You Don’t Have to be From Hawaii to Live Like You Were Dying

On Saturday morning, residents of Hawaii received an emergency alert on their phones: “Ballistic missile threat inbound to Hawaii. Seek immediate shelter. This is not a drill.” Hawaiians panicked, believing they were the target of a nuclear attack. Some ran into basements, others under tables; some even climbed down manholes in the street.

It took 38 minutes until the state issued a correction, explaining that the warning was in fact a false alarm. The emergency operations center later informed the world that one of its employees had simply pressed the wrong button, later adding, “The individual has been temporarily reassigned within our Emergency Operations Center pending the outcome of our internal investigation.”

For 38 minutes, 1.4 million people scrambled to secure their safety, but they also did something else. Thinking a catastrophic attack was imminent, they were forced to consider how they wanted to spend their last moments on Earth. Thank God, the warning was a false alarm and the extent of the damage was the anxiety it unnecessarily caused.

Nevertheless, there is a lesson for all of us in their unfortunate experience. If you had 38 minutes to live, how would you spend them? What would you do? Would you reach for a siddur or a tehillim? Would you open a Torah text and study? Would you reach for the phone to tell someone you love them? Would you contact someone from whom you have become alienated in order to reconcile?

What would you do if you thought you had a limited amount of time to live? And why aren’t you doing it now?

Hillel cautioned us (Pirkei Avos 2:5), “al tomar l’chesha’ipaneh eshneh, shema lo tipaneh, don’t say ‘when I have free time I will learn’, for you may never have free time.” We cannot predict the length of our lives and if we procrastinate and delay we may never in fact get to what we claim are our goals and aspirations.

Our parsha cautions, “U’shemartem es ha’matzos, guard the matzah from becoming chametz.” Rashi quotes the Midrash that encourages us to read the verse as if it were punctuated u’shemartem es ha’mitzvos, safeguard the commandments. Mitzvah ha’bah l’yadecha al tachmitzena, if a positive opportunity comes your way, don’t allow it to turn into chametz through procrastination and laziness. Rather, embrace it, run with it, and do it right away, before it is too late.

Death has always been one of the most potent motivators. Buddhist author Sogyal Rinpoche writes, “Death is a mirror in which the entire meaning of life is reflected.” The Gemara (Shabbos 153a) records that Rabbi Eliezer taught, “Repent one day before your death.” His disciples asked him, “But does a man know on what day he will die?” “That is exactly the point!” he replied. “Let a man repent today lest he die tomorrow, and in this way he will live all his days in repentance.”

An insightful country song includes a powerful chorus, “Someday I hope you get the chance to live like you were dying.” The people of Hawaii had that chance last week. We don’t need to wait to get an urgent alert. Ask yourself what you would do with minutes to live and then don’t wait, do it right now.

Coalition or Opposition: Lessons From My Week in Israel with Reform, Conservative and Orthodox Rabbinical Students

There is a large, flat monitor mounted in the lobby of Israel’s Knesset that displays headshots of all the current members of Knesset. Interestingly, in an effort towards transparency, the screen indicates which members are present in the building at any given time. As I looked over the pictures, it occurred to me what a diverse group assembles and works together. Among the members are Chareidim and secular, Jews and Arabs, men and women, left wing and right wing. Many of these individuals are unlikely to interact socially or belong to the same community. And yet, here they appear as part of one united entity. Why? What brings them together? Whether in the coalition or in the opposition, these MK’s who in many ways couldn’t disagree more, all participate in the same body because they have a simple choice to make. They can sit on the sidelines as critics and antagonists, passive spectators to their own destiny, or they can work to have a seat at the table and collaborate alongside people with extremely different interests and lifestyles, so that they can contribute to shaping the future of their community and all of Israel.

I have been to Israel countless times, but on the extraordinary trip I just returned from, I saw, heard and experienced things I had never before. My dear friends, R’ Kirshner, R’ Eger and I went on a journey with thirty students from reform, conservative and orthodox rabbinical schools as part of The Leffell Israel Fellows program. This AIPAC two-year fellowship, made possible by the Lisa and Michael Leffell Foundation, trains rabbinical students on Israel education and advocacy.

For some, participating in an AIPAC mission was politically uncomfortable because of the perception that it leans politically to the right. For others, joining a group with rabbinical students from other denominations was complicated. Almost all the participants, though, shared the experience of leaving their comfort zone to be exposed to, and connect with, people with extraordinarily different religious and political views than their own.

Together, through the people we met with and places we visited, we were reminded that as much as we all love and are devoted to Israel and focus on her beauty, there are complicated and difficult issues she faces going forward. Mohammad Darawshe challenged us on the rights of Israeli Arabs. A visit to south Tel Aviv forced us to confront the issue of migrants and refugees from other countries seeking asylum in Israel. A review of the IDF’s code of ethics with one of its authors made us consider the ethical dilemmas our soldiers face daily. Brig. Gen. Assaf Orion briefed us on the state of Israel’s security and Dr. Dahlia Scheindlin shared with us the nuances of Israeli politics.

When we visited Kibbutz Nahal Oz and heard from Oshrit what life is like under the threat of rocket fire, we never imagined a mortar would land and explode the next day in the very spot that we stood. Aryeh Lightstone, senior advisor to Ambassador David Friedman, offered an inside look at the US-Israel relationship and Col. Gilad Eisin shared his perspectives on the future of Gaza. A panel discussion on the challenges of religion and state included diverse perspectives; a session with activists from the Ethiopian, Chareidi, LGBT and women’s rights communities opened our eyes to their efforts and the obstacles they face. An early morning visit to a Palestinian crossing followed by a meeting with a high-level PLO official and a Palestinian survey researcher brought perspectives we rarely, if ever, are exposed to. A session with Ambassador Daniel Taub, a member of Israel’s negotiating team, provided a behind-the-scenes look at negotiations.

A panel comprised of Oded Revivi, the Mayor of Efrat and a leader of Yesha, and Yariv Oppenheimer, former CEO of Peace Now, modeled how two people with diametrically opposed views could debate rigorously and vociferously, while maintaining genuine warmth and friendship. We were briefed by an expert on Iran and better understood not only the JCPOA, but the real time protests happening in the streets. We toured the northern border with Lt. Col. Sarit Zehavi, who helped us understand the threat of Hezbollah and we learned about Israel’s multi-layer missile defense from one of Iron Dome’s engineers, Ari Sacher. We visited Syrians being treated in Ziv Hospital in Tzefat, and heard from Dr. Einat Wilf about different definitions of Zionism. In one week, we covered enormous ground and had the privilege of meeting with David Horovitz, Rabbi Dr. Danny Gordis, Yossi Klein Ha’Levi, and Dr. Gil Troy as well.

