"I am just a businessman, giving the people what they want."

"All I do is satisfy a public demand."

"I have spent the best years of my life giving people the lighter pleasures, helping them have a good time, and all I get is abuse, the existence of a hunted man."

That was Al Capone speaking, one of the most ruthless sociopaths of American history, who corrupted law and order of America's then second-largest city and destroyed lives at whim so that he could live in opulent luxury.

How does Bernard Madoff justify himself? How does he rationalize bringing a wonderful cause like the Fair Food Foundation to forced closure or emptying out the funds of the Elie Wiesel Foundation for Humanity? What will he say to the teachers of the Korea Teachers' Pension when it comes their time to retire? Does it shake him when he hears that the CEO of a fund that invested with him it's entire 1.5 billion was found dead, having committed suicide? How does a Jewish man who sat on the board of Yeshiva University defend robbing 140 million dollars of that institution's charitable funds, along with those of Maimonides School of Boston, the Ramaz School, the Technion, the LA Jewish Community Foundation, the United Jewish Endowment Fund, Yad Sarah and Hadassah?

It wasn't as though these were innocent bystanders. Madoff's strategy relied on a strong base of charitable endowment funds--since they are guaranteed to keep their money in there forever (in case you didn't know, forever ended this past fall). How does a man live with himself and with those he is ripping off in such a pernicious manner?

My guess is that he doesn't have much trouble at all. Like almost everyone else, he was infected with the same mad, unbridled optimism that the market would keep expanding forever, the Dow index would keep rising to the sky and beyond, and investors would always continue knocking on his door, begging him to take their money.

Which meant that he was doing everyone such a wonderful service. Large charitable funds, especially educational institutions, believe that investing their endowments makes best long-term use of their funds. (Yes, it's a little inconsistent--if the future will always be better, then the present needs the money more, and if so why are you saving your principal for the future? [This seems to be the principal reason that the Rebbe was opposed to endowment funds.] But who am I to dispute the wisdom of those that manage large charitable funds?) Enter Bernie, the hedge-fund wizard, who, rather than a measly 3%, can return to any investor a whopping 5 or even 15% return every year without fail. How does he do it? And how does he sustain it? Because Bernie is smart enough to realize that charitable funds are unlikely to pull out. As long as they get their 5% per year as dictated by federal regulations, they're with you forever.

And as long as the other personal investors keep coming to him--and why shouldn't they?--he could keep dishing out those same dividends. Everyone will be happy, all because of Bernie.

"So," Bernie says, "what's it my fault the fools let Lehman Bros. fall, and everyone else collapsed with them, and then they came for redemptions?"

Don't trust me: Barry Minkow ran a Ponzi scheme for five years in the 80s, served seven years in prison and now investigates corporate fraud for a living. He says, "The irony of white collar crime is we believe that we're one good week in trading away and we'll get enough to pay it all back."

No, Bernard Madoff is not a rabid terrorist. Neither is he a ruthless gangster or a sociopath. I doubt that he's more narcissistic or avaricious than many other "successful" financiers on Wall Street. What's frightening is that he's not much different than many of us, madly believing that, "Whatever I do, I'm still a good person."

Optimism is a good thing. "Think good," goes the Chassidic adage, "and things will be good." Optimism is a path to heaven on earth. Problem is, the same stuff paves the way to the most tragic depths. Including life behind bars.

"No person commits a crime," the Talmud asserts, "until he is infected with insanity." What form of insanity? Eternal optimism. Also known as blindness to our own vulnerability, faults and failures. It's the blind faith of the adolescent skateboarder that he can skate down three flights on a thin metal bannister without fracturing a single bone; of the father and husband who runs off with his secretary, believing that their love will last forever and heal all things (even though the love for his wife and children certainly did not); and of the embezzling accountant who believes he really deserves this money after he saved the company so much more with his genius.

Sometimes, these people are religious, even spiritually-minded believers. There's no vaccination, after all, against insanity. "G_d still loves me," they tell their hearts, "because He understands."

