A few years ago, my young daughter was filling out a fun journal she had received as a gift. After answering standard questions like “who is your best friend,” “what is your favorite food,” “what color do you like the most,” she came across the question, “who is your arch nemesis.” A bizarre question for a children’s journal. Understandably, she had no idea what was being asked, so she approached my wife, asking her what arch nemesis means.

“Of course you don’t have one,” my wife explained, “but arch nemesis means an enemy. Who do you not get along with?”

My daughter ran off to continue to fill out the journal. Later, my wife saw the journal lying around and opened it up to see how my daughter had answered. She was astounded at what she saw. In the blank for “who is your arch nemesis,” my six-year-old had written “the yetzer hara.”

While many of us are much older and more experienced, we fail to acknowledge or identify our arch nemesis – the yetzer hara. Some of us have the yetzer hara to eat unhealthy food or excessive portions; others struggle with greed or jealousy. Some have the yetzer hara to gossip and others to talk during davening. Some have the yetzer hara to bend the truth and others to lose their patience.

These and other common yetzer haras have been well identified and much ink has been spilled providing encouragement and strategies to overcome them. But there is a yetzer hara whose temptation and seduction is only growing in our generation that not only have we failed to conquer, but in many cases we have failed to even name.

While technology was supposed to give us more flexibility and free time, most people in today’s technological era feel they simply have no time. How many of us say we want to exercise, to read, to learn, to enjoy family activities, and to pursue a myriad of other goals, but claim that we have no time?

If you feel that way, you are not alone. A Gallup poll found that 61 percent of working Americans said they did not have enough time to do the things they wanted to do. Ask someone how he or she is doing and you are likely to hear, “busy,” “crazy busy,” “insanely busy.” We have convinced ourselves that we are so busy that we simply have no time. But is that true?

To find out, time management expert and best-selling author Laura Vanderkam spent the past 12 months studying how she used her time during the busiest year of her life. On a spreadsheet broken into half-hour blocks, she logged the 8,784 hours that make up a leap year. In a article in the New York Times, “The Busy Person’s Lies,” she shared her results. It turns out that the stories she told herself about where her time went weren’t always true: her life was not quite as hectic as she had thought, and she suspected the same was true for others.

“One study from the June 2011 Monthly Labor Review found that people estimating 75-plus hour workweeks were off, on average, by about 25 hours,” she writes. “I once had a young man tell me he was working 180 hours a week — impossible, considering the fact that this is 12 more hours than a week contains — but he felt tired and overworked, as we all sometimes do, and chose a high number to quantify this feeling.” She encourages us to track our time so that we can be honest and accurate with ourselves about how we use it.

“Life is full, and life has space,” she concludes. “There is no contradiction.”

Long before time management experts existed, Rav Yisrael Salanter came to the same conclusion. He was once approached by someone who asked, “Rebbe, I only have fifteen minutes a day to learn. What should I learn? Chumash? Halachah? Jewish thought?”

“Learn mussar,” Rav Yisroel Salanter replied, “and then you will come to realize that you have a lot more than fifteen minutes a day to learn.”

So if we really have the time to do the things we say we want to do, why do we convince ourselves that we don’t?

A Chassidishe Rebbe was once walking with his chassidim when it began to rain. He stopped, looked up, and turned to his disciples and asked, “How do you know the sky wants to rain?” He then answered, “Because it is raining.”

Not understanding his point, the students asked him to explain. “If you want to know if someone wants to do something,” the rebbe answered, “see if they are doing it. We do what we want to be doing. If we aren’t doing it, we don’t really want to.”

The Yid HaKadosh, Rav Yaakov Yitzchak Rabinowitz, points out that we sometimes confuse wanting to do something with wanting to want to do something (Niflaos HaYehudi page 40). He notes that even the person who has only attained the level of wanting to want to be doing the right things is worthy of being called an oveid Hashem. However, to reach even higher levels and to realize the best version of ourselves, we must find the drive and the discipline to transition from wanting to want, to actually wanting. Only then will we realize that we truly do have time for what we want to do, and we will do it.

Sometimes that transition just has to happen; other times we can inspire it and move it along. Either way, it is important not to give in to our arch nemesis, the yetzer hara, and erroneously believe that the only thing holding us back is lack of time.

Sefiras Ha’omer is a 49-day journey to time awareness. It is a system that encourages us to literally or figuratively log our time and have the discipline and strength to fill in the spaces with what we claim we truly want to be doing.

Recently, those watching the men’s NCAA basketball tournament game between Gonzaga and USC saw something that made them gasp, and it wasn’t any play on the court. In the corner of the screen, in the middle of play, Bert Smith, a veteran referee, passed out.  He toppled over and lay on the ground, still, eyes open but unresponsive.  For a moment, people present and those watching around the world feared the worst. 