As one of the rabbis in residence of the trip, I spent time getting to know almost every student. I was specifically interested in their reactions to what we were seeing and experience. It was easy to shmooze with those who share similar positions to my own, but it was particularly eye-opening and startling to hear positions and perspectives I had never been exposed to and in some cases, didn’t even know existed. Whether it was the students who described being embarrassed by Israel’s egregious moral sin of the continued “occupation,” or the student who explained to me that intermarriage is not losing Jews, it is expanding the boundaries of Judaism, I found myself listening to positions and perspectives I never understood or considered before, and would usually simply dismiss.

To be clear, none of my religious or political positions shifted or changed. My commitment to Torah, halacha, and mesorah are unshakeable. My conviction in our ancient ties to our homeland and my understanding of modern Israeli history and its implications on Israel’s security needs are firmly held. These are my truths. They come from my teachers, my tradition, my family, and my own exploration and experience. Nevertheless, this trip forced me to confront, in ways I never have, the question of how to relate to other people’s truths, even when to me they ring false. It was very clear to me that both in religion and politics, the students with whom I disagreed believe in their truths with similar conviction and confidence.

We cannot simply will or wish other people’s positions away. When we fail to respectfully persuade them, we cannot resort to trying to stifle or silence them. So what can we do?

Rabbi Soloveitchik describes another Knesset, not the parliament of the modern State of Israel, but Knesset Yisrael, the Jewish people (“Community,” Tradition XVII, Spring, 1978):

The community in Judaism is not a functional-utilitarian, but an ontological one. The community is not just an assembly of people who work together for their mutual benefit, but a metaphysical entity, an individuality: I might say, a living whole. In particular, Judaism has stressed the wholeness and the unity of Knesset Israel, the Jewish community. The latter is not a conglomerate. It is an autonomous entity, endowed with a life of its own. We, for instance, lay claim to Eretz Israel. God granted the land to us as a gift. To whom did He pledge the land? Neither to an individual, nor to a partnership consisting of millions of people. He gave it to the Knesset Israel, to the community as an independent unity, as a distinct juridic metaphysical person. He did not promise the land to me, to you, to them; nor did He promise the land to all of us together. Abraham did not receive the land as an individual, but as the father of a future nation. The owner of the Promised Land is the Knesset Israel, which is a community persona.

Imagine if Knesset Yisrael, the Jewish people, followed the model of the Knesset and found a way to work together, despite our diversity and strongly held opposing views. Being a Member of Knesset doesn’t demand uniformity or embracing someone else’s truth as your own. There are separate parties, and while some maintain their differences from within a coalition, others express their disagreement by being in the opposition. With the rhetoric and passionate debate Knesset is famous for, ultimately its members are bound by one shared destiny that is far stronger than the differences that separate them.

The day we visited Israel’s parliament, the members of Knesset we were meant to meet with had to cancel as they were attending the funeral of the wife of their colleague, Rabbi Yehuda Glick. It wasn’t just members of Glick’s Likud party that weren’t available, but it was also members of Meretz, Israel’s far left, and others who went to be with their friend in his time of grief.

Several years ago, research showed that 65% of Israeli high school students expressed racist views against Arabs and 57% of Arab high school students held similar views of Israelis. In 1999, an effort was made to bring Israeli teachers into Arab schools and vice versa. While complicated, it is now being done in 840 schools with more than 100,000 students being exposed to a teacher from the “other side.” A more recent survey showed that racism dropped from 65% to 10% for Israeli kids and from 57% to 8% for their Arab counterparts.

A similar phenomenon has occurred within the chareidi and secular segments of Israel. The more segregated, the greater the judgment and hostility. The more integration and exposure, the greater the affinity and affection. Rav Shlomo Wolbe zt”l explains that someone is an achzar, cruel, when they see the other as ach zar, just a stranger, the other.

The lesson is clear – the less we engage with one another, the easier it is to draw hostile conclusions and take adversarial positions. By simply interacting professionally and socially, barriers are broken down and relationships are formed. Relationships don’t deny the other person’s truths, they enable us to transcend them, even while we debate them.

I will forever cherish the week with my new friends and family from across the denominations. These students, including the ones I fervently disagree with, are smart, thoughtful and passionate. Amazingly, we never felt the need to be apologetic in our debates, but always felt responsible to be respectful. I think the most important factor in our incredible time together was that our conversations centered on policies and positions, never on people or personalities. On many topics I could not disagree with them more, but at the same time, on the whole, I could not be more excited about the relationships we formed and how they have enriched my thinking, perspective and ahavas yisroel.

Like the screen in the lobby of Knesset, the tapestry of the Jewish people is a mosaic of very diverse faces from different backgrounds and embracing incredibly different practices, lifestyles and views. When it comes to the crucial need to work together for the good of the Jewish people, only some will show as present, while far too many will be absent. Which will you be?

Don’t Live the Same Year 75 Times and Call it a Life

Leo Tolstoy, the famous Russian writer, once said, “Everybody wants to change this world; nobody wants to change themselves.” I disagree. I think we do want to change. We want to become the people we were meant to be, the people we are capable of being. Many of us just don’t know how.

Every year, data shows that the biggest spike in gym memberships occurs in the second week of January. With the (Gregorian) New Year comes resolutions and by far the most popular is to get in shape. However, statistics show that by the second week of February, almost 80% of new gym members stop coming.

It isn’t just weight loss or exercise. While 45% of Americans make New Year’s resolutions, only 10% are successful at keeping them and meeting their goals.

Rabbi Yehudah Halevi writes in one of his poems: “The world at large is a prison and every man is a prisoner.” We often feel trapped, confined by the self-imposed limitations we set on ourselves or by the habits, practices and behaviors that we think we cannot break out of or change. According to the Society for Personality and Social Psychology, as many as 40% of our daily activities are driven by habit.

Will we be late or on time, will we get angry or keep our cool, will we eat healthy or let ourselves go, will we be distracted by technology or disconnect, will we say a blessing with intention before we eat or when we come out of the bathroom, say it in a meaningless way, or not say it at all – all of these and many more have been programmed into our daily lives such that we are practically on autopilot. We feel imprisoned and trapped by the habits we have formed and the momentum that carries our lives forward.

Rav Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, hy”d, also known as the Piaseczno Rebbe, was a Chassidic Rebbe in Poland who served as the Rabbi of the Warsaw Ghetto and, after surviving the uprising, was later shot dead by the Nazis in the Trawniki labor camp. He had such incredible human insight and advice, you may have thought he was trained as a psychologist or motivational speaker.

In his spiritual diary called Tzav V’Ziruz he has the following entry:

If you want to know if you you’ve progressed on your spiritual path over the years, the way to judge is to look at your resolution – at your inner drive – and not at your wishes. Only the inner drive with which you work to attain your desired goal is called resolution. But if you don’t work but rather just want, this is not called resolution. It is just some wish that you wish for yourself to be blessed with that desired objective. For example, the pauper who works to sustain himself, this is a drive, because he is doing something constructive toward it. But the wish that he’ll find a million dollars is just a wish to be rich and not a resolution. Every Jew would like to be a tzadik (righteous person), but this is no more than a wish; he’d like to wake up in the morning and suddenly find himself a tzadik. Only the level and state of being that you seriously work toward can truly be called a resolution.