And then there's the killer rationale for any crime: "Look at the charity I do and all the wonderful mitzvahs! I am just so good. You can't expect so much good without a little touch of failure, can you?"

Madoff is no anomaly. He is an icon of an era. An era driven by fanatical, rabid faith in growth, progress and, most of all, the power of "me". An era that has seen its time.

And now, we run to the opposite extreme. No one will lend, no one will invest. Everyone is terrified of some accountant turning up a bond that "marked to market" turns out another billion dollar loss. You can't buy a car because there's no one to finance it. You can't sell a house because there's no one to buy. Unbridled optimism has been replaced with bottomless pessimism.

Hey, c'mon guys, isn't there something in between? Like, maybe, reality? In reality, we're never as good as we think we are, but neither are we ever hopeless. In reality, America is far from a depression, there are still honest people out there earning a living, and technology and modern know-how still show a lot of promise. In potential, each of us has powers to reach the sky. It's just a matter of knowing, that, nope, you haven't quite reached the sky yet.

Madoff was a genius at "a big lie"--fooling himself and infecting others with the same illness. And now the lie is over, for him and for all of us. It's time to know who we are, where we are, and what we can achieve--but haven't yet. Call that "sustainable optimism."

To quote Minkow, the reformed scammer, once again, "The first good night sleep I got was in prison. It was over. I didn't have to lie anymore."

So a Jewish guy steals $50 billion from his friends and associates—most of them Jewish. Without fail, the predictable stereotypes involving Jews and money begin to pop up on blogs and chat rooms all over. They recycle the old calumny that Jewish tradition allows people to deal dishonestly with others as long as they live otherwise pious lives.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

In fact, Jewish tradition teaches that how you deal with your fellows is perhaps the most important aspect of your relation with your Creator. This idea has been expressed both in Jewish teachings as well as in personal example since almost the beginning of time.

Let us take a look at a small sampling of these teachings and anecdotes.

4,100 years ago:

The people are so bad that G‑d has no choice but to wipe the world clean and start all over again, with Noah and his children. What was the sin of that generation? To quote the Torah (Genesis 6:11): "The earth was corrupt before G‑d, and the earth became full of robbery." The Talmud tells us (Sanhedrin 108a) that despite all their depravity, their verdict was sealed only because of their robbery.

A few centuries later, the world is again in hot water (this time only figurative). Noah's descendents build a tower (Genesis 11:1-9), in order to combat G‑d (Rashi ad loc). What does G‑d do? How many does He kill? None. All He did was disperse them.

The Sages (Midrash Rabbah Genesis 38:6) explain that though they had the audacity to conspire against G‑d, they worked together in harmony. This as opposed to "the Generation of the Flood who were robbers and there was strife between them, and therefore they were destroyed."

3,700 years ago:

Abraham and Sarah arrive in the Land of Canaan, along with their nephew Lot. Shortly thereafter, a quarrel breaks out between Abraham's and Lot's shepherds (Genesis 13:7). What caused this fall out? Again the Midrash (Rabbah Genesis 41:5) sheds light: Lot's herdsmen pastured their animals in fields belonging to others, Abraham's herdsmen kept their cattle muzzled, and rebuked their counterparts for committing robbery...

3,300 years ago:

Seven weeks after their Exodus from Egypt, the nascent Jewish nation gathers at Sinai to enter into a covenant with G‑d. He chose ten of His 613 commandments to personally communicate to the nation. Five of them deal with interpersonal issues, and three of those discuss the importance of honesty: Thou shall not steal, thou shall not bear false witness, and thou shall not covet.

This sets the tone for all times to come.

2,900 years ago:

King David writes (Psalms 24:3-4), "Who will ascend upon G‑d's mountain and who will stand in His holy place? He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who has not taken My name in vain and has not sworn deceitfully."

2,600 years ago:

G‑d admonishes the people regarding their fasting ways which He found reprehensible (Isaiah 58:2-11):

"Daily they pretend to seek Me, desiring knowledge of My ways . . . 'Why have we fasted and You did not see?' they ask. 'We have afflicted our soul and You do not know?' Behold, on the day of your fast you pursue your affairs, and from all your debtors you forcibly exact payment. Behold, for quarrel and strife you fast, and to strike with a fist of wickedness..."

