Did You Ask a Good Question Today?

When Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz, the great Rosh Yeshiva of the Mir, was a young bachur (student) learning in Grodno, he went to visit to his uncle, the Rosh Yeshiva of Novardok, Rav Avrahahm Yaffen. During his visit, he asked his uncle to show him the best bachur in the Yeshiva. Rav Yaffen pointed to one bachur and said this is the greatest amkan in the yeshiva, he has the most penetrating insights. He next pointed to a different bachur and said he is the biggest masmid in the yeshiva, he is the most diligent. And he continued to point to different bochrim and point out each one as the greatest. This one for his Yiras Shomayim, incredible piety, or that one for his bekius, breadth of knowledge.

Rav Chaim said to his uncle, these are all great talmidim (students), but in the end which one is the greatest bachur in the yeshiva? The Rosh Yeshiva answered: “None of the above.” Rav Chaim was stunned. “None of the above? You just spoke about each of their virtue and nobility. If not them, who is the best?” His uncle took him to one of the corners of the Beis Medrish and showed him a bachur and said: “This is the greatest bachur in the whole yeshiva.” Rav Chaim was perplexed – in mentioning all the previous great bochrim his uncle never even mentioned this bachur, yet he is the greatest in the whole yeshiva?!

The Rosh Yeshiva answered, “This bachur’s defining trait is greater than all of the other bochrim in the yeshiva – this bachur is a mevakeish, he is a seeker and a searcher. The others may be smarter, more diligent, more pious, but he is the hungriest, he wants it the most.” That mevakeish ended up being the great Steipler Gaon, Rav Yaakov Kanievsky.

Commenting on Yisro’s declaration, “Now I know that Hashem is greater than all the gods,” Rashi explains, based on the Mechilta, that Yisro had ample basis for comparison, since, “she’lo hiniach avodah zarah she’lo avdah,” he had experimented with and worshiped every form of idolatry in the world. At first glance, this teaching sounds demeaning, but the Alter of Kelm points out that in fact it is a huge compliment. The Torah and our rabbis are telling us that Yisro was a mevakeish. He was searching for truth and wasn’t satisfied until he discovered it. With each new religion he thought he had come upon it, but he then discovered a greater truth elsewhere and went to explore. He probed and asked and inquired and searched and didn’t stop until he found the truth.

For many others, it would have been good enough, they would have been fine with questions that are unanswered. Others would have tired or become bored or distracted by something else. Not Yisro. He was a mevakeish, a seeker with an insatiable appetite for learning and growing.

We can’t necessarily control how smart we are, how well we remember things or our ability to focus for long periods. But, we can all control and improve our sense of being mevakeish, of being hungry for discovery, of having an appetite for learning and of yearning for truth.

The whole world heard about what had happened to the Jewish people, everyone read about the splitting of the sea, the battle with Amalek and the giving of the Torah. They turned the page of the newspaper and continued sipping their coffee. Only Yisro, put the paper down and said, I need to take a closer look. I want to see this for my own eyes. I need to understand what happened and learn about this extraordinary people for whom extraordinary miracles occurred.

Yisro was a mevakeish, a seeker, and it is the story of his arrival that precedes the narrative of Mattan Torah to teach us that the prerequisite to kabbalas ha’Torah, receiving the Torah, is being a mevakeish, a seeker of truth.

A pasuk that appears both in Tehillim and Divrei Ha’yamim is part of our Pesukei D’Zimrah every morning: “Yismach lev me’vakshei Hashem. Let the hearts of those who seek Hashem rejoice.” The Chafetz Chaim explains that when one seeks and searches for something, he is not satisfied unless he successfully finds or obtains that which he is looking for. However, one who is mevakeish Hashem, seeks Hashem, finds great pleasure and joy from the actual search, regardless of its ultimate success. The process itself, the exercise of seeking, searching, and yearning gives great satisfaction. Yismach lev me’vakshei Hashem – That is Hashem’s promise for the individual who is sincere in his or her quest.

Torah is compared to water. One unique quality of water is that it lacks taste. It is “delicious” based on how thirsty you are. Nobody reaches for a “delicious glass of water” with their steak. But after a run or at the end of a fast day, nothing tastes better or more refreshing than a cold glass of water. If you are not mevakesh, Torah is bland to you – it’s nothing special. If you are thirsting for it, it is the most delicious thing in the world. Whether Torah is bland or tasty is up to the attitude we bring to it. Be thirsty and show your children you are thirsty.

Learn, study, read, go to classes, ask, inquire, be curious, just be a mevakeish – don’t stop searching, seeking and growing.

Isidor Isaac Rabi was a physicist and Nobel laureate who was recognized for his discovery of nuclear magnetic resonance, used the world over in MRI machines. He was born into a religious Jewish family in Hungary and came to the US as a young child.

A letter to The New York Times in 1988, published shortly after he died, tells an amazing story. The author recalls that Rabi was once asked, ”Why did you become a scientist, rather than a doctor or lawyer or businessman, like the other immigrant kids in your neighborhood?”

Rabi answered, ”My mother made me a scientist without ever intending it. Every other Jewish mother in Brooklyn would ask her child after school: ‘So? Did you learn anything today?’ But not my mother. She always asked me a different question. ‘Izzy,’ she would say, ‘did you ask a good question today?’ That difference – asking good questions -made me become a scientist!”

Ask good questions today and every day. Be a mevakeish and discover joy and satisfaction.

Collecting Crumbs

Last week, within the span of just a few days, two individuals both became extraordinarily wealthy in an instant. A Powerball ticket-holder in Maryland won the $731 million jackpot and a Mega Millions ticket-holder in Michigan was the winner of $1.05 billion. While that may seem like a dream come true, winning instant wealth overnight in a public way can come with many challenges including the loss of anonymity, frivolous lawsuits, addiction, divorce, bankruptcy and even death.

Now, I am fully aware that most people would welcome the test and take their chances but it is worth pointing out there is another type of wealth, and another way to accumulate it, that comes with a lot less risk or danger.

For fifty years, Moshe Bruckstein lived in Bushtyno, Hungary (now Ukraine) with great honor and prominence. His family, including his great-grandson—my father-in-law—were familiar with the story of his successful business, his role in the community, and how it was all then lost during the war. However, it was only recently, when someone shared a book about the Jews of Maramures (Romania), that we discovered what, in fact, Moshe attributed his wealth and success to.

Moshe’s father, Yisrael Nosson Alter Bruckstein, was the Rebbe of Pistin and author of Minchas Yisrael and Emunas Yisrael. His grandfather, Chaim Yosef, was a close Chassid of the Baal Shem Tov, a close friend of the Alter Rebbe, and the Shpoiler Zayde and the author of Tosafos Chaim. Moshe himself was a loyal Chassid who frequented the tables and courts of great Chassidic masters.

Bushtyno was near a forest and Moshe had a lumber business. It provided for his family but wasn’t particularly lucrative. One Shabbos, Reb Moshe’s wife had the great honor of providing a kugel for the Nadvorna Rebbe (1824–1894), Rav Mordechai Leifer’s Friday night tisch. As was customary, the Rebbe enjoyed a small portion of the kugel and then immediately distributed the rest to the chassidim eager to taste of the shirayim, the holy leftovers of the Rebbe. By the time Reb Moshe got to the tray, all that was left were tiny scraps and crumbs. The Rebbe, sensing the disappointment and frustration of his Chassid, turned to Reb Moshe with a big smile and said, don’t worry about it, from the shards of the broken luchos, Moshe Rabbeinu became wealthy.

