Make Your Home a Gathering Place for the Wise

Six Stories from my Sabbath Table 

Shared by Rabbi Dov Gartenberg 

2025 End of Year Campaign in Support of Shabbat with Friends NM 

A Fourth Story from my Sabbath Table.  

Tuesday, December 30, 2025 

 יְהִי בֵיתְךָ בֵית וַעַד לַחֲכָמִים, וֶהֱוֵי מִתְאַבֵּק בַּעֲפַר רַגְלֵיהֶם, וֶהֱוֵי שׁוֹתֶה בְצָמָא אֶת דִּבְרֵיהֶם:  

 Yose ben Yoezer used to say: let thy house be a house of meeting for the Sages and sit in the very dust of their feet, and drink in their words with thirst. 

A Fourth Story from My Sabbath Table 

Rabbi Eliezer Diamond, Zichrono Livracha-May his memory be for a blessing.   

Tuesday, December 30, 2025 

יְהִי בֵיתְךָ בֵית וַעַד לַחֲכָמִים… “Let your house be a meeting place for the Sages; sit in the dust of

their feet, and drink in their words with thirst.” — Yose ben Yoezer. Pirkei Avot, Chapter 1 

During my many years serving as rabbi at Beth Shalom in Seattle, one of my greatest joys was welcoming Torah scholars to our Shabbat table. Thanks to the generosity of the congregation, we hosted a major scholar-in-residence every year. These visits brought Torah, song, and deep conversation into our home, and each scholar left a lasting imprint. 

One teacher stands out above the rest: Rabbi Eliezer Diamond, a beloved professor of Talmud at the Jewish Theological Seminary, where I received my ordination. 

Rabbi Diamond was a gifted teacher, a master of prayer, and a scholar of rare depth. My colleagues and I often described him as a mentsch, an erlicher Yid—a person of integrity, humility, and profound kindness. He embodied Jewish piety and learning with a gentleness that inspired all who learned from him. 

I had the privilege of hosting Rabbi Diamond and his wife at our Shabbat/Shavuot table during his residency. That meal remains unforgettable. The Torah he shared touched the heart, and the singing—oh, the singing—lifted us into a realm of joy and devotion. He carried within him a treasury of Shabbat melodies, which he offered generously and with quiet radiance. 

Rabbi Diamond lived much of his adult life with cancer. After receiving a grim prognosis in August 2024, he wrote: 

“I am not a statistic; I am a distinct human being, Eliezer Ben-Zion, son of Yehuda Idel and Chaya Golde. No one can know what the Shekhina’s plan is for me. What I do know is that She does not want me to live in the shadow of death but rather to bask in the radiance of life.” 

He passed away on the 21st of Kislev, 5786 (December 11, 2025). I wish you could have met him. I wish I had more years to sit at his feet. In his memory, I share the following piece he wrote—an expression of his unique spirit and his deep love for Torah. 

God Is in the Details  

Rabbi Eliezer Diamond  

One Friday, late as usual, I was on my way to a friend's home for Shabbat dinner when I realized the sun was about to set and I would have to get off the bus. Since I was carrying a challah, I had a problem: How could I get where I was going without abandoning the challah, violating the rule against carrying on Shabbat outside an eruv (a halakhic device that makes certain carrying permissible) or accepting the view that there is an eruv around Manhattan.  

I relied on a passage from the Talmud that says that if you are traveling on Friday afternoon with a wallet in your pocket and the sun sets, you may carry the wallet for distances of less than four cubits (a little less than six feet). This means that every four cubits you must stop and wait the time it would take to walk another four cubits before continuing on.  

And thus I progressed, four cubits at a time, from 85th Street to 98th Street, to my destination on Manhattan's Upper West Side.  

This story illustrates what it means to be a rabbinic Jew. Though I appeared to be in the same time and space as all the other people walking up Broadway, I was suddenly in an alternate reality: I occupied a different time and space, a time called Shabbat and a halakhically-constructed space four cubits long.  

Genesis tells us that part of God's majesty is the ability to make order out of chaos. A Torah scholar learns to do the same thing. And as a Torah scholar, I categorize and order the world from a chaotic, undifferentiated hubbub. I begin to say, "This is permitted. This is forbidden. This is required. This is optional." The mass of people and materials takes on a shape and undergoes a kind of creation in my hands.  

The Torah scholar also creates balance within. Our rabbis say, "Who is the truly powerful one? The one who is able to subdue one's impulse." Through power, heroism and wisdom, a Torah scholar orders the inner life and becomes majestic. The Torah scholar doesn't run too quickly or walk too slowly; doesn't talk too loudly or speak too softly; doesn't eat too much or eat too little. There's a sense of balance within, and that is what the Torah is about.  

This majesty that comes from ordering chaos consists of small--many would say picayune--details that are an irreducible aspect of rabbinic Judaism. But there is no picayune detail as far as the rabbis are concerned. Every detail of existence is important.  

These details transform simple acts of self-satisfaction like eating, drinking, working and loving into majestic acts that fulfill divine will. But observant Jews need to realize that halakha is only a series of signposts, not the destination. Halakha points me toward a certain way of life; it does not constitute life's totality.  

There are times when I have ambivalent feelings about being a rabbinic Jew in the modern world. Quite frankly, sometimes it's a pain in the neck. Wouldn't it be nice to walk into a restaurant and just order what looks good? But it is this discipline that reminds me what eating is about. By legislating what I may eat, halakha reminds me that eating is a God-given pleasure whose function is to strengthen my body to better serve the divine. As a rabbinic Jew, God is always calling to me and requiring me to weigh and consider my actions.  

Sometimes I just want to be left alone. But if I commit myself to this way of life, that's not really an option. My option is to calm down and hear the voice. And the voice tells me, "You are my servant. I want you to live a life of holiness, a lawful life."  

That's the call of God I hear.