Instead, Isaiah teaches the Jews the proper way to fast:

"Loosen the fetters of wickedness, untie the bands of perverseness, send the oppressed free, and break every oppressive yoke. Offer your bread to the hungry, bring the wandering poor into your home. When you see someone naked, clothe him . . . Then you shall call and G‑d shall answer, you shall cry and He shall say, 'Here I am.' . . . G‑d will always guide you and satiate your soul with radiance..."

2,000 years ago:

The sage Hillel is approached by a non-Jew. "I am willing to convert to Judaism on the condition that you teach me the entire Torah while I stand on one foot."

"That which you detest," Hillel answers, "do not to others. All the rest is commentary" (Talmud, Shabbat 31a).

This tradition is exemplified in a teaching by Rabbi Yosi (Ethics 2:12): "The money of your fellow should be as precious to you as your own; prepare yourself to study Torah…"

One must first learn to respect the property of others, and only then can he approach G‑d and the study of His Torah.

1,900 years ago:

One of the holy Ten Martyrs was the great sage Rabbi Chanina ben Tradyon. The teaching of Torah is forbidden by the Roman regime, a capital offense, but he is undeterred. He publicly gathers disciples and, with a Torah scroll in his bosom, heroically teaches them Torah. Eventually he is captured while in the midst of a Torah lecture and burned alive for his deeds.

Shortly before his capture he visits a colleague, Rabbi Yosi ben Kisma. Rabbi Chanina turns to his friend and asks, "Will I be deserving of a portion in the World to Come?"

Rabbi Yosi's asks Rabbi Chanina whether he had done anything special in his lifetime. Rabbi Chanina responds that he once had two pouches of money—one earmarked for charity, and the other for his personal holiday expenses. He later discovered that he had accidentally given his holiday money to charity. Although he could have reimbursed himself from the other pouch, he chose not to and gave the second pouch to the poor as well.

"In that case," answers Rabbi Yosi, "may my portion be like your portion; my lot like your lot" (Talmud, Avodah Zarah 18a).

This is beyond astonishing. Rabbi Yosi knew very well that Rabbi Chanina devoted his life to the advancement of Torah, with utter disregard for his personal safety. Yet he only assured him that he would be admitted to the World to Come when he ascertained that he dealt honestly with public funds!

1,700 years ago:

Rabbah, the leading Talmudic sage of his day, teaches (Talmud, Shabbat 31a) that when a soul ascends to heaven, the very first question she is asked is: "Did you conduct your business honestly?"

1,000 years ago:

Rabbeinu Gershom "the Light of the Diaspora" forbids opening letters addressed to others. A millennium before the advent of the civil rights movement, the rabbis of old understood the importance of individual rights and how important it is to be utterly honest in all one's dealings.

700 years ago:

Rabbi Yaakov ben Asher, the "Baal Haturim," reworks the entire body of Jewish law into four sections. This structure will eventually become the framework for the Code of Jewish Law. One of the sections, Choshen Mishpat, is entirely devoted to the laws of interpersonal relationships and the minutiae of honest business practice.

65 years ago:

The Lubavitcher Rebbe publishes a calendar, the "Hayom Yom," that contained a chassidic aphorism for every day of the year. For the 8th of Av, the Rebbe writes:

"What good is Chassidic teaching and piety if the main quality, love of a fellow Jew, is lacking—even to the extent of, G‑d forbid, causing anguish to another!"

Anyone who thinks otherwise simply slept through Hebrew school.

The economic recession is a harsh, dazing blow to many of us who rested comfortably on the status quo of financial security. 1.2 million jobs have been cut; Citigroup alone recently announced plans to lay off 50,000 employees, and the auto industry is tanking. The secure financial pillars of America have crashed to the ground, leaving millions stunned. The days of whipping out a credit card at the grocery store without consequence have ended, leaving people who used to make a decent living struggling to put food on the table.