It wasn’t long before he came to, but even then, he had no idea what had happened. He remembered the previous play, how he struggled to catch his breath and felt wobbly, but he doesn’t remember passing out.  He described what it was like when he came to:

I look to my left, and it’s a doctor. I say, “What’s going on, man?” And he goes, “Bert, you passed out. You blacked out.” I said, “What?” I look to my right, and I see a stretcher. “What’s that for?” The doctor says, “That’s what I’m taking you out on.”

I said: “Listen, Doc, I’m walking out of here. You’re going to get on one side, he’s going to get on the other, we’re going to wave to the fans, and I’m walking out of here.” The doctor said, “Listen, tell you what, why don’t you just sit on the stretcher?” I said “OK, I can do that.”

The doc says, “Swing your legs around.” I swing my legs around, and they go: Click-click-click-click. They strapped me in! I looked at him and said, “Oh no you didn’t…’”

Bert Smith is in great shape. Growing up in Buffalo, he was a high school small forward, receiver and 400-meter runner, who then played some junior college basketball. He rarely uses an elevator, prefers the stairs, he parks in the farthest spot so he has the longest walk, and he exercises regularly.   This season, he was up and down the court in ninety games, so it made no sense that he suddenly passed out. 

He was treated at the stadium for two hours, but once his vitals were normal, and he wasn’t wobbly, dizzy or blurry, the NCAA announced that Bert was doing well.  So well in fact, that he went back to the hotel and was talking and laughing with friends, eating dinner when one of them said, “I heard the sound of your head hitting the court from 30 rows away, maybe you should get examined for a concussion just to be sure.”  Bert agreed and proceeded to IU Health Methodist hospital. 

They tested him for a concussion, and it turns out he didn’t have one. But he did have something worse.  The doctor on call told Bert that she saw the fall and something didn’t add up.  She wasn’t satisfied that his pulse, blood pressure, oxygen level, were normal and that he didn’t have a headache.  She called for more tests. 

When they came back, she told Bert, I have the answer to the question of why you passed out.  You have a blood clot in your lung.  He was admitted to the hospital, put on blood thinners, and a couple of days later, the clot was gone, he was discharged, and Bert Smith had a new lease on life.  It turns out that passing out was the best thing that ever happened to him because if he hadn’t discovered that clot, it could have gone to his heart or brain and killed him. 

Instead of being resentful or bitter that he had a health scare, Bert is grateful that he passed out during the NCAA Tournament, when people were able to respond and help immediately, and not when he was driving or sleeping. Reflecting on the episode, he said, “It puts in perspective the value of each day, because we all go through our lives – we’re all guilty of it – and we just live, right? But do we say ‘I love you’ enough? Do we give an extra hug enough? Do we do the things with our family and friends that have value to them? When you live something like I did, it hits you square in the eyes that you really have to value each day.”

Bert Smith’s fall didn’t kill him. It saved his life. 

As I read this story, I couldn’t help but think what Smith endured physically, most of us encounter emotionally and spiritually. In a famous letter written to one of his students, the great Rav Yitzchak Hutner zt”l wrote (Pachad Yitzchok, Iggerot U’Kesavim, #128):

Know, however, my dear, that the root of your soul is not the tranquility of the yetzer tov but rather the war of the yetzer tov. Your heartfelt letter attests like a hundred witnesses that you are indeed a faithful warrior in the army of the yetzer tov. In English they say, “Lose a battle and win the war.” You certainly have stumbled and will stumble again . . . and in some battles you will fall, be conquered. But I promise you that after losing all these battles, you will emerge from the war with the crown of victory upon your head . . . “Lose battles but win wars.”  The wisest of all men said, “A righteous man falls seven times, and rises up again” (Mishlei 24:16). Fools think that this means—even though he falls seven times, he rises again. But the wise know well that it means the nature of the tzaddik’s rise is through his seven falls.

In life, we sometimes fall, even collapse. It can be a disappointment or failure at work, a challenge to our health, a relationship in distress or a crisis of faith. In those moments, we can stay on the ground, wallow in our circumstance, see ourselves as victims or we can embrace the challenge, extract its lessons, come back stronger and better.

This year has knocked many of us down.  But for most of us, it has knocked us out of our routine and our comfort zone in ways that if we choose, we can learn an enormous amount about ourselves, our families, our lives and our lifestyles.  If we want, we can transform the experience of Corona knocking us down into it saving important aspects of our lives.

There is nothing like waking up to a text that says, “Did you see what they posted about you on Instagram?” 

On the one hand, when you are a public personality, especially if you put yourself out there by speaking, writing articles and expressing opinions, unsolicited criticism is inevitable and unsurprising.  On the other hand, when it is expressed harshly or unfairly, it still stings.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the quote attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt:  “What other people think about me is none of my business.”  While empowering and comforting, I have been wondering – is it true?