The secret to real change, says the Rebbe, is to be honest with ourselves and to distinguish between our wishes and actually making resolutions. There are countless things we claim to want to change about ourselves. We want to eat more healthy, be more patient, spend more time with our children, find time to volunteer, to learn Torah daily, go to shul more often, do acts of kindness, stop speaking gossip, and so on.

We claim to want to do them, but the truth is they are just wishes. We wish to wake up one morning, as the Rebbe said, and find ourselves suddenly doing those things or living that way. Stop wishing and to start making real resolutions. Personal growth is the result of making a plan, spelling it out and holding ourselves accountable to keeping to it.

When you make a resolution, when you formulate a plan, you need to know where the pitfalls lie and what is likely to try to knock you off your course. A plan, a resolution, has to be articulated to be serious. We can put it down on paper, set it as a reminder in our phone, or simply repeat it out loud to ourselves over and over but it isn’t real, it is just a wish, not a resolution, unless it is formally verbalized, articulated, or recorded in a way that will make us more likely to follow through.

I recommend an app called Strides that allows you to track your goals and habits in areas from reading, budget, sleep, exercise, or even flossing. You set your goal and the app sends regular alerts and reminders and tracks your progress, holding you accountable by having to confront real data and facts.

Leadership expert Robin Sharma once said, “Don’t live the same year 75 times and call it a life.” Don’t articulate the same wishes year after year and call them resolutions. Make this your year, by articulating and implementing a plan.

Goodbye to Good Riddance

This time of year, when most people think of Times Square, they picture the tremendous New Year’s Eve party attended by more than a million people filled with banners, streamers and the ball that drops at midnight. Less well known, and with much poorer attendance, is an event in Times Square that takes place just a few days earlier. A few hundred people will gather this week to observe the annual “Good Riddance Day.” Visitors and residents of New York will gather to write down the problems and disappointments they experienced this year on a piece of paper, toss it in a dumpster or watch it get shredded and say good riddance to the aspects of the year they wished to leave behind.

Good Riddance Day is yet another reminder of the stark contrast between the way the secular New Year is observed and the way we observe Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. For many, January 1st is marked with a party, drinking and the ritual of the dropping of the ball. The anticipation of the New Year brings with it resolutions and promises, a fresh start and the opportunity to put that which we don’t like in our lives behind us, simply by saying good riddance.

For us, the first of Tishrei, Rosh Hashana, is greeted with introspection, reflection and a sincere and earnest attempt to repair our mistakes and errors of the prior year. We, too, greet our New Year with joy, excitement and the promise of a fresh start. However, we understand that a new beginning only has meaning when we make amends and take stock of the year behind.

Good Riddance Day, in my opinion, is a reflection of the growing trend in our society of seeking simple, pain free solutions. Rather than confront our shortcomings, poor judgment and bad decisions and try to learn from them, we are led to believe that we can simply write them on a piece of paper and throw them in a dumpster. In truth, life is not that simple and pain free. A shredder cannot make our problems go away. To bring blessing in the year ahead one has to embrace what went wrong in the previous year with a sense of accountability and responsibility.

Indeed, Stephen Covey writes that the word responsibility is made up of the two words response and ability. Our sense of responsibility is a result of our ability to respond. Do we respond to failing relationships, unrealized dreams, and unachieved goals by saying good riddance, or do we extract the lessons and recommit our energies to become better versions of ourselves and fulfill our promise and potential.

When Yosef reveals himself to his brothers in Parshas Vayigash, they are forced to confront the reality and consequences of their actions. The brothers don’t have the option or luxury of simply saying good riddance, let’s move on. Our Rabbis describe the moment when Yosef reveals himself as stark and harsh rebuke, and cautions us that it portends what we will experience when we meet our maker. Oy lanu l’yom ha’din, woe is us for our day of judgment. Like the brothers, all of us will one day face the consequences and results of the poor choices we have made and the reality created by our failures and shortcomings. We will be held accountable and won’t have the option of simply saying good riddance.

Rather than share a drink, blow a horn, make new resolutions, or say good riddance, let us use the secular New Year as a mid-year review to evaluate our Rosh Hashana promises and prepare to get back on track and make improvements for the remainder of the year ahead.

See More, Better and Farther with the Chanukah Candles

Don’t Forget Where You Came From

“Don’t forget where you came from.” It is often said at graduations, it’s the title of a country music song, and many successful people include it on their list of the most important things to remember.

And yet, when Yosef HaTzadik ascends to great heights and power in Egypt, he marries, has his first son and seems to violate this critical principle. He names his oldest son Menashe – “ki nashani Elokim es kol amali v’eis kol beis avi, God has made me forget all my hardship and my father’s entire household.”

What? Yosef HaTzadik, this righteous individual who, when the wife of Potiphar tried to seduce him he triumphed only because he drew strength from the image of his father, is now saying he has forgotten them all? And is grateful for it? How is it possible to be so callous, so crass, so insensitive? Was it a coping mechanism? Was he simply hardened to his new reality and bitter? How is it possible that Yosef, who was so close with his father – who grew up as his ben zekunim – could possibly rise to greatness and not only forget about his family but actually name his oldest son “I have forgotten my whole family?”

There are a number of suggestions offered. First of all, it seems to me that if you name your kid “I have forgotten my family” it means one thing – you actually haven’t forgotten your family and don’t want to. Furthermore, Rav Yitzchak Arama, author of the Sefer Akeida, suggests that Yosef doesn’t mean to say I have literally forgotten them. What he meant was I have selective memory and have chosen to only look back on my childhood with nostalgia and good will. I have forgotten the animosity, conflict, and enmity and remember only the good times.

Indebted to the Misfortunes as Opportunities

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch has an altogether different approach. He says the suggestion that Yosef could forget his family is preposterous. “Nashani” in this context doesn’t mean to forget. Rather says Rav Hirsch, it means what noshe means when it comes to Shemita, to be a creditor.

In other words, Yosef celebrates the birth of his son as he enjoys a position of great prominence in the strongest empire in the world. As he reflects back on what brought him there he says, ki nashani Elokim es kol amali v’eis kol beis avi, God has made my misfortunes and my family into creditors. What had seemed until now to be terrible misfortune indeed brought me to this most joyous moment, to the point that I am now deeply indebted to my perceived misfortunes and my family who brought them on.

Yosef had suffered a string of challenges and hardships. He had not only survived but astonishingly now found himself thriving. He could have looked back on the events of his life that led him there in one of two ways. He could have said, woe is me, I can’t believe I was thrown in a pit, sold into slavery, falsely accused, forgotten in prison, and abandoned for all these years by my family. He could have been bitter, hurt, and resentful and concluded that his success and achievements were despite his hardships. Instead, Yosef made the choice to look back at his life and say, I don’t fully understand why I had to endure what I did or why those bad things had to happen to me, but look at me now and the blessings I am privileged to enjoy.