Moshe Bruckstein didn’t understand the reference but enjoyed the rest of the Shabbos and the following week went back to work at the lumberyard. Just a few days later he noticed something: When the large trees were chopped down and cut into lumber, small pieces of wood were regularly discarded as worthless scraps. He took a closer look at them and realized that while those small pieces weren’t useful for construction or even for firewood, they were perfect for something else. At the time, canes and walking sticks weren’t just for the elderly or infirm, they were trendy among people of all ages and particularly sought after by the wealthy and aristocratic. Immediately, he opened a factory to transform the discarded scraps from lumberyards into canes and walking sticks and in a short time became one of the largest distributors across Europe. After World War I ended, his business sold hundreds of thousands of canes and crutches to those injured in the war.

The subtle beracha of the Rebbe had come true – from the scraps, Moshe Bruckstein became a wealthy man.

וַיֹּ֤אמֶר ה׳ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה פְּסָל־לְךָ֛ שְׁנֵֽי־לֻחֹ֥ת אֲבָנִ֖ים כָּרִאשֹׁנִ֑ים וְכָתַבְתִּי֙ עַל־הַלֻּחֹ֔ת אֶת־הַדְּבָרִ֔ים אֲשֶׁ֥ר הָי֛וּ עַל־הַלֻּחֹ֥ת הָרִאשֹׁנִ֖ים אֲשֶׁ֥ר שִׁבַּֽרְתָּ׃

Hashem said to Moshe: “Carve two tablets of stone like the first, and I will inscribe upon the tablets the words that were on the first tablets, which you shattered.”

Rashi quotes the Midrash (Tanchuma 3:9:29) which comments on the words psal lecha, carve for yourself: “He showed him a quarry of sapphire in his tent and said to him: ‘The pesoles, the shards, shall be yours.’ It was from this that Moshe became so rich.”

Some become extraordinarily wealthy by making a lot of money overnight. Others gain wealth by collecting the small, seemingly insignificant and inconsequential things, moments and experiences that others are prepared to discard and throw away.

I have a dear friend who keeps a notebook for each of his children. From when they first begin to speak, he writes down and collects the most adorable, witty and insightful things they have said. At each of their bar and bat mitzvahs, and later at their weddings, he has pulled out their book and with a mix of nachas, emotion and nostalgia shared things he has collected from them throughout the years. When he wants to reflect on his “wealth,” he doesn’t look at his financial statements or holdings, he simply needs to open any of those notebooks and start reading.

While the likelihood of winning the lottery is exceedingly small (there is a greater chance of your getting hit by lightning twice on the same day), we can all become very wealthy, if not overnight, over time. For many, this year has been financially challenging, draining savings and depleting hard earned moneys. For many, it has been emotionally exhausting, depriving us of many things we were looking forward to or previously took for granted. And yet, in other ways it has been rich with opportunity to remember the difference between what is essential and unessential and to be grateful for that which we most often have taken for granted.

How many moments, experiences, people and things have we dismissed and discarded as insignificant? How many cute or witty lines did we hear from a child we would not have heard had we not been spending more time at home? How many opportunities have we had to participate in something online – a shiur, a concert, an out-of-town relative’s graduation – that we would not normally have been able to be part of? Imagine the “savings” we can accumulate by taking note – either in a journal, or on an app, or at a minimum just spending a reflective moment at the end of the day – of something meaningful, something enjoyable, however small it may seem, that happened to us that day.

Take the time to think, reflect and recognize that if we only hold onto that which we previously discarded, like Moshe Bruckstein and Moshe Rabbeinu before him, we can become very wealthy indeed.

To Lower the Heat Be a Thermostat, Not a Thermometer

The Jewish People are suffering through the servitude of Egypt. After being oppressed and persecuted for an extended period of time, they finally receive a message of redemption: Moshe relays the promise that Hashem will take them out, rescue them, and take them to the Promised Land. How do they react? Lo shamu el Moshe, they don’t (or can’t) listen. Why? Mikotzer ruach umei’avodah kashah. Their backbreaking labor and physical burdens caused a shortness of breath, an exhaustion and despair that blocked them from hearing any positive message of change.

The Ohr HaChaim HaKadosh has an alternative way of understanding kotzer ruach. The word kotzer comes from the word katzar, meaning small, short, or narrow. They couldn’t hear Moshe, and his message of freedom and optimism didn’t penetrate, not because of literal shortness of breath and physical exhaustion, but rather because they had narrow vision and a terribly closed mind. The stress they were under shrank their brain and diminished their ability to think, to dream, to hope, and to believe.

When our ruach is katzar and our spirit is limited because of the stress we are carrying, all we can see is what lies immediately before us, what is happening at that moment. This can often lead to depression, despondency, and hopelessness.

And yet, despite their stress and the limited vision, Bnei Yisrael ultimately buy in, open their eyes, and embrace their own redemption. The pesukim continue with the beginning of the transition from galus to geulah, from exile to freedom. While the plagues were the catalyst that actually liberated the Jewish People, what changed in them that allowed them to see, think, and believe differently?

The Midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 3:1) states: Ein Yisrael nigalin ela b’zechus haShabbos. One way of understanding this is that the redemption will come if Jews properly and scrupulously observe Shabbos — put another way, just one Shabbos and we’ll all be free. The Slonimer Rebbe, however, understands this differently. He cites a Midrash in Shemos that describes how, long before we received the Torah and with it the code of halachah, Moshe established the observance of Shabbos as a day of rest.

The Midrash describes what happened next. Pharaoh increased the workload, canceled the off day of Shabbos, and reinstated the relentless burden of labor that filled the Jews’ every waking moment: Tichbad ha’avodah al ha’anashim.

The Slonimer Rebbe explains that the first step of redemption, the beginning of transformation and change for the Jewish People, was having Shabbos. This day of rest created a break in the stress, an opening in the relentless work, a space without the noise so that the people could dream, imagine, think, and envision.

What is true for national exile and redemption is true of our own personal exiles and redemptions as well. The Slonimer emphasizes that “Etzem hagalus hi histalkus hadaas” — the essence of exile is the inability to think. True servitude means living with the stress that shrinks our brain and our ability to think clearly and imaginatively.

One can have physical freedom and yet be spiritually and emotionally enslaved by relentless pressures, obligations and stresses. Ein Yisrael nigalin ela b’zechus haShabbos: Redemption comes from observing Shabbos — not just refraining from the 39 melachos, but basking in the spirit of Shabbos and enjoying the quiet, the break from stress, the disconnect from technology.

This week, Representative Chip Roy of Texas wrote in the Wall St. Journal that he is taking a sabbatical from social media. In explaining why, he writes:

Eighteen months ago, my wife and I joined with friends to establish a weekly Sunday Night Supper, and to do our best to reduce or eliminate the use of screens on Sundays by setting rules that any screen use had to involve the whole family such as watching the Masters Tournament or a family movie. We were inspired by seeing our Jewish brethren in Israel celebrate Shabbat, which reminded us of the Sundays we grew up with in the 1970s and ’80s. Ever since, one-seventh of our time has been immeasurably better, and Sunday dinner is a highlight of our week.

I will suspend both my personal and official accounts, delete the apps from my devices, and encourage those around me to do the same. I haven’t decided whether this will be a permanent change or a long pause, but I believe it will make me a better man, better father, better citizen and better congressman.

So many of us are going through the motions of observant life, but living in spiritual exile. We are technically filling the roles of husband or wife and mother or father, but without the passion, time, attention, excitement, enthusiasm and enjoyment that could and should accompany these roles. The stresses and burdens of life are causing histalkus hadaas, which consigns us to emotional exile even in otherwise successful marriages, careers, and family life.

