101% Guaranteed To Change Your Life

Who doesn’t want to be happier at work? New research concludes that greater happiness and satisfaction at work doesn’t come from more vacation days, additional downtime, or even more perks. This study found that the best way to ensure that you’re happy at your job is to spend more time learning