We don’t all merit to ascend to power and wealth the way Yosef did. For many, hardship continues and endures and the light at the end of the tunnel seems as distant as ever. And yet, I believe the Torah’s message is that no matter the circumstance, if we approach life with humility and gratitude we can identify a blessing in our circumstance, something good that has come out and feel indebted for the positive we enjoy.

See More With One Eye Than With Two

In a great article, Sight to Behold, L. Jon Wertheim tells the story of Luis Salazar. A longtime major-league infielder and minor-league coach Salazar had been out of baseball for a year, happily sitting at home in Boca Raton. But in August 2010 he got the itch to return so, with the blessing of Graciela, his wife of 33 years, Salazar sent out his résumé. The Atlanta Braves offered him a job managing their Class-A Carolina League team, the Lynchburg Hillcats.

Salazar joined the Braves for their spring training games in 2011 and was coaching third base one March afternoon. As Wetheim tell it:

Salazar was 55, a former third baseman whose reaction times were not what they once were. No matter. He had no chance. Not with slugger Brian McCann hitting from maybe 60 feet away and the foul ball traveling in excess of 100 miles per hour. The projectile smacked Salazar in his left eye, making a hideous sound and knocking him backward down the dugout steps. He fractured his right arm in the fall, but that was the least of it. He was unconscious, concussed, and blood poured from his nose, mouth and eye, puddling around his head as he lay face down. As a helicopter transported Salazar to an Orlando trauma center, the players struggled to keep it together, not least McCann, who left the game.

Salazar regained consciousness in the hospital that night. He says he saw a white light—”very bright, so bright”—and fell back asleep. He woke up the next day after a surgery, the first of three. “What happened?” he asked his wife. She told him. He nodded. He went to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Then the gravity set in. “It’s scary when you don’t recognize yourself,” he said. “That’s when I knew how bad it was.”

Doctors first told him the good news. He was alive. And, blessedly, he’d suffered no brain injury. Then, a few days later, the bad news: his left eye was so damaged it would need to be removed.

Six days after he was hit, Salazar’s left eye was surgically removed, his socket suddenly resembling a garage without a car. He conceded, that was “a tough day,” but he was more focused on thanking God that he had come out of the ordeal relatively unscathed. The doctor told him that losing the eye meant only that he couldn’t be a fighter pilot. Otherwise there would be no restrictions. He put a bandage over the eye—beating others to it by making the obligatory Pittsburgh Pirates joke—and went about his business.

When Salazar was finally released from the hospital, he drove the three hours from Orlando to Boca Raton. “I needed to do that for myself,” he said. On April 15 he made his managerial debut in Lynchburg. By this point, his story had generated some media attention—particularly among Braves fans—and a capacity crowd turned out to welcome the new manager. Graciela was in the stands as well. “Just putting on the uniform, going to home plate and handing the lineup card to the umpire,” he said. “That was the best moment of my baseball career.”

During his season managing in Lynchburg, Salazar often spent the duration bus trips returning voicemails from friends. “In a way, I see more now than I did with two eyes,” he said. “I see friends, teammates I haven’t spoken to in 25 years. I notice more around the ballpark. It’s maybe crazy to say, but in some ways it’s been a blessing.”

Chanukah Candles Illuminate What Is Already All Around Us

We take as a given that the reason we light the Chanukah candles is to see the flames. We tend to assume that the pirsumei nisa, the publicizing of the miracle, is achieved by lighting oil and commemorating a miracle from many years ago. But perhaps we are missing the point. Maybe the real purpose is not to see the flame itself but to allow the flame to illuminate the darkness and reveal what is all around us. Perhaps publicizing the miracle is not accomplished through the candle, but rather when we take a moment to consider the trials and tribulations we have been through and yet allow the light to illuminate for us how fortunate and blessed we are nonetheless. The Jewish people’s existence after all these years and systematic attempts to eliminate us… we are the miracles. Each one of us has struggled, be it with illness, financial hardship, etc. and yet we are here, we are positive and we are grateful. That is the miracle.

The mitzvah is ner ish ubeiso, and perhaps we can suggest homiletically, the mitzvah is to see the candle but more importantly to see ish, to see ourselves and how we are here, and to see beiso, how fortunate we are to have a spouse, children, a home.

Louis Salazar says he sees more with one eye than he ever saw with two. When we light that menorah, like Yosef we must see beyond what our eyes can perceive and see and appreciate the blessings and the miracles that surround us all along.

Invisible or Inimitable? Raising Healthy and Happy Children

Recently, President Trump formally declared the nationwide opioid drug problem a public health emergency. Substance abuse is a growing epidemic that doesn’t discriminate based on religion, economic class, gender, or ethnicity. As we have come to learn all too well, the frum community is not immune, either.

Experts will all tell you that drug and alcohol addiction are not about the substance, but rather, about what pain the users are trying to escape, what hole in their hearts they are trying to fill, or what aspect of their lives they desperately want to be numb to. A young man I know recently wrote me a letter describing his experience with drugs and how he was using them to deny and escape his actual problem, the depression that was suffocating him. “For months during that year I would go to sleep every night hoping and praying I simply wouldn’t wake up the next morning, and every morning I would open my eyes and feel the crushing disappointment of having to endure another day. Modeh Ani seemed to be mocking me.”

In the five years between 2010 and 2015, the number of teens in America struggling with depression surged to a shocking 33 percent. Teen suicide attempts increased by 23 percent. While these numbers are dramatically lower in the Jewish community, they are still way too high and only growing. A recent paper published in Clinical Psychological Science correlates the increased mental health issues among young people with the rise of smart phones and use of social media. It turns out that being hyper-connected generates feelings of loneliness and insignificance.

In recent, separate conversations with several young people struggling with depression, similar themes and language emerged. They all shared feeling invisible, inconsequential, that they don’t know why they are here and that the world would be no different if they were gone. While such thoughts are obviously unhealthy and demand attention, intense therapy, and often medication, they also provide an insight into both what we can do to identify the population most at risk, to show support for those currently suffering, and to help those who have struggled from relapsing.

Last year, on a tour of the Library of Congress, I commented to our guide that a book we were looking at was rare. She stopped me and said, “That book is not rare, it is unique, one of a kind.” That comment immediately got me thinking, not so much about the book, but about all of us. So many people are struggling to find their place in the world, their value or worth. Too many people feel irrelevant or insignificant. We all need to know, believe and most importantly feel, that not only are we not just rare, we are one of a kind, and irreplaceable. We each have a unique mission and distinctive purpose in this world that cannot be accomplished or achieved by anyone else. We are each a tzelem Elokim, a distinct and special expression of the Ribbono Shel Olam in this world. We need to know and truly believe it about ourselves, and we need to instill that message in those around us.