It’s not just that we don’t have time to think these days — it’s that we don’t like thinking. We can’t stand being by ourselves, and we have been conditioned to avoid moments of quiet and stillness. The technology of today permits us and encourages us to avoid these moments as much as we want. Learning to rediscover the desire to be lost in our thoughts and the capacity to be happy with quiet will come only from practicing real behavioral changes in our lives.

If we want to liberate ourselves from the stresses that are shrinking our brains and creating kotzer ruach in our lives, we need to “make Shabbos” more often, we need to voluntarily take a sabbatical from the apps and habits robbing us of our serenity. We must recover the capacity to disconnect from all the stress, make space for what’s truly important, and clear our heads of all the static. If we want to grow — spiritually, emotionally, and in our relationships — we need to regain our daas by finding the capacity and space to think.

If we are tired of living in our own personal galus, with chronic tension and pressure, we can bring about our own geulah by restoring our daas through learning to enjoy thinking and being still. While we may not be able to eliminate every stress or difficult in our lives, we can reduce their impact on us.

For many of us, as for our ancestors in Egypt, it is hard to imagine a different or better reality. Being constantly busy, stressed, and pressured is the state we have come to know and expect. A new reality begins with the belief it can be different and better.

Follow the bold pronouncement of Representative Roy and declare a sabbatical from that which is putting you in shackles. Go for a walk by yourself or with someone who matters to you — and leave your phones at home. When you sit down to dinner with your family, create a ritual of asking everyone to turn their phones off. Not just to vibrate, but off. If the thought of actually turning your phone off makes you break out in hives or start sweating, be aware of the root of the problem. Decide that you are going to savor the elevator ride or exercise session or wait at the red light without looking at your latest message, listening to the radio, or making a call. Rediscover the ability to stop the frenzied activity, set yourself free, and just be. After all, only when we learn to just be, can we truly be present when spending time with others, and with ourselves.

In life we can be a thermometer or a thermostat. A thermometer tells you the temperature, but a thermostat allows you to control it. Don’t just be a thermometer, aware of how stressed, busy, and anxious you are. Be a thermostat and adjust your emotional settings so that you can experience peace and serenity.

In his essay Menuchas Hanefesh, Rav Chaim Friedlander quotes the Zohar (3:29), which says that talmidei chachamim are called “Shabbos” because they experience Shabbos all week long. The truly righteous have the capacity to experience serenity and tranquility even during the most stressful parts of the week.

Our personal geulah will come from making more Shabbos — disconnecting, creating space, and finding quiet, quiet to truly be present with ourselves, with those we love and most of all, to fully experience our relationship with Hashem.

When You Get Your Vaccine, Don’t Forget To Do This

While necessary, wearing a mask is miserable. It is difficult to breath comfortably with a mask on and it is even harder to deliver a speech. And yet, those aren’t the hardest parts for me. Countless times over the last few months I find myself spotting someone across the Shul or in a store, smiling at them and wondering why they aren’t smiling back or acknowledging my bid for connection. Each time it takes a moment to remember that they aren’t ignoring me and it isn’t their fault. They never saw my smile because of the mask that covers half my face.

Being deprived of the ability to exchange smiles is a relatively small price to pay for protecting one another and preserving our collective health, but make no mistake, the lost smiles are also unfortunate casualties of this pandemic.

We need to smile and be smiled at. In complimenting and blessing Yehuda, Yaakov says, “His teeth are whiter than milk.” Of all virtues, why is Yaakov highlighting Yehuda’s teeth? The Gemara (Kesubos 111b) explains that Yaakov saw a quality in Yehuda he greatly admired and benefited from. Yehuda had a habit of smiling, of flashing the white of his teeth when seeing others. Indeed, the Gemara concludes when a person shows the white of his teeth to another by smiling widely, it is more beneficial than giving a cup of milk to drink. Why the comparison to milk?

In his Alei Shor, Rav Shlomo Wolbe explains that milk nourishes and nurtures growth. What milk does for the body a smile does for the heart and soul. He writes that just as plants require sunshine to live, converting the rays of the sun into nutrients, people convert smiles into energy and strength, and without it they wilt and perish. Dogs and cats can’t smile. Smiling at one another is part of what differentiates us as humans.

While our panim, our face, reflects our pnim, our internal thoughts and feelings, it also has an impact on those around us. Rav Yisroel Salanter famously said a person’s face is not his or her personal property; it is a reshus ha’rabim, part of the public space. If you are farbbissina, if you project a sour and negative disposition and countenance, you have placed a bor, a dangerous pit in the public thoroughfare. If instead you flash a smile, you can bring happiness to those around you, literally.

Dr. Nicholas Christakis, a physician at Harvard Medical School, authored a study concluding that happiness is contagious. The same one person yawning sparks a chain reaction of yawning from others, when one person smiles or is happy it leads to others’ happiness and draws smiles from others as well. Perhaps the greatest and most direct example of this phenomenon is a baby. When you smile at a baby they light up, but if you frown or make a sad or angry face, he or she will start crying.

In Pirkei Avos (1:15) Shammai teaches:

שַׁמַּאי אוֹמֵר…וֶהֱוֵי מְקַבֵּל אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם בְּסֵבֶר פָּנִים יָפוֹת

Shammai used to say, receive all people with a pleasant countenance.

Rav Ovadia Bartenura provides a powerful interpretation: “When you bring in guests to your home, do not give to them while ‘your face is buried in the ground;’ as anyone who gives and ‘his face is buried in the ground’ – even if he gave all of the gifts in the world – it is counted for him as if he did not give anything.” If you give someone, even generously, but you don’t smile, it is as if you gave nothing. The smile is more valuable than the resource you shared.

But don’t just smile because it will positively impact others. Smile because of the benefit it will bring you. A study from the University of California, Irvine recently showed that a genuine smile, the kind that brings up the corners of your mouth and produces creases around the eyes, can lower your heart rate and reduce the pain of a needle injection by up to 40 percent.

One of the researchers, professor of psychological science Sarah Pressman, said that they don’t yet fully understand why displaying a smile can help reduce pain and stress, but they have a theory they call the “facial feedback hypothesis”. “The thought is that the nerves in your face, that when those muscles are activating they actually send a message to your brain that’s telling you that you’re happy. … The basic premise is that somehow that expression is sending signals back to your mind, and it’s altering your emotion in some sense.”

Though there is much to be grateful and happy for, there is also much sadness and concern in these unprecedented times. Now more than ever, don’t wait to be happy to smile, start smiling and you will be happy and you will bring smiles and happiness to those around you.

So when it comes time for you to get your vaccine or to take the second dose if you got the first already, don’t forget to smile, not for the nurse or doctor, not for the camera, but for yourself.

Count Your Blessings Each Friday Night & Throughout the Week

When most people think of Times Square this time of year, they picture the tremendous New Year’s Eve party usually 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 annual event in Times Square that takes place just a few days earlier. It even took place this year, albeit with social distancing and masks.

On Monday, a small group gathered to observe the annual “Good Riddance Day.” Each year, around New Year’s, visitors and residents of New York write down the problems and disappointments they experienced that year on a piece of paper, toss it in a dumpster, and watch it get shredded. They say good riddance to the aspects of the year they wished to leave behind.

Most years I would say that 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. But this year, I join the chorus of those eager to say good riddance to so much of 2020. Good riddance to Corona. Good riddance to quarantine. Good riddance to contentious and divisive politics. Good riddance to 2020.