While the news coverage was wonderfully dismal and pessimistic it didn't quite hit home until I became one of their depressing statistics. Me and all the ex Citigroup employees could have a pity party at Starbucks, although I'm not sure how we could afford it.

I sat in shock that Friday afternoon, heart pounding, tears coming to my eyes, staring at my boss in disbelief and utter dismay. He looked intently at his desk, shame faced, and uncomfortably muttered, "With the economy the way it is now, I just can't afford any more than two full time people..."

Thoughts began racing through my head. Why did I spend so much money on food last week?! No more casual spending! Everything will have to be carefully calculated and considered before I extract my wallet from my purse. My Excel spread sheet containing my budget flashed before my eyes with negative numbers and my heart was filled with dread knowing that I had to make some serious cuts. Thank G‑d, my situation was not as dire as most, as I had a backup plan to study in Israel and savings to support myself. It's too scary to even begin to contemplate what would happen had I not had a contingency plan, or if I had a family to support.

So central is money to our survival that every day in the silent prayer we pray that G‑d bless us with abundance in terms of physical nourishment. On Yom Kippur, when we stand before G‑d as angels (who don't eat, mind you) praying to be sealed for life we also ask for sustenance. In ancient times, during the Yom Kippur service, the High Priest would enter the Holy of Holies chamber of the Temple, place the proper offering, step out and recite a short prayer. What does he ask for at this climactic spiritual moment? "…Let not Your people Israel depend on one another or on any other nation for its livelihood..."

And yet, though we need a livelihood to survive, this very same thing can lead us down a path of greed and a false sense of self-sufficiency. Such is the dichotomy of life. The thing that is most essential to survival can ultimately be that which corrupts us and leaves us devoid of true purpose and meaning.

In King Solomon's work Ecclesiastes he bewails, "havel havalim!" Futility of futilities! He expounds on the temporal nature of every endeavor and experience in this world. Everything that we labor in will pass on to someone else, every joy and pleasure we experience will eventually dissipate. We are hard-pressed to find anything that is lasting and eternal. Therefore, according to King Solomon, everything is futile.

These words flashed into my mind when I walked out of my boss's office that afternoon. The effort I invested in a career path and the creation of a sense of direction was taken away in a matter of seconds. All my feelings of self-created stability and permanence proved to be false, leaving me feeling as though the world was an unfriendly sea of crashing waves, letting me drown and giving me nothing sturdy to hold on to. I had mistakenly placed my self-concept, future, stability, and my path in the world in this job. It was all futile; I lost my job and all the things I had labored in. Futility of futilities!

King Solomon concludes his work with, "the sum of the matter, when all has been considered: fear G‑d and keep His commandments, for that is man's whole duty." When we are focused on spiritual pursuits the results of those labors are eternal and profoundly more pleasurable than anything purely physical or invested in things without permanence.

However, G‑d created a world in which my survival is dependent upon activities that in and of themselves are futile.

Rabbi Ephraim Twerski gave an interesting insight on this dichotomy. The Zohar says that we cannot make personal requests on Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur. So how could it be that the High Priest asked for sustenance? There is a Midrash that says that when Esau and Jacob were in the womb they fought over who would inherit this world and who would inherit the world to come. Jacob won the world to come and Esau won this world. Therefore, a descendent of Jacob doesn't have a right to the material pleasures of this world. If we do utilize materials of this world we are subject to attack from Esau for stealing his portion.

However, we need the tools of this world to survive. What is the solution? The key is its purpose. If we use this world for sake of the "next world," i.e. our spiritual pursuits, then Esau is unable to attack. Our request for sustenance on Yom Kippur is to enable us to focus on our ultimate spiritual purpose.

Our stability and direction should be placed in spiritual goals, with the necessities of this world as mere tools to help us achieve eternity.

In the Adon Olam, we say that G‑d is the "rock of my pain in time of my distress." In these economically difficult times we can be comforted that the One who gave abundance will surely provide again and know that our ultimate purpose lies far beyond our employment.

Everyone should have success in their path for spiritual greatness and be blessed with the physical sustenance to make that journey possible.