Not only is Modeh Ani not mocking us, it is the formula to start each and every day with a jolt of chizuk. We end Modeh Ani with the words, rabba emunasecha, Hashem, your faith in us is great. This phrase appears strange: we are the ones who are supposed to have faith in Hashem, why are we referencing His faith in us? The Ribono Shel Olam prescribed these words so that we begin each day with the recognition that if we woke up this morning, if our “contract” has been renewed another day, that means Hashem continues to have faith in us, that we have a role to play in His world and that we have a personal mission to achieve.

Communicating each person’s individual worth and value must be a fundamental goal of education and is a core responsibility of parents and mechanchim. The Piaseczno Rebbe, Rav Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, in his introduction to Chovas HaTalmidim, defines this as the essence of chinuch, education. Based on a Rashi (Bereishis 14:14), he writes:

Chinuch is the initiation of a person or object into the trade or art for which it is destined, as in the education of a youth, the dedication of the altar or inauguration of a house. The term chinuch is appropriate when referring to an innate talent that a person has for a certain art, or when describing the preparation of a house or object for use. It is a special word with specific definition, and it is used to describe the realization of latent potential inherent in a person or object. If we fail to actualize that potential, it will remain concealed forever. Our mission is to be mechanech, to educate the person so that he will become an accomplished craftsman; to prepare the house so that each room fulfills its intended purpose; or to prepare the instrument so that it performs the function for which it was designed.

The great artist Michelangelo put it well when he described his process of sculpting: “In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me, shaped and perfect in attitude and in action. I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to the other eyes as mine see it.”

According to the Piaseczno Rebbe, the mission of each teacher and every parent is to stand before the child, see the potential in him and chip away until that potential and uniqueness is fully realized and visible to all, most of all the child himself. Instilling a sense of worth and value within a child begins with knowing the child, and that takes time and an emotional investment.

Several years ago, an educator from Israel met with me to share his vision for creating a yeshiva that integrated a love of music with learning Torah. He described that some connect to Hashem through music and that passion could be leveraged to grow in Torah. His yeshiva would include time to practice and play music as a means of religious expression and would study Torah texts that focus on music. He went around the United States meeting with educators about the idea and what he found disappointed him terribly.

When he asked them if they had students in their shiur or class who love music, he got blank stares and responses like, “I don’t know, possibly.” For those passionate about the instrument they play or the music they listen to, it is a big part of their life and their individuality. The Israeli educator asked me indignantly, how could people possibly be effective rebbeim or teachers and not even know such a basic fact about their students?

David Blazar, an assistant professor of education policy and economics at the University of Maryland, recently completed a study looking at the correlation between teachers’ focus on students’ confidence and well-being and their test grades. “Many, including myself, see students’ social and emotional development as a central goal of teachers’ and students’ work,” he wrote. “Yet, accountability systems that focus predominately or exclusively on student achievement send a message that the skills captured on these tests are the ones that policymakers want students to have when they leave school.”

Blazar concluded that we need to broaden what it means to be a successful student. Schools should measure teachers not only by their effectiveness at elevating students’ grades, but by imbuing them with confidence, happiness, and well-being.

What is true in school or yeshiva is even more true at home. We must not communicate that our children’s worth or value is exclusively determined by their grades or how many blatt gemara they know. They need to know they matter, they make a difference and they have a mission to achieve. When children come home, don’t ask them how they did on their test or bechina. Ask instead, “Did you do something nice for someone else; did you make a difference in someone else’s life today? Did you matter?”

The young man who wrote me the letter (and gave permission to share) about his drug abuse described the multiple times he thought about taking his own life while away in yeshiva. When he finally confided in his father how he felt, he was met not with judgment or rejection, but with love and support. He was diagnosed with clinical depression and after beginning a regimen of medicine and therapy, he concluded the letter by saying, “I really never felt better. I write this now as I start a new chapter of my life, one of honesty not of farces. Of truth not lies. Of sobriety, not drug dependence. I write this free of the burden of pretending to be something I’m not.”

Since confronting these issues and understanding them a little better, not only have I tried to act more compassionately and empathically to those in crisis, but it has changed the way I relate to everyone. The fact that these maladies are invisible means we must never assume we know everything going on in someone’s life or what motivates his or her behavior. Ian Maclaren, the 19^th C. Scottish author once said, “Be kind for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” Cut others slack; give people the benefit of the doubt.

When someone you know is acting differently or unusual, don’t judge them or jump to assumptions about them. Pirkei Avos (2:4) quotes Hillel who said: “Do not judge another until you have stood in his place.” Since it is impossible to stand in another person’s place, to be them, to have their baggage or to live their struggles, we can never judge another. Instead, we should be kind, sensitive, supportive and understanding.

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch explains the etymology of the name Chanukah derives from the same root as the word chinuch, to educate. Explains Rav Hirsch, it used to be customary to spend time on Chanukah discussing, strategizing and recommitting to the importance of chinuch, of educating and inspiring our children.

The basic mitzvah of chanuka is ner ish u’beiso, the head of the household lights one candle and fulfills the mitzvah for his wife and children. But, the Gemara continues, it is mehadrin, more proper, for ner l’chol echad v’echad, each person of the house to light their own menorah.

Rav Hirsch suggests that we can concern ourselves with ner ish u’beiso, lighting the fire in our heart, inspiring ourselves and making sure we are warm. The proper thing to do, however, the enhanced way to live life, is to make sure each person in our home recognizes they are an individual flame, they can burn bright, and that they, too, have a special and unique role in illuminating the darkness.

There is nothing as gratifying and inspiring as being true to ourselves, pursuing our mission in life, and ridding ourselves of the burden of pretending to be something we are not. With love, affection, support, and a regular affirmation of the emunah that both we and Hashem have in our children, we can stem the tide of these crises and help ensure the health and wellbeing of the generations to come.

The Laws Haven’t Changed, We Have: Taking Stock of the Recent Scandals That Have Turned Heroes to Zeros

“I hear it said of somebody that he is leading a double life. I think to myself: Just two?”

Leon Wiesltier (Against Identity)

The last few months have seen a cascade of revelations of gross misconduct among accomplished men who overnight went from objects of admiration to targets of derision. There is a growing list of men whose public personas turn out to be radically inconsistent with their private acts and behaviors.

Sadly, men abusing their power to exploit women is nothing new. What is new, however, is the enormous shift in society’s unwillingness to look the other way or excuse such indiscretions. It was not that long ago that many not only gave a pass to a sitting president who took advantage of an intern, but villainized those who sought to hold him accountable. That president was not only not derided or demonized for his behavior, he was the object of continued great approval, love, and affection.

Contrast that story with that of Matt Lauer, who just this week was accused of improper behavior; by sunrise Wednesday, the $25 million a year anchor was unceremoniously fired. Gone are the days a highly visible company or organization could delay while researching the facts, investigating the allegations, or waiting to see if a criminal charge would be filed. The radical shift has resulted in almost instantaneous consequences following a revelation.