And yet, with all we are eager to say good riddance to, it is simultaneously more important than ever to focus on what we hold on to. Indeed, we have a weekly practice of literally counting our blessings.

Since I have been a small child, each and every week I have looked forward to my father’s Friday night beracha. When I went off to my year in Israel, I would receive it on the phone and if we missed that, I knew that before my father would begin Kiddush, he would close his eyes, picture me and give the beracha telepathically. I always knew that geographic distance or different time zones could not stop the flow of that beracha each and every Friday night.

Even today, as a grown man, I look forward to feeling his hand on my head, his whisper in my ear and his kiss on my cheek. I may be a grandfather myself, but when he is in Boca and when it is safe to be close and touch, I still cherish when he gives me the same beracha I have been receiving weekly for over four decades.

Ever since I became a father, I have equally looked forward to giving each of my children their weekly beracha. Technology has improved and now, with the help of Facetime, I can put my hands on their heads, even if they are thousands of miles away, and utter those same words that were said to me.

Where did this custom come from? What is its source?

In our Parsha, when Yaakov anticipates his impending demise, he summons his children and grandchildren to not only arrange his material estate, but to communicate his ethical will, his vision and charge to each of them. He begins with his grandsons, Efraim and Menashe, and bestows upon them opening berachos.

Afterwards, he tells them:

וַיְבָ֨רֲכֵ֜ם בַּיּ֣וֹם הַהוּא֮ לֵאמוֹר֒ בְּךָ֗ יְבָרֵ֤ךְ יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ לֵאמֹ֔ר יְשִֽׂמְךָ֣ אֱלֹקים כְּאֶפְרַ֖יִם וְכִמְנַשֶּׁ֑ה וַיָּ֥שֶׂם אֶת־אֶפְרַ֖יִם לִפְנֵ֥י מְנַשֶּֽׁה׃

So he blessed them that day, saying, “By you shall Israel invoke blessings, saying: ‘May God make you like Efraim and Menashe.’”

But why Efraim and Menashe, why not Avraham, Yitzchak or Yaakov? Why not Yosef, Dovid or Shlomo, or one of the other shevatim? Why mention anyone by name at all, why not a general blessing to be like our Avos HaKedoshim, our holy patriarchs?

Moreover, the Torah doesn’t tell us when to give this beracha, it just says when the Jewish people will bless children it will be through invoking these names. Indeed, the custom to use this beracha on Friday nights is relatively recent, only a few centuries old. Why do we give it Friday night?

Rav Chaim Dovid HaLevi in his Teshuvos Aseh Lecha Rav says he cannot find a source for giving this beracha on Friday night so he offers his own suggestion. The Magen Avraham (ריש ס׳ רעד)writes טוב לנשק ידי אמו בליל שבת, it is good to kiss your mother’s hand on Friday night. He suggests the minhag developed because when a father witnessed his children bestowing honor on their mother, he couldn’t help but want to give them a beracha. Witnessing the next generation see themselves as connected to the past and continuing to honor, revere and respect their parents is among the greatest blessings we can have and it elicits from us a desire to reciprocate blessing back.

That explains Friday night, but why specifically to be like these two? Many suggest that after several generations of sibling rivalry, conflict, competition and adversarial relationships, Efraim and Menashe are the first generation to not only get along and tolerate one another, but to embody loyalty, love, mutual admiration and respect. The foundational beracha for our children, even before we can invoke the chesed of Avraham, the gevurah of Yitzchak, the emes of Ya’akov, the piety of Yosef or the passion of Dovid, the wisdom of Shlomo or the virtue of any of our great leaders, is that our children—and by extension our families, our communities and our people—simply get along.

As we begin our Shabbos meal basking in the light of the Shabbos candles, the symbol of shalom bayis and peace, we offer a blessing of unity, harmony, cooperation, love, loyalty and family. As we sit down for the Friday night meal, rife with potential for heated exchanges and divisive debate about politics, religion or life, we offer a beracha that our table be like Efraim and Menashe and it be the fulfillment of מה טוב ומה נעים שבת אחים גם יחד, how wonderful and pleasant when we sit together as unified siblings.

Others suggest that among Yaakov’s twelve sons and their families, Efraim and Menashe were the only ones raised outside of the Land of Israel, in a foreign culture and with powerful external influences. Despite the pull to assimilate into Egyptian culture, religion and practice, Efraim and Menashe clung tenaciously to the teachings and traditions of their father and were steadfast in their commitment to Torah.

Shabbos provides an oasis from the chaos of the week and from the images, ideas, and temptations we face all week. As we reflect on another week gone by and immerse ourselves in a new Shabbos to energize us for the week ahead, we offer a beracha that our children, our families and ourselves be protected from the forces and pressures we face daily to compromise who we are, the choices we make and the lives we lead.

Rav Moshe Shternbuch (Ta’av V’Daas 265) suggests another answer. He explains that when the Torah says we give a beracha to be like Efraim and Menashe it doesn’t mean like the two specific people themselves but we should emulate Yaakov to give our children berachos in which we identify their potential, who and what can come of them and guide them to achieve it.

The mandate is not to give a beracha to be like Efraim and Menashe per se, but to make the time to give a beracha, to interact, to share hopes, dreams and aspirations. The Sefer Nishmas Shabbos says this is why we give the beracha Friday night. Our children are not competing for attention with our work, our other obligations, or nowadays with our technology. The biggest beracha we can give our children, and for that matter all those around us that we care about, is ourselves, our full attention when we are engaging with them.

Reb Moishe Lieb Sassover suggests that the content of the beracha Yaakov gave Efraim and Menashe was to live in the moment, to be fully present in the present. ויברכם ביום ההוא, he gave them a beracha, “ביום ההוא”, to be in the moment.

On Shabbos we go off the grid, disconnect with no guilt, no second guessing, no FOMO or self-importance, but only the rich possibility of truly being present with those we are engaging. What a beracha for us and for those around us!

May we merit the fulfilment of the archetypal beracha to Efraim and Menashe – to see our children figuratively kiss our hands and embrace our values and instinctively respond by giving them blessings. May we experience only harmony, unity, love and loyalty within our families, at our Shabbos tables and in our lives. May we find the resolve and resiliency to overcome the influences and forces we confront and be uncompromising in our mission as Torah Jews. And may we be blessed to live ביום ההוא, fully present, living each moment to its fullest.

As we say good riddance to 2020, let’s not forget to count our berachos, on Friday night and throughout the week.

You Are In a Unique Position to Help

Mike Esmond, owner of a construction company in Gulf Breeze, Florida, wrote a check this month for $7,600 to pay off overdue utility balances for 114 residents of his city. All of them were at risk of their gas and water being turned off before his magnanimous gesture. His community in the Panhandle has been hit hard, not only by the pandemic but because they haven’t yet recovered from Hurricane Sally in September.

This isn’t the first time he showed such generosity to total strangers for seemingly no reason at all. In November of 2019 Mike walked into City Hall in Gulf Breeze and cut a check for $4,300 to pay for 36 local residents whose utilities bills were overdue and about to be disconnected. Joanne Oliver, the utility billing supervisor for Gulf Breeze, told the NY Times, “I’ve been in customer service more than 20 years, and this had never happened.”

What would motivate someone to give money that they worked so hard for to people they have never met?

