is not achieved by pretending to be of a loftier spiritual stature that one really is. No; greatness is being the best you can, and adding to the world your special something. All Jews are holy, but not all Jews are Moshe, and they can’t all be Aharon either. Every Jew can, however, strive to fulfill his unique mission in this world.
As one of the early Chassidic masters, Rabbi Zushe of Anipoli, said, “When I come to Heaven, they won’t ask me why I wasn’t as righteous as Moshe or Abraham or David; they will ask why I wasn’t Zushe…”

***

In honor of Gimmel Tamuz, I would like to share with you a truly touching story about the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

Yehuda Avner, a veteran Israeli diplomat, served as an aid and adviser to four Israeli Prime ministers (Golda Meir, Yitzchak Rabin, Menachem Begin and Shimon Peres) and as the ambassador to Ireland and to Australia. The following is a quote from an article he wrote in the Jerusalem Post in 2005, describing the visits he made to the Rebbe with Rabin and Menachem begin in 1977, just after he visited with Former President Jimmy Carter:

And now relaxing, he made a tent of his slender fingers, fixed me with his eyes, and said with a surprisingly sweet smile, “How come you visit us so often and appear to be so close to us, yet you never became a Lubavitcher? Why?”
I sat back stunned at the directness of the question. It was true. This probably was my third or fourth meeting with the Rebbe. Over the years I had become a sort of unofficial liaison between various Israeli prime ministers and the Lubavitch court.
Swallowing thickly, I muttered, “Maybe it is because I have met so many people who ascribe to the Rebbe powers which the Rebbe does not ascribe to himself.”
Even as I spoke, I realized I had presumed too much. I could hear my voice trailing away.
The Rebbe’s brows knitted and his deep blue eyes grayed into sadness. Softly, he said, “Yesh k’nireh Anoshim hazekukim l’kobayim — There are evidently people who need crutches.”
A long and pregnant pause followed. Perhaps his secret threads of perception and communication were tracking my thoughts, for what he said next answered my unspoken question.
Raising his palm in a gesture of reassurance, and with an encouraging smile, he said, “Let me tell you what I try to do. Imagine you’re looking at a candle. What you are really seeing is a mere lump of wax with a thread down its middle. So when do the thread and wax become a candle? Or, in other words, when do they fulfill the purpose for which they were created? When you put a flame to the thread, then the candle becomes a candle.”
As he was speaking, a rhythmic cadence crept into his voice in the manner of a Talmudist poring over his text, so that what he said next came out as a chant: “The wax is the body, and the wick the soul. Ignite the soul with the fire of Torah and a person will then fulfill the purpose for which he or she was created. And that is what I try to do – to ignite the soul of our people with the fire of Torah.”
A buzzer had been sounding periodically, indicating that others were awaiting their audience. So I rose and took my leave, pausing at the door to ask, “My candle – has the Rebbe lit it?”
“No,” he said, clasping my hand. “I have given you the match. Only you can light your candle…”

Dear friend, the Rebbe has given us the wick, now he’s waiting for you to light your candle. It’s now totally in your hands. The world is waiting for you…