This sea change in how we address these issues is refreshing and welcome, but how did it happen?

The answer is us. The legal system hasn’t changed. What changed is what we as a society are willing to tolerate, accept, or excuse. A common theme in almost every one of the recent scandals is that “everyone knew” about their behavior. Everyone knew, and if challenged everyone would tell you it was reprehensible. And yet the combination of those two things somehow nevertheless resulted in indifference, not action. Why? Because society was comfortable looking the other way. The attitude of “boys will be boys” and “that’s just how powerful people behave” enabled and even empowered corrupt people to perpetrate such heinous injustices.

As soon as we collectively decided such behavior was not only improper, but deplorable, a line was drawn and those finding themselves on the other side of it are being outed and held responsible.

There is much to say on this whole episode, but one critical point being overlooked is how much we as a community, through our standards, expectations and tolerance levels, can shape behavior. Laws, both human, and as dictated by the Almighty, can guide us in right from wrong, but it is up to society to create the culture and atmosphere that will enforce those standards and hold accountable any who violate them, no matter their status or celebrity.

In our parsha, Vayishlach, a powerful man takes advantage of a vulnerable woman. Shechem was the son of Chamor, the ruler of Canaan. He was privileged, formidable, and he desired Dinah, the daughter of Yaakov so he violated her against her will. Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch comments that this episode was a classic case of a ruler dominating a weak woman.

Shechem was used to getting what he wanted without resistance or consequence. How would Dinah’s community, her band of brothers, respond to her exploitation? Would they cower in fear? Would they look the other way?

Shimon and Levi, Dinah’s brothers, understood that if they remained passive and complacent, a precedent of tolerance would be set for such behavior. They refused to be indifferent and executed a scheme to avenge their sister’s violation and hold the perpetrator and his accomplices accountable.

Our rabbis find a source for a boy turning bar mitzvah at 13 years old from the fact that Shimon and Levi, who were 13 years old at the time, are labeled ish, men, when this incident occurred. The Lubavitcher Rebbe commented (Likkutei Sichos 5:421) “The fact that a source for Bar Mitzvah is derived from Shimon and Levi imparts another very important lesson: As soon as one becomes thirteen years of age, one is expected to have mesiras nefesh, self-sacrifice, to defend and protect the integrity and sanctity of Klal Yisrael, the Jewish people, as well as each and every Jew.”

An immature child can sit on the sideline. To be an adult is to have the courage and tenacity to stand up to injustice, to intercede on behalf of the vulnerable, and to protest the violation of moral boundaries.

The Chizkuni points out that the Torah records the obligation to show kindness and sensitivity to the widow and orphan, b’lashon rabim, in the plural. Why? He explains that all of society bears the iniquity, be it active or passive, when it tolerates oppression. This commandment is written in the plural because the community is measured by the environment it sets and the behavior it tolerates. Even those individuals not actively guilty of oppressing the less fortunate are culpable because of their indifference and apathy to their plight.

Matt Lauer was the recipient this week of the swift arm of social justice. The court of public opinion has quickly become demanding and unforgiving of what just recently was tolerated, even tacitly accepted behavior among powerful men. To be sure, we must be vigilant to preserve due process, not rush to judgment, or hurt innocent people in the process of holding the guilty accountable. But, as the spiritual heirs of Shimon and Levi we must continue to embrace our power as a society to implement right from wrong and good from bad. We have learned the hard way that whether people behave properly and appropriately is as much a function of what we tolerate as if it is right or wrong. That places an enormous burden and responsibility on us to carefully consider the culture and atmosphere we create. Let us choose carefully and wisely. A world of vulnerable people is counting on us.

Shaya’s Story – A Model of Conscientious Inclusiveness

It was the day of Avraham’s funeral and Yaakov was preparing lentil soup for his mourning father Yitzchak. Esav came in from the field and he was hungry and tired. We all know the story – Esav sold the birthright for a bowl of soup.

Our Rabbis (Bava Basra 16) teach us that on that day, Esav violated no fewer than five separate transgressions, including degrading his birthright. This one requires some investigation. What exactly was the transgression of selling the birthright? Was Esav ever warned not to relinquish his firstborn status? What was so wrong with this action that it is grouped with an act of murder and denial of God’s existence, two of the other transgressions he violated that day?

Rashi tells us that the birthright Esav inherited positioned him to serve the Almighty in a special way. Esav was given the option to participate in the divine covenant. Had he not sold the right of the firstborn, Rabbi Soloveitchik explains, Esav would have been entitled to the same destiny that God bestowed upon Yaakov. But Esav had no interest in this role or in the privilege of being charged with a sacred mission. Yaakov didn’t dupe him into selling his birthright. He wasn’t tricked, fooled or pressured. Esav sold his birthright because he simply didn’t value it, he didn’t cherish it, and ultimately, he didn’t even want it.

The Ramban suggests – if you want to know what Esav truly thought about his birthright and the honor to carry the legacy of his father and grandfather, just look at what he does right after he sells it. The pasuk says, va’yochal, va’yeisht, va’yakam, va’yeilech, va’yivez, he ate, he drank, he got up, he went and he dishonored the birthright. The Ramban highlights the order in the Pasuk: It doesn’t say he denigrated the birthright when it was sold. Rather, Esav sold the birthright, and proceeded to immediately to eat, drink and get up and go and only then, va’yivez, he displayed great disregard for the birthright.

There are times a person must forfeit something of incredible value. Sometimes, a person brings their great grandmother’s jewelry or precious item to a pawn shop because they desperately need the money. But, a person in that situation will reflexively grieve and feel sad over losing something so irreplaceable. Esav didn’t grieve; he sold the birthright, and went to a party, had a drink, and didn’t look back.

Esav’s most egregious transgression was minimizing what the birthright meant to him, and how easily he went about normal life after giving it away. He threw away a special relationship, a special mission and a special destiny, and he couldn’t care less. He was casual and flippant with a prize possession.

That birthright, the privilege of being a member of Klal Yisroel, of being a participant of the am ha’nivchar, a full member of the covenantal community and being charged with a sacred mission, is something many of our ancestors risked and gave their lives for. We are the offspring and the progeny of Yaakov, not Esav. The birthright, a symbol of Jewish values and Torah, is precious to us and of inestimable value. If we didn’t have it, we would trade everything in the world, least of all a bowl of lentil soup to get a share of it.

And because our birthright, which importantly includes the teachings and traditions of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov, is so precious and dear to us, it must be accessible and available to every member of the Jewish people. Torah, Jewish values, and the Jewish community are the right of every man, woman and child, irrespective of social status, economic status, level of learning, background, or level of observance. Every single Jew deserves access to his or her birthright. Every single Jew, no matter his or her ability or disability, no matter his or her special needs, is entitled to access to, and participation in, our collective birthright.