Last year at this time, Mr. Esmond opened his own utility bill and his memory flashed back to the winter of 1983, when he was broke and his own gas and water service was shut off over his holidays. He described, “I had three young girls at home at the time, and the temperature got down to 6 degrees, with ice and frost on the inside of the house. I’ve lived that where I didn’t have a dollar in my pocket to care for my family, so I know what it’s like to really be broke and in need. I wanted to see if I could help people that might be experiencing the same thing — where they couldn’t pay their bills and their utilities were going to be shut off around [holiday] time.”

When asked if he plans to continue this practice next year, Esmond said, “I’m 74 years old and I don’t even know if I’m even going to be here next year, but I can guarantee you one thing: If I am, I’ll do something to help people out.” After the story of Esmond’s generosity went public, others began to give in the same way. As of this week, his city has received additional anonymous donations to cover utility bills totaling several thousand dollars.

Mike’s generosity launched a wave of generosity from others and it all began with his transforming his own personal experience and pain into a way to prevent others from going through it.

When Yosef reveals himself to his brothers in this week’s Parsha, he tells them, don’t be upset and don’t be scared, I have no desire for revenge and I am not upset. Your selling me to Egypt put me in a position to rise to power and to be able to help you and others. In his Eish Tamid, Rav Yisroel Meir Druk asks, Yosef’s attitude is understandable with regard to the ten years he was viceroy in charge of the economy, but not all twenty -two years of their separation had been the same. What about the twelve years he had languished in prison unjustly? How could he reflect positively on that painful period?

Explains Rav Druk, Yosef didn’t see his time in prison as different than his time in the palace. He credited his empathy, care and concern for those who were hungry, underprivileged and feeling alone to his time in prison when he felt that way himself. Yosef understood that he never would have had the ten years of prosperity in Egypt without first enduring the twelve years of suffering that taught him, prepared him, and inspired him to help others avoid what he had felt.

When I saw the story about Mike Esmond it reminded me of a similar story I have shared before. Each year at the Rabbinical Council of America convention, an award is given to a chaplain. A few years ago when the award was given to Rav Zvi Karpel, he described what had driven him to work in chaplaincy:

I lost my father when I was five and a half years old. This coming yahrzeit will mark his 60th. Put in other terms, by the time I was Bar Mitzvah, I had been saying yizkor for half of my life. My mother z”l raised me on her own. She herself became seriously ill my junior year in high school, and passed away my sophomore year in college. I relate these events because in retrospect, I feel that losing both my parents as I did had a tremendous impact on my life and my decision making.

I grew up in Rockville Centre, New York, a town on Long Island void of any Orthodox presence. I attended the public schools there, and received my religious education at an afternoon Hebrew school in the Conservative synagogue. My first real exposure to Orthodoxy was spending a Shabbos at my Kitah Bet teacher’s home in Far Rockaway, Queens.

For college studies, I went away to the State University of New York at Albany. It was that fall that I decided to become Shomer Shabbos, at least as far as I knew how to be one. I emerged as one of five yamulka-wearing students on a campus that arguably boasted 4,000-5000 Jewish students.

I knew that I needed a plan as to what I was going to do after graduation. Since my yiddishkeit is what most prominently drove my thoughts, feelings and actions, I decided I wanted to become a Rabbi. In addition, I realized that having never gone to yeshiva, I needed to accelerate my Jewish education, so I decided to go learn in Israel. When I returned here to the States, I was accepted into the semicha program at RIETS. Overlapping with the learning in the yeshiva, I matriculated into the Wurzweiler School of Social Work, and earned my MSW in conjunction with my semicha.

After working as a social worker for a couple of years in a day program for a Jewish nursing home, I began working as the full-time Rabbi at the Daughters of Israel. There I have remained for the last 32-plus years.

If I were to relate to you the single most significant aspect of my work, I would say it’s providing the spiritual and pastoral care to family members when their loved one is dying. In thinking way back to the experience with my own mother, I can tell you that when I heard her voice over the telephone and sensed she was close to the end, without hesitation I made the decision to leave the university to be with her. It turned out that I was to be at her bedside for her last week.

In reflecting back on that time, I know that I could have really used the support of a chaplain; I also know that I was not only a son at the bedside, I was my mother’s chaplain, walking with her during her final journey. The Shulchan Aruch tells us in hilchos kibbud av v’aim, “Chayav l’chvodo, afilu achar moso”. A person is obligated to honor one’s parents, even once they have passed. I would like to think that my work with residents and their family members at the end of life provides some measure of kavod to my parents, may their memories be blessed.

Hashem tells Avraham, היה ברכה, don’t just be blessed, be a blessing to others. Yosef remembered what it was like to be hungry and in pain and used those feelings to be inspired to feed others. Orphaned at a young age, Rabbi Karpel knew what it was like to face loss alone and he turned it into decades of helping support people in their time of loss and need. Mike Esmond appreciated what it means to be cold and scared without water or power and he used it to be motivated to pay off the utility bills of those who were about to have them shut off.

We have all gone through challenges and struggles, be they financial, physical, emotional or spiritual. We can look back at them with resentment and bitterness or try to forget them altogether. Or, we can invoke those memories to be moved to make a difference in someone’s life to help them avoid the pain we know well and to be their blessing.

Think about people going through something you might be able to relate to. Did you receive a scholarship as a child? If you have the capacity now, help makes sure others can get the help they need. Have you overcome an illness? Perhaps those going through it now could benefit from your experience and your support. Did you struggle with infertility, loneliness, or painful loss? If so, you are in a position to guide and help those going through that now.

Let’s all try to be like Mike. What have you gone through in your life and how will you use it to help others?

Is Zoom a Window or a Mirror?

Recently, plastic surgeons are reporting an unprecedented number of requests for procedures. Though the actual data won’t be available until spring 2021, assuming the anecdotal reporting is accurate, it could be the result of several factors. Perhaps it is simply pent-up demand after months of shutdown. It could be the lack of social events and gatherings, combined with wearing masks in public, making now the perfect time to get a procedure.

Or maybe it’s something else. One cosmetic surgeon, Dr. Jon Mendelsohn, reports that in his office, injectable procedures such as Botox and fillers were up 90 percent compared with the same period last year. When asked why he thought that is, he said, “During the virtual consultations, 9 out of 10 people commented about noticing these things over Zoom.”

Whether you are giving the class or listening to it, leading the meeting or attending it, over the last nine months almost all of us have spent a lot of time on Zoom, often essentially looking in the mirror. As opposed to typical, face-to-face interactions, on Zoom you end up seeing more of yourself than you are used to. Apparently, many don’t like what they see (and now realize others see) and are choosing to change it with a procedure or injection.

Those living with others are spending more time with them, and are more on top of each other, than ever. For many, coronavirus has been a pressure cooker, tense and intense, anxious and overwhelming. Many have discovered strength, faith and resilience they never knew they had. Others have found patience, calm, and the ability to see the blessings. But others, and in some way, probably all of us, have also discovered flaws we need to work on, or have seen character traits and qualities exposed that could use some work.

This pandemic can be either a window or a mirror. It can serve to only reveal to others who we truly are, a glimpse for the outside world to look in. Or, we can look in the mirror to learn more about ourselves, even if it means seeing blemishes and faults.

With a credit card or cash, a plastic surgeon can change what we see on Zoom that we don’t like. But changing what we see when we truly look inside ourselves, and listen to others describe what they see, takes a lot more effort and work.

Rav Yitzchak Hutner writes (Pachad Yitzchak, Yom Kippur 1:8), “The truth of the matter is that the power of change is the greatest innovation, after the wonder of the creation of Heaven and Earth.” The Vilna Gaon writes (Mishlei 4:13), “A person lives in order to break the middah, the attribute, which he hasn’t broken yet until now. Thus, a person must always strengthen himself to work on this, because if he doesn’t, what is the point of living?”