When negotiating with the tribes who wanted to settle east of the Jordan River, Moshe tells them once the land of Israel is fully conquered, then  (Bamidbar 32:22) “Vihyisem nekiyim mei-Hashem u-miYisrael,” “And you shall be clean before God and Israel.”  Based on this, the Mishna (Shekalim 3:2) obligates us to not only avoid doing a wrong thing, but to avoid even the perception that one has done a violation. We must remain innocent in the eyes not just of God, but of our fellow man as well.  Indeed, the Chassam Sofer (Teshuvos 6:59) writes that he has been troubled his entire life by this obligation and responsibility. It is one thing to be clean in Hashem’s eyes, since He knows the truth of what we have done. By contrast, the expectation that we can conduct our lives in such a fashion that no person can cast a doubt or a criticism seems almost impossible. 

We have a parallel rabbinic law called maris ayin, a prohibition against doing something that can be misinterpreted as a violation of Jewish law.  You have likely heard this term invoked when discussing the permissibility of going into a non-kosher restaurant to order a kosher drink or use the restroom. 

Rav Moshe Feinstein (Igros Moshe o.c. 2:40, 4:82) explains that the concern of maris ayin is that someone will misinterpret that something wrong is in fact ok and will come to violate a law themselves.  The similar concept of chashad, on the other hand, is behaving in a way that will cause others to be suspicious of your wrongdoing, even if it will not impact their own behavior. 

The common denominator of both prohibitions is that in both cases, I must be concerned with what others think about me and regulate my behavior accordingly.  Or maybe not. 

Our parsha, Vayakhel, contains the obligation to assemble the kiyor, the laver that the Kohanim used to wash their hands and feet in preparation for the avodah, the service in the Mishkan.  When the men considered the persecution and oppression they were suffering in Egypt and gave up on a brighter future, they refused to bring children into this world.  The righteous women, though, remained optimistic, hopeful and filled with faith.  They used their mirrors to beautify themselves and to draw their husbands close.  Now they donated those same mirrors to the Mishkan to be used in its holy utensils.  Rashi tells us that Moshe rejected this gift, disturbed that instruments of vanity would be used in the holy Mishkan, but Hashem told him that these were, in fact, the holiest gifts and they must be accepted.

Perhaps as the Kohanim prepared to do their service, they needed to look into these mirrors, evaluate their lives, their decisions and their behavior, and consider how they were perceived by those around them.  Only when they could successfully look at themselves in the mirror and be satisfied could they continue to do the avodah, to serve in the holy Mishkan. 

Yes, we must consider the impact of our behavior on others, how it will be perceived, what others might learn from it, and what type of impression or misimpression we might be giving.  Maris Ayin is something we must be cognizant of. At the same time, if we can look at ourselves in the mirror and genuinely be satisfied, I believe we need not look back and think about how others are reacting; rather, we should remember what other people think about me is none of my business. 

When people, particular strangers make nasty comments, it says much more about them than it does about us.  Yes, we should consider if the message has merit, even (maybe especially) when we don’t like the messenger or the way they crafted their message.  But if the message is unfair, if we can look at ourselves in the mirror and honestly be satisfied with what we see, we cannot and must not absorb the negativity cast our way. 

When I was growing up in Teaneck, we had a barber named Chubby.  On his mirror was a sign that said, “He who trims himself to suit everyone will soon whittle himself away.”  We simply cannot make everyone happy all of the time, nor should we try.  We must be clean in the eyes of Hashem and do our best to behave in way that is beyond reproach to others.  But once we do, not only should we not take too seriously what others are saying about us, we shouldn’t even listen. 

A rabbinic colleague was recently sharing with me how his secretary was starting to tell him what others were saying about him.  He cut her off and asked, is it important to know, do you think I did something wrong?  When she said no, he said, “In that case, I would rather not know, please don’t tell me.”  She was flabbergasted and in disbelief that he had the discipline to not want or need to know what was being said.  If what other people think about me is none of my business, why would I even want to know?

At the end of our Amidah, we ask Hashem: v’limkalelai nafshi sidom, may my soul be silent to those who curse me.  It is understandable that we ask for the courage and strength that our lips remain silent, but what does it mean to ask for our soul to do the same?  Perhaps we are not concerned we will react or respond harshly, but we are concerned that the curse or criticism of another person might torment and torture our soul.  And so we ask, let my soul remain silent, not become frazzled or frustrated by what others are saying about me. 

We must do our best and when we are convinced we have done so, we must work on not caring too much about what people say.  If all else fails, remember this truism (origin unknown): “When you’re 20 you care what everyone thinks, when you’re 40 you stop caring what everyone thinks, when you’re 60 you realize no one was ever thinking about you in the first place.”  