A man from Gateshead, England, once came to visit the Chazon Ish together with his young son, a boy with Down’s Syndrome. When they walked in, the Chazon Ish rose from his chair. The startled father told the great not to rise on his account. The Chazon Ish responded, “It is not in your honor that I have risen. Rather, it is out of respect for your son, a boy who possesses one of the holiest souls of our generation.” (Ma’aseh Ish, 1:230)

These holiest souls with different potentials and roles to fill in this world have a birthright, and it is no less than anyone else’s. BRS is proud of our recent efforts to be sensitive to the special needs population through our programming and activities. On Simchas Torah, we hold a special Kol Ha’nearim for those who cannot participate in a large crowd. We open the Parshas Noach event and the Purim Carnival early for those with sensitivities and we are now running a special-needs Shabbos morning group every Shabbos.

Rav Moshe Shapiro, a leading Torah scholar in Jerusalem, included the following in a letter he wrote to a student who became the father of a son with Downs Syndrome:

Since the birth of your son, I have believed that if, with God’s help, you will succeed in the challenge which was given to you, then you will have been presented with an incomparable gift. This child has within him the capability to accomplish that which nothing else in the world can do – to actualize wondrous and powerful energy latent in the recesses of your heart.

In his book, Echoes of the Maggid, Rabbi Paysach Krohn tells the story of a man who once delivered a speech at a Jewish school for kids with special needs. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff he cried out, “Where is the perfection in my son Shaya? Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God’s perfection?”

The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father’s anguish and stilled by the piercing query. “I believe,” the father answered, “that when God brings a child like this into the world the perfection that he seeks is in the way people react to this child.”

He then told the following story about his son Shaya:

One afternoon, Shaya and his father walked past a park where some boys whom Shaya knew were playing baseball. Shaya asked, “Do you think they will let me play?”

Shaya’s father knew that his son was not at all athletic and that most boys would not want him on their team. But Shaya’s father also understood that if his son was chosen to play it would give him a comfortable sense of belonging. Shaya’s father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shaya could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his team mates. Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said “We are losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning.”

Shaya’s father was ecstatic as Shaya smiled broadly. Shaya was told to put on a glove and go out to play short center field. In the bottom of the eighth inning Shaya’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the bottom of the ninth inning Shaya’s team scored again and now, with two outs and the bases loaded with the potential winning run on base, Shaya was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let Shaya bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shaya was given the bat. Everyone knew that it was all but impossible because Shaya didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, let alone hit with it.

However, as Shaya stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shaya should at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came and Shaya swung clumsily and missed. One of Shaya’s team mates came up to Shaya and together they held the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the next pitch.

The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shaya. As the pitch came in, Shaya and his team mate swung at the ball and together they hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shaya would have been out and that would have ended the game.

Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman. Everyone started yelling, “Shaya, run to first. Run to first.” Never in his life had Shaya run to first. He scampered down the baseline wide eyed and startled. By the time he reached first base the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman who would tag out the still-running Shaya.

But the right fielder understood what the pitcher’s intentions were so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman’s head. Everyone yelled, “Run to second, run to second.” Shaya ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home. As Shaya reached second base the opposing short stop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base and shouted, “Run to third.” As Shaya rounded third the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming, “Shaya run home.” Shaya ran home, stepped on home plate and all 18 boys lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero as he had just hit a “grand slam” and won the game for his team.

“That day,” said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, “those 18 boys reached their level of God’s perfection.”

We stand to gain the most by being conscientiously inclusive. Our children learn sensitivity, we grow in empathy, and the community becomes greater when we embrace the mission and practice of inclusiveness in all that we do.

Guest Post – Nobody Knew How Badly I wanted to Kill Myself and How Close I Came to Doing It

Last week, we hosted an event on the growing drug issue in the Jewish community. A few hours before the event, a young man I know, or thought I knew well, sent the letter below to me. He asked that I share it with the hope his story can help others and I began the program by reading it. When I first opened it, I was reminded of a quote I find very meaningful: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” I have great admiration for his courage in reaching out and for his desire to make himself vulnerable in an effort to be there for others. If you are feeling the way he describes, you are not alone. Reach out and it can and will get better. May Hashem bless him and all those struggling with similar issues with only strength, happiness and success.

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Standing on the roof of my yeshiva overlooking one of the holiest cities in Israel, I stared at the graves of my fore-bearers and dreamed of meeting them. I had just returned from yeshiva after a three week bender and I was so filled with self loathing and pity I couldn’t stop thinking of ending my life. It would be so simple I told myself, one jump, 10-15 seconds and it would all be over. The pain, the anger, the sadness. All gone. I even had the perfect plan, it was still Yom tov in America so I could text every member of my family explaining my choice and begging their forgiveness, but they would only see the messages long after I was gone. This was what my world had come to. The truth is I knew that besides for a few select people, my world would be rocked by the news of my suicide.

I had meticulously maintained an image of confidence and happiness that most people bought into hook line and sinker. The image I cultivated was one of a smart confident young man who simply enjoyed having a good time. However; the truth was that behind that carefully crafted image was nothing. A singularity to match that of the largest black hole in existence. I was hopelessly empty. I had spent my life convinced that an endless supply of designer clothing and joints would be enough to keep me satisfied. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. I had reached my end. The yeshiva was completely empty, I was all alone, with no way out, and no weed or alcohol to numb the pain of simply being alive.

Now this desire to end my life did not simply appear one day, it had been festering in my head for years; however, I never mentioned it to anyone in fear of shattering my precious image, my immaculate persona. I couldn’t let real emotions ruin people’s ideas of me, perish the very thought. So I allowed that voice to remain dormant in the back of my head, always there but never acknowledged. I thought of different ways I would do it, always hypotheticals I told myself. Just “what ifs” I even came up with the perfect suicide. I would put a hose in my exhaust pipe and attach the other end to the window of my car, turn the car on, wash down two Xanax with some scotch, smoke a joint, and simply never wake up. Painless. The perfect way to go out. But I of course never acted on it, or told anyone how I was really feeling.

Then it started getting worse, my first year in yeshiva, while davening not 100 feet from the kotel on rosh hashana, watching everyone around me crying out to HaShem to grant them life for the year, I davened for the opposite. I davened for an easy way out. I begged God to end my life that year. I asked to be hit by a bus, or to even be involved in a terror attack. I knew I couldn’t do it myself, not out of self preservation, I simply wasn’t that selfish. I couldn’t subject my family to any more torment at my hands, although I often thought I’d be sparing them endless pain by simply taking myself out of the equation. For months during that year I would go to sleep every night hoping and praying I simply wouldn’t wake up the next morning, and every morning I would open my eyes and feel the crushing disappointment of having to endure another day. Modeh Ani seemed to be mocking me.