Don’t push the virtual mirror away because you are afraid of what you will see. Embrace it, lean into it, be proud of the beauty you behold and be bold enough to confront the blemishes you inevitably see. We live not to be in denial of what we need to work on but to discover it, and strengthen ourselves to work on it. We become partners with God in creation when we reinvent and re-create ourselves as necessary.

In the early 1970s, Maryland was one of the first states that came out with vanity license plates. You could choose up to 6 letters and personalize your license plate. My friend’s father had a great idea. He was working as a director for NCSY at the time so he got a license plate with the word, “Torah.” It was a first-issue (not “Torah1” or the like). He was so proud of that license plate. Driving around, every so often someone Jewish would pull up beside him and honk and wave to show or take pride in their Jewish identity. And of course, sometimes others would honk and give a different gesture to demonstrate their lack of support for Torah or Jews.

One hectic erev Shabbos the man had an order waiting for him at a restaurant. The hour was late, and there was no place to park. He circled around the block once and finally he double-parked, turned on his hazard lights and ran in to pick up his orders, which were not completely ready. A few moments later he returned to his car to find not one, but two notes on the windshield which essentially said the same thing: For a Torah Jew, illegally double-parking and blocking traffic is not a Mitzvah. Message received.

Just one week later, my friend’s father was driving and found himself stuck behind a driver who seemed to be moving in slow motion. He sped up to pass him and stared down the slow driver as he did. Sure enough, half a mile later, he stopped at a traffic light and the other driver pulled up next to him, rolled down his window, and said, “You know, a person representing Torah should have a little more patience.”

That night my friend’s mother saw her husband removing the license plates from his car and asked him what he’s doing. “I’m going back to number plates.” “But why? You love these plates!” his wife said.

He related the recent events to his wife and shared his frustration but instead of offering comfort or support, she challenged him: “So what you’re saying is you would rather change your license plate than change your behavior?”

To his credit, he knew that his wife was right. He kept the license plates and he worked on changing himself. Psychologists point out that one of the greatest obstacles to functioning relationships in our family, at work, and with friends, are the blind spots we live with. We think we see ourselves and appreciate how the way we behave impacts those around us. We blame those around us instead of looking in the mirror and confronting that which we need to change, and it isn’t our license plates or our wrinkles.

If we use this intense, challenging time to learn about ourselves and work to improve, when it finally ends we can emerge more beautiful inside and out.

Seeing 20/20, Even In 2020

A husband and wife are getting ready to go to sleep. The wife is ready to close her eyes but her husband is standing and staring at himself in the full-length mirror. “What’s the matter with you?” she says. Come to sleep already.” He turns to her and says, “Look at this, I am so depressed. All I see is a receding hairline, a growing gut, and wrinkles under my eyes and what hair I have left is grey. Tell me something positive, something uplifting so I can go to sleep.” She thinks for a moment and says, “Well the good news is your vision is still 20/20.”

There is a very strong association between Chanukah and the sense of sight, of seeing. Haneiros halalu kodesh heim, v’ein lanu reshus l’hishtameish bahem elah lirosam bilvad. As we sing each night of Chanukah, the candles are sacred; we don’t have permission to benefit from their light but their purpose is simply to be looked at. Moreover, we have a unique halacha on Chanukah. The Talmud tells us – and the shulchan aruch records – haroeh mevareich, one who can’t light for himself or herself and sees the candles of someone else nevertheless makes the second beracha of she’asah nissim la’avosainu. When I see someone put on tefillin, take a lulav, or blow shofar, I don’t make a beracha. Only on Chanukah do I make a beracha when seeing someone else do the mitzvah. Why?

The Kedushas Levi, Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berdichov, tells us that Chanukah is the holiday of seeing. The different moadim correspond with our different senses. On Purim our hearing is heightened as we listen to the Megillah. On Pesach our sense of taste is sharpened when we eat matzah and marror. On Chanukah, he says, we evaluate our sense of sight, testing how well we see.

Eyes Are a Liability

What kind of seeing are we honing? It is not our physical sense of sight. Indeed, in a sort of paradoxical way, our eyes are a liability. We often feel that “seeing is believing.” If I can perceive and observe it, it is true. If I can’t, it is not real. Following this rule, we have dismissed and disregarded the most precious truths and realities in our lives. There are ideas, feelings, thoughts and dreams that are authentic and genuine, despite the fact that they can’t be seen or observed.

Our Rabbis describe the Greek empire and Hellenist influence as choshech, darkness. In expounding on the opening verses of the creation story, the Midrash Rabbah says choshech al p’nei sehom – zu galus yavan. Moreover, our Rabbis taught that darkening our eyes was the goal of our Greek oppressors – shehechshichu einehem shel yisroel.

Seeing Beyond the Surface

What is the difference between a room that is filled with darkness versus one filled with light? Is there any change to the room itself? Whether the light is on or off in the room, the furniture remains the same, the layout of the room, the placement of the door, and the height of the ceiling are a constant. What, then, is the difference between the light being on or off in my room – just my perception, my ability to identify and see the reality, the truth and that which was right before me all along. Chanukah is about seeing things, people, ideas, and miracles that are really right in front of us, even though wevmay not be able to visibly see them.

George Orwell once wrote: “To see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.” One can live with their eyes open, perfect vision and the light on and still be cloaked in darkness. On the other hand it can be pitch black all around and yet a person can see absolutely clearly. The Chashmonaim didn’t see their few numbers, weak army, and impossible task. They saw the mighty hand of Hashem, they saw the obligation to fight, and they saw Divine protection that would accompany them.

Chanukah is about lighting the candles and using them to harness our sight, not ophthalmically speaking, but our deep vision of what is true, precious, and dear. When we look at our spouses and children, do we see the amazing blessing of their presence in our lives or do we hear lots of noise, see rooms that need to be cleaned up, and a messy house? When we face a challenge do we see no way out or an opportunity to further lean on our Creator? There are truths all around us; it is up to us to decide what to look at and how to see.

Lighting Candles in Bergen-Belsen

In her “Hasidic Tales of the Holocaust,” Professor Yaffa Eliach shared the incredible story of Chanukah in Bergen-Belsen:

Chanukah came to Bergen-Belsen. It was time to kindle the Chanukah lights. A jug of oil was not to be found, no candle was in sight, and a menorah belonged to the distant past. Instead, a wooden clog, the shoe of one of the inmates, became a menorah, strings pulled from a concentration camp uniform, a wick, and the black camp shoe polish, pure oil.

Not far from the heaps of bodies, the living skeletons assembled to participate in the kindling of the Chanukah lights. The Rabbi of Bluzhov lit the first light and chanted the first two blessings in his pleasant voice, and the festive melody was filled with sorrow and pain. When he was about to recite the third blessing, he stopped, turned his head, and looked around as if he were searching for something.

But immediately, he turned his face back to the quivering small lights and in a strong, reassuring, comforting voice, chanted the third blessing: “Blessed are Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who has kept us alive, and has preserved us, and enabled us to reach this season.”