Several years ago, on a trip to the Museum of Natural History in Manhattan, my children and I joined a small tour.  The guide who took us around patiently gave the background and offered fascinating insights into all that we saw.  She spoke with great enthusiasm about historic and pre-historic times and spoke passionately about each display.  

About fifteen minutes into the tour, my daughter Atara, four years old at the time, raised her hand to ask a question.  With a gleam in her eye and a big smile on her face, eager to interact with a young child taking an interest in her life’s work, the guide said, “Absolutely, ask me anything.” I must admit that I, too, was very curious what fascinated my little girl so much and what question she would ask.  My daughter looked up and said, “I love your earrings, where did you get them?”  I will never forget the feeling of wanting to be swallowed whole by the tyrannosaurus rex in the room. While it wasn’t exactly the question she was looking for, the guide couldn’t help but smile from the compliment. 

You probably didn’t know it, but March 1^st was World Compliment Day.  First initiated in the Netherlands in 2001, this holiday has gained in popularity and spread across the world, with people making a concerted effort to offer compliments, specifically on that day.  The founder of World Compliment Day explained why he started it:  “Nothing stimulates more, gives more energy, makes people happier and, as far as business is concerned, increases productivity and commitment faster than sincere appreciation. So why not use it a little bit more?”

Giving compliments and offering positive feedback shouldn’t be reserved for one day a year and shouldn’t be so unusual they are cause for a holiday and celebration.  Compliments are a critical part of life.

The Gemara (Kerisus 6b) tells us that when the spices of the ketores, first identified in our Parsha, were being ground and mixed, someone was appointed to say “hadeik-heitev, heitev-hadeik” (grind thoroughly, thoroughly grind).”  The Gemara continues that this is consistent with the opinion of Rav Yochanan who said: Just as speech is detrimental to wine, so too is speech beneficial for spices.” Based on the Yerushalmi (Yoma 4:5), we incorporate this idea into the korbanos we recite daily: “As one would grind the incense, he would say: ‘Grind thoroughly, thoroughly grind’ – because the sound is beneficial for the spices, mipnei she’hakol yafeh la’besamim.”

How does a voice impact the grinding of spices?  The Abarbanel explains that saying these words in this pattern creates a rhythm which helped the one grinding and resulted in more finely ground spices. 

But there is an alternative explanation that I find very powerful.  When the Kohen is grinding it can be tedious, boring, and rote.  The Kohen may not feel like continuing, may not see the progress or feel what he is doing is important.  Ha’Kol yafe la’besamim, the voice of the person giving encouragement, offering a compliment, lending a positive word will mean everything to the Kohen and provide exactly what he needs to hear to not only keep going, but to give it his all. 

Words of encouragement and compliments make an enormous difference.  As an article this week in Harvard Business Review highlights:

Gratitude makes people feel valued, and positive feedback has been shown to mitigate the negative effects of stress on employee performance.  Neuroscientists have even shown that the brain processes verbal affirmations similarly to financial rewards.

The research they reference confirms something we of course intuitively know: that people enjoy being complimented and that it brings benefits.  But here is the amazing thing.  Even though we know the value of complimenting, it turns out we still often fail to do so.  The article continues:

Who doesn’t like when someone praises their way of handling a tense situation at work, their choice of attire, or their presentation skills? Indeed, when asked, nearly 90% of people believe that they should compliment each other more often. And yet we tend not to give them in practice. In fact, only 50% of people in one experiment who wrote down a compliment for a friend actually sent the compliment along when given the chance, even though they’d already done the hardest part — coming up with something nice and thoughtful to say. That is, despite the widely shared desire to give more compliments, when faced with the decision people still often forgo low-cost opportunities to make others feel appreciated and valued.

So why don’t people compliment?  Research suggests it is because we both doubt our own ability to skillfully and effectively do so, and we grossly underestimate the power of our positive feedback and the impact of our compliment.  We have something that costs us nothing, that we have in an unlimited supply, and that can change a person’s day and sometimes even their life. 

Sometimes, the people closest to us are the ones we take most for granted and fail to recognize or compliment. Don’t hold back because you are nervous your compliment won’t measure up and certainly don’t stay silent because you think your compliment won’t mean much.  Reflecting in a letter, Mark Twain once wrote, “I can live on a good compliment two weeks with nothing else to eat.”

Be sincere with your compliments; don’t exaggerate or go overboard.  Be specific. “I admire way you handled that situation.” “I am impressed by your patience or generosity.” “I appreciate the delicious meal you made or the wonderful way you interacted with the children.”  Be creative, look for opportunities to compliment or offer a positive word.  It will bring out the best in others and make you feel good too.