Until one night in my Shana bet, after enduring as much as I could I decided it was time. As I sat there taking in what were surely my last few moments I began to cry. Once my tears started they wouldn’t stop, hot and thick they poured down my face as I realized that I would rather die than simply admit that I wanted to. I would rather destroy my actual self than the one I had been projecting all these years. Tears still flowing I called my father, knowing as an ER physician his cell phone would be on during Yom Tov. He answered the phone on the third ring immediately asking “what’s wrong”?

Choking back sobs I began to tell him everything. For the first time I broke down my image. I told him how much I hated being alive. How for the last few years my biggest wish was that an asteroid would collide with the earth, allowing me to die without hurting anyone else. When I finished speaking my father explained to me that I was sick. Much like someone who has strep throat, and much like strep if untreated my sickness would get worse and worse. He made me go in for a psychiatric evaluation where I was almost immediately diagnosed with clinical depression and put on antidepressants. I keep thinking how different my life might be had I broken down my image in 12th grade, or even last year, but I was too afraid. Too scared of what people would think of me knowing that I wanted to kill myself. As it turns out no one thought anything less of me. People understood.

I finally gathered the courage to tell one of my closest friends and his response was that we have friends so that we can tell people about these things. His response was one of love not judgment. I didn’t feel weird or different when telling him, on the contrary I felt liberated and free. Someone would actually understand me, understand the feelings I had been suppressing for years. I really never felt better. I write this now as I start a new chapter of my life, one of honesty not of farces. Of truth not lies. Of sobriety not drug dependence. I write this free of the burden of pretending to be something I’m not. I write this not in the hopes of garnering pity or sympathy, I write this in the hopes that even one person who has felt the way I have felt, and is scared to talk about it will read this and understand how much better their life can become by simply confiding in those they trust.

Five Questions to Ask for a Happy Marriage

In a previous message, Inquiries or Inquisitions: A Rabbi’s Perspective on the Shidduch System, I shared some thoughts and modest suggestions regarding what have become normative practices in dating. Afterwards, someone shared with me what might be the most outrageous prospective shidduch question I have heard yet. The “other side” wanted to know if the girl’s family members were buried next to each other in the cemetery in Europe or in separate sections of the cemetery designated for men and women. The parent who was asked this absurd question responded to the shadchan, “Let them know that I believe my grandparents’ ashes were likely mixed together in the crematorium.”

Rav Pam (Ateres Avraham, Chayei Sarah) quotes Rabbeinu Bachya, who instructs us that when looking for a spouse we should not place an overemphasis on looks, money or yichus, but rather the bulk of the attention should be on middos, the person’s character. The metric Eliezer used to find the proper mate for Yitzchak and the next worthy matriarch of our people was not dress size, SAT score, or net worth, rather it was someone who intuitively acted with kindness, displayed innate compassion, and gave selflessly.

Sadly, the bulk of the typical “shidduch resume” today, as well as the pervasive theme of the questions I entertain when someone is looking into another person, revolves around education and experiences, facts and data regarding family, but little about character and traits. This is obviously concerning, since it is character and virtues that will inform the compatibility of the couple and determine the success of the marriage. I am not minimizing the significance of some of these questions. However, the disproportionate attention given to, and impact of, what should be secondary issues, and the neglect of the primary questions, is no doubt contributing not only to the disillusionment with the shidduch process, but the growing incidence of conflict in marriage and divorce.

A resume and the research process can help decide if a date is worthwhile, but evaluating marriage is much more difficult and will never come as the result of things written on a piece of paper. It is the result of shared experiences, critical conversations, and learning crucial things about one another’s background, expectations and predilections. Someone who dated for a fairly long period of time before getting married recently shared with me that now that he has been married for a few years, he thinks back to some of the things that he thought were big issues, and realizes that in truth they are inconsequential.

By the same token, there are many things he now sees as fundamental factors in marriage that he didn’t even consider or think about when identifying what was important to him in a spouse. So what are the critical things to look for in dating to determine if someone is suitable for marriage? What are the things we should be encouraging families to focus on when entering the shidduch process? Drs. John and Julie Gottman have been scientifically studying healthy relationships for four decades and have emerged as authorities on the factors that contribute to a successful marriage to the point that they can predict with greater than 90% accuracy if a couple they observe will still be married in five years.

Their research shows that Eliezer was on to something. Kindness is not only an admirable trait regarding the treatment of others, but it glues couples together. In fact, it is the most important predictor of satisfaction and stability in a marriage. Kindness makes each partner feel cared for, understood, and validated, all which combine to feeling loved. Kindness is not only practiced during good times, but happy marriages practice kindness even in the way a couple fights by making sure that communication never includes condescension, aggression, or name-calling and focuses only on the issue that needs to be resolved. Kindness and compassion are indispensable in marriage and should be qualities we are unwilling to compromise on for ourselves or our children. But there are other factors which can make or break a marriage and while some answers to questions are not objectively right or wrong, discussing them and understanding the different approaches to them, will go a long way to make a happy marriage.

Here are five examples of conversations that I submit should take place over the course of dating and courtship and even within marriage itself, if they didn’t occur sooner:

· How did your family fight?

Disagreements are inevitable in marriage. How those differences are navigated is the driver of the success of the marriage. Did your family put things on the table, have it out, did they sweep them under the carpet, or did they silently shut down when issues arose?

· Affection

Did your family prioritize and show verbal and physical affection with one another or was it assumed and not expressly provided? How often do your family members say “I love you” or offer praise?

· Articulated Roles

Do you have a more traditional outlook on gender roles and responsibilities regarding children, income and caring for the house, or is there an expectation of sharing all responsibilities equally?

· Money

Did your family spend money freely or are they more calculated and frugal? Do you like high end brand name clothing, furniture and cars or are you satisfied with inexpensive or generic alternatives?

· Transparency

How do you feel about privacy and personal space within marriage? Do you expect to have access to all of my passwords, accounts and spend most free time together or do you prefer having personal space and sometimes doing things apart?

Again, in large part there are no right or wrong answers to these five questions and they are certainly not a comprehensive list of the type of issues that truly make or break a marriage. Nevertheless, they are a sample of the types of ways I believe we should be thinking about evaluating a prospective mate and focusing on the critical things in marriage.

Gottman’s research has shown that 69% of relationship conflict is about perpetual problems. All couples have them – the problems that are grounded in the fundamental differences that any two people face. They are the issues that create the fights that happen over and over again with both sides thinking this will be the time I convince the other that my way is right, though it never happens. Gottman says that with every fight there was a conversation that needed to take place, but a fight happened instead. Rather than revisit the same fights over and over, we can eliminate almost 70% of the conflict in marriage, by simply identifying our fundamental differences and devising a strategy of how we will navigate them with the spirit of compromise and partnership.

R’ Chaim Vital (quoted in R’ Shlomo Wolbe’s Kuntrus Hadracha L’chasanim) said: “A person’s character traits are primarily measured based upon how they are to their spouse.” If we learn to ask the right questions and emphasize the most important things, perhaps we can improve the process of finding a mate, as well as the health of our marriages themselves.

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