Among the people present at the kindling of the light was a Mr. Zamietchkowski, one of the leaders of the Warsaw Bund. He was a clever, sincere person with a passion for discussing matters of religion, faith and truth. As soon as the Rabbi of Bluzhov had finished the ceremony of kindling the lights, Zamiechkowski elbowed his way to the Rabbi and said, “Spira, you are a clever and honest person. I can understand your need to light Chanukah candles in these wretched times. I can even understand the historical note of the second blessing, “Who wrought miracles for our Fathers in days of old, at this season.” But the fact that you recited the third blessing is beyond me. How could you thank G-d and say “Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who has kept us alive, and hast preserved us, and enabled us to reach this season”? How could you say it when hundreds of dead Jewish bodies are literally lying within the shadows of the Chanukah lights, when thousands of living Jewish skeletons are walking around in camp, and millions more are being massacred? For this you are thankful to God? For this you praise the Lord? This you call “keeping us alive?”

“Zamietchkowski, you are a hundred percent right,” answered the Rabbi. “When I reached the third blessing, I also hesitated and asked myself, what should I do with this blessing? I turned my head in order to ask the Rabbi of Zaner and other distinguished Rabbis who were standing near me if indeed I might recite the blessing. But just as I was turning my head, I noticed that behind me a throng was standing, a large crowd of living Jews, their faces expressing faith, devotion, and deliberation as they were listening to the rite of the kindling of the Chanukah lights.

I said to myself, if God has such a nation that at times like these, when during the lighting of the Chanukah lights they see in front of them the heaps of bodies of their beloved fathers, brothers, and sons, and death is looking from every corner, if despite all that, they stand in throngs and with devotion listening to the Chanukah blessing “Who performed miracles for our Fathers in days of old, at this season”; indeed I was blessed to see such a people with so much faith and fervor, then I am under a special obligation to recite the third blessing.”

Chanukah – Seeing with 20/20 Vision, Even in 2020

That night in Bergen-Belsen, Mr. Zamietchkowski only saw what lay before him, dead bodies and terrible suffering. The Rebbe also looked, but he saw another layer of truth that was equally accurate – that there was a gathering of people who maintained incredible faith despite the most horrific circumstances.

As we celebrate Chanukah this year, it is hard not to be acutely aware of what is happening around us. Corona numbers are going up, many places are experiencing a third wave of disease. People have been devastated financially, by loneliness, and in so many other ways. But even in this challenging 2020, we can still choose to see with 20/20 vision. We can focus on the truths that are all around us not visible to the naked eye. Let us use the light of the Chanukah candles to inspire us to see the positive, the good and the blessings, even in a year that requires us to look a little harder.

Harvard Researchers Found that Children Who Do This Have Lower Risks of Mental Illness

Before coronavirus ever arrived, levels of anxiety, particularly among young people, were disturbingly high. Indeed, nearly one in three adolescents (31.9%) will meet criteria for an anxiety disorder by the age of 18. Many others struggle with depression and other forms of mental illness. Much has been researched and written to understand this deeply disturbing trend which is only growing. Many theories have been offered, including the impact of technology and social media. Last year, Erica Komisar, a psychoanalyst and author, shared a theory in the Wall Street Journal that is very worthy of consideration, particularly given the stress of an ongoing pandemic challenging us all.

In our parsha, Yaakov falls asleep and has one of the most famous dreams in history, one that produced the iconic image of a stairway to heaven. He awoke and remarked – “this is none other than the house of Hashem and a gate to heaven.” Yaakov identifies his location as both a house and gateway. Are these descriptions independent or complimentary? Was Yaakov describing one place or two?

The Gemara (Pesachim 88a) tells us that Yaakov’s description of this place surpassed that of his father and grandfather. They had each encountered this special space, the Temple Mount, but described it in a more limited fashion: “Avraham called it a ‘mountain, har Hashem yeira’eh,’ and Yitzchak called it a ‘field,’ but Yaakov called it ‘Beis Elokim, a house.’” Why is the designation of a house superior to the other ones?

Avraham saw the Beis HaMikdash as a mountain, a place one climbs towards, ascends to. But we know that it is difficult, if not impossible, to stay on the top of a mountain. We all have highs and lows, we wax and we wane in our religious inspiration and in our level of connection to Hashem. Yitzchak described the place as a field, a place of planting, growing, blossoming, reaping and harvesting. We visit the Beis HaMikdash to grow and to blossom. But a field after being harvested is fallow, barren, and empty and needs to be plowed and planted once again. Yaakov describes the Beis HaMikdash not as a mountain or a field, but as a house or a home. A home is not a place to visit or tour; it is your permanent residence, where you live, function and exist.

Avraham describes religious inspiration and spirituality as something to strive for, a mountain to climb, a peak to ascend towards. Feeling Hashem’s presence in our lives comes in fleeting moments, and while we do feel those highs, we spend a good part of our time at the base of the mountain, trying to climb back up. Yitzchak describes religious inspiration as a field. It comes in cycles. We must plant the seeds that will blossom into a deep relationship and feeling of the Almighty’s presence, but seasons change, and fields die, and they must be planted once again.

In Yaakov’s vision, by contrast, our relationship with Hashem is not far off, distant, or in a transcendent state. It is not a high altitude that is hard to spend a long time at. Rather, we build a home for Hashem when we welcome Him into our mundane lives in a sustained and continuous way. For Yaakov, the best metaphor to describe our relationship with Hashem is the home and all that happens therein.

Put differently, for Avraham, the holiest place in our lives is the Shul. We climb the mountain and we see seek to attain inspiration in our prayers. For Yitzchak, the holiest place in the community is the Beis Midrash. Like the field, we go there to learn, study, grow and blossom. But for Yaakov, the holiest place, the space for the greatest religious growth, spiritual inspiration, and a relationship with Hashem is the bayis, the home.

Rav Hirsch explains, when we turn ourבית , our physical homes into a בית אלוקים, a place of virtue, nobility, honesty, integrity, chesed, gratitude, learning, generosity and kindness, then we create aשער השמים , a gateway straight up to Heaven.

Too many of us make the mistake of thinking that learning and growing, inspiration and spirituality only happen at school, the shul or the beis midrash, while the house is for eating, sleeping, recreation, entertainment, and storing our things. We think that Hashem is found in religious settings, but in reality, if you want a stairway to Heaven, if you want access to the highest places, it is by inviting God into your home. Our homes are fertile classrooms, places of higher learning in which our children are watching and absorbing all that we do.

In bentching we sayהרחמן הוא יברך את אבי מורי ואמי מורתי , Hashem bless my father, my teacher and my mother, my teacher. But most people’s fathers are not employed as teachers and their mothers are not in education so why do we give them the title Morah and Moreh? Rav Shmuel Kaminetzky says because in truth, no matter what their training, profession or type of business, every single parent is a teacher and indeed is very involved in educating not only their children but all those whom they influence.

As Yaakov understood, our homes, the environment we create, the activities we promote, the images and ideas we allow to enter, are the greatest contributor to our religious identity and ultimately have the biggest impact on our children as well. The emphasis on home is not just the physical structure, but home is a symbol of our attitudes, our efforts and our willingness to work and sacrifice for spirituality.

Erica Komisar wrote in the Wall Street Journal:

As a therapist, I’m often asked to explain why depression and anxiety are so common among children and adolescents. One of the most important explanations—and perhaps the most neglected—is declining interest in religion. This cultural shift already has proved disastrous for millions of vulnerable young people.

Harvard researchers studied 5,000 people and among many factors, tracked religious involvement. They found that children or teens who reported attending a religious service at least once per week scored higher on psychological well-being measurements and had lower risks of mental illness. Weekly attendance was associated with higher rates of volunteering, a sense of mission, forgiveness, and lower probabilities of drug use and early sexual initiation.