Sigh.

It seems kinda arbitrary—what to do first? Face painting or the moonbounce?

2:30 p.m. Chanukah Wonderland of the Chabad of the Five Towns.

We made our way through what seemed like hundreds of kids, parents, and staff... booths, crafts, legos, and activities... So much was jam-packed into such a small space, we could start our fun anywhere, and it would be just right.

So, what to do first? Face painting or the moonbounce?

Well, if anyone would have made a shortlist of what my son Uriyah might enjoy at an indoor carnival, the moonbounce would definitely be on top of the list, followed by legos and crafts, for sure. For some reason, I took him to get his face painted.

We stood gingerly on line as my husband Yossi took our daughter Ma'ayan to the toddler area. We were on line for ages. I even let someone nudge ahead of us. About seven girls, and Uriyah, the lone boy, waiting patiently for his turn. I met an old friend of mine—she was ahead of me on line with her daughter. As the menorah was barely finished on her daughter's face, she announced that she's going to the moonbounce. I watched her walk off.

Once seated, Uriyah wanted a green dreidel on one cheek and a blue menorah on the other. And that's what he got. Once we finished, I traded with Yossi—I took Ma'ayan to nurse her, and Yossi took Uriyah to... make a candle. Of all things.

I made my way to the other side of the room to some benches, within earshot of the rally that was being telecast at the time. I saw another old friend of mine... we chatted about small stuff. Of course, it all seems small in light of what happened next. I was looking at the window diagonally across, when suddenly, a car drove through the glass, driving so, so fast, legos flying through the air, as it collided into the moonbounce...

I can tell you so much, and yet still too little, about the next moments... How I, by the Mercy of G‑d, found my husband and son safe, and so quickly, while others were screaming for their loved ones; how my husband ran off to help the injured, while I ran outside with the kids, when he found us later, his shirt was bloodstained, his face soaked with tears; running on glass, cradling my kids, looking for our coats, trying to keep calm, all the time murmuring, "Thank G‑d, Thank G‑d," while others were searching for their kids, their mothers, their fathers, everyone's faces tear-stained.

Sigh.

All I could think was—is this what its like in a terrorist attack, all the mayhem, all the sadness, the fear, the 'it-could-have-been-me" feeling, or worse, the 'it-could-have-been-my-kids" feeling? If I got a taste of that today, then I can't even imagine the pain and trauma so many others have been through, in travesties so much larger.

After what seemed like an eternity, we left the 'Wonderland' and made our way to the Ohel, the Rebbe's resting place, to ask for mercy for those who were critically injured, and to thank G‑d for the sweet kindness He showed us today.

It's still very raw. Very sad. Very scary. Seems so arbitrary. Are we ever safe? Why did we have to see this? I just wanted to give my kid a good time, a little face painting, maybe a little moonbounce, and now he's afraid, tells me it's "scary at the Chabad House."

Oy.

The night before, Yossi and I had gone to a Chanukah party at the Pinsons in Carrol Gardens. In a dark candlelit room with huge brass chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, Rabbi Dov Ber Pinson asked everyone to meditate on the Menorah lights... Four flames shining against a brick wall, beautiful gold flames flickering with pride. Half the Menorah lit—the other half, still dark. The image of that menorah became embedded in my mind's eye.

And tonight, after the face painting, and car crash, and crying, and holding, and caressing, and praying, after all of it, we lit the Menorah at home. Five lights. Four plus one: half the menorah lit, plus one more light on the other side.

I remember last night's Menorah as I stare at tonight's. Something's changed for me, and my family, as we traveled in time, and space, from the fourth night of Chanukah to the fifth; from the right side of the menorah, past the shamash, to the fifth light. Something unexplainable and totally vulnerable...

Right now, it feels like the difference between face-painting and the moonbounce.

Sigh.

Editor's note: For more on this traumatic event, see:

Five Injured After Car Slams Into Long Island Chanukah Workshop
Long Island Community Musters Support for Victims of Traffic Accident
Children in Long Island Accident Return Home From Hospital