Komisar suggests that there may be a correlation between the decreased practice of religion and the increase in anxiety and depression. She writes:

I am often asked by parents, “How do I talk to my child about death if I don’t believe in God or heaven?” My answer is always the same: “Lie.” The idea that you simply die and turn to dust may work for some adults, but it doesn’t help children. Belief in heaven helps them grapple with this tremendous and incomprehensible loss. In an age of broken families, distracted parents, school violence and nightmarish global-warming predictions, imagination plays a big part in children’s ability to cope.

I also am frequently asked about how parents can instill gratitude and empathy in their children. These virtues are inherent in most religions… Such values can be found among countless other religious groups. It’s rare to find a faith that doesn’t encourage gratitude as an antidote to entitlement or empathy for anyone who needs nurturing. These are the building blocks of strong character. They are also protective against depression and anxiety.

This pandemic has caused all of us to spend more time at home. Some have not been able to go back to Shul, many have not seen their offices in months, others have been forced to convert their homes into classrooms with children engaged in distanced learning or home schooling. Certainly, we all long to return to vibrant activity and attendance in those venues so valued and critical to our sense of belonging, growth and community.

But this should not be disheartening. The paradigm shift to our role as teachers and educators, and transforming our homes into religious places, could be just what we and our children need to be resilient, strong, happy and healthy. While tempted to turn inward to avoid feeling anxious, it turns out the opposite is true. Turn out, towards caring for others, and towards connecting with God.

Even if your children are grown up, even if they are no longer in your home or under your influence, they are still deeply impacted by who you are, how you live, what you value, how you speak, and how you prioritize your life. It is never too late to turn your literal or figurative home and life into a house for Hashem and thereby create a gateway to Heaven.

2 Things Rav Dovid Feinstein zt”l & Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks zt”l Had in Common That We Can All Learn From

The world is a darker place this week as two great lights have been extinguished. While Rav Dovid Feinstein zt”l and Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks zt”l achieved greatness in different ways and arguably among different audiences, they had infinitely more in common because they both spent their lives humbly devoted to the Infinite One.

They were both geniuses, winners of the genetic lottery that endowed them with brilliant minds and memories. But neither rested or relied on that gift; both were disciplined, diligent and, devoted to the study of Torah and the proliferation of its ideas and ideals. Both were prolific writers, and guidance and advice were sought from each of these luminaries. Both were profoundly admired and revered, not only for their scholarship, intellect and wisdom, but even more for their humble characters, modest natures, and impeccable middos.

Rav Dovid, as he was affectionately known, was an extraordinary Talmid Chacham, the final address on Halachic issues, referred to by Rav Elyashiv as the posek of America. Rabbi Sacks was the Chief Rabbi, not only for the United Kingdom, but for countless around the world, Jew and non-Jew alike, who revered him for his insight, wisdom, and teachings.

When we learn of their achievements, we recoil in awe but unfortunately, many or most cannot relate, can’t imagine being able to accomplish a fraction of what they did. And yet, with all their greatness in leadership and learning, there were two areas of greatness that every one of us can in fact emulate or learn. Much has already been written about them, and more will be shared by people much closer and more competent than I. But in thinking about their lives and legacies, I was struck by two things they had in common that should not go unnoticed, underappreciated or worst of all, under-imitated.

Both Rav Dovid and Lord Sacks, for all their genius and love of texts, were even more devoted and drawn to people. Both extended themselves, sacrificed to help others, gave generously of their time and resources, and were true ba’alei chesed.

When Artscroll was struggling to survive, Rav Dovid loaned his life savings to their founders, his students, to keep it afloat. When a Jewish newspaper asked prominent people if they could have three dinner guests for Friday night who would it be, while others answered with great personalities in Tanach, Talmud or from today, Rav Dovid answered he would have three poor people who need a meal.

Rav Dovid’s gabbai once told Rav Dovid that he wanted to take him to the hat store to get a new hat. When they arrived, he asked Rav Dovid to try on a hat. Rav Dovid replied, “Me? I don’t need a new hat. I thought we came because you needed a new hat and you wanted my help choosing one.” At his funeral, his son shared that towards the end of his life, when he was frail and infirm, he asked that it be shared that he asks mechila, begs forgiveness from anyone he may have hurt.

I participated in a Zoom call, mostly consisting of rabbis from the UK, reflecting on Rabbi Sacks and so many of them shared how he extended himself for them. One young rabbi shared that when his father passed away, the very first phone call he got when he returned from the cemetery was from Rabbi Sacks who spent time offering comfort and strength. Rabbi Sacks, an introvert by nature who felt more comfortable sequestered in a library than socializing with others, spent countless hours with others lifting spirits, working to free agunos, resolving conflicts, and advocating for the Jewish people. Several years ago, when BRS and I were attacked publicly for something that was completely untrue and I was feeling down and somewhat alone, I was shocked to answer the phone one day and find Rabbi Sacks on the other line, calling to simply offer companionship, support, and love.

The Mishna in Pei’ah which we recite each morning says:

אֵלּוּ דְבָרִים שֶׁאָדָם אוֹכֵל פֵּרוֹתֵיהֶן בָּעוֹלָם הַזֶּה וְהַקֶּרֶן קַיֶּמֶת לוֹ לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא. כִּבּוּד אָב וָאֵם, וּגְמִילוּת חֲסָדִים, וַהֲבָאַת שָׁלוֹם בֵּין אָדָם לַחֲבֵרוֹ, וְתַלְמוּד תּוֹרָה כְּנֶגֶד כֻּלָּם

“These are things the fruits of which a man enjoys in this world, while the principal remains for him in the World to Come: Honoring one’s father and mother, acts of kindness, and bringing peace between a man and his fellow. But the study of Torah is equal to them all.”

The simple understanding is that Torah study is so great, so central that it is equal to all the other acts of kindness and good deeds. However, the Rebbe Reb Zusha explained the final expression differently. K’neged kulam doesn’t mean Torah study is equal to them all. Said Reb Zusha, it means, Torah is only valuable when it is k’neged kulam, when one does all the other mitzvos stated before it, such as: honoring parents, doing loving-kindness, hospitality, visiting the sick, etc.

The second commonality that we could all not only admire but emulate is the way both Rav Dovid and Rabbi Sacks related to their wives and families. They each received tremendous attention from followers and admirers, but never let it get to their heads or distract them from their families. I saw a beautiful video this week of an elderly Rav Dovid, despite being surrounded by younger aides and talmidim, opening the front passenger door of a car for his Rebbetzin, helping her in, patiently waiting until she had settled into the seat, closing the door, and only then getting into the back. He was known to help her on and off with her coat and be attentive to her, not only at home and in private, but at conventions and simchas when the masses were focused on him.

I witnessed firsthand Rabbi Sacks’ love and affection for Lady Elaine on their visits to Boca Raton. Indeed, she was always by his side throughout his world travels and packed schedule. He might have been the “celebrity” in any room, but he shared the spotlight with her, acknowledging her in each talk, speaking about her in such admiring ways, making sure she was comfortable and happy and always including her as his equal partner. A rabbi from England emailed me this week and shared: “Lady Elaine told me that one of the final things he told her, was ‘I couldn’t have done anything in my life without you.’”

We cannot all be gedolim in Torah, but we can all be gedolim, achieve greatness in chesed, in kindness, and we can be gedolim in humility and how we treat our spouses and families. The world is severely bereft by these losses; Rav Dovid and Rabbis Sacks were each irreplaceable in their own ways. While they would be tremendously proud to know we continue to study their works, I believe they would be even prouder to know we are walking in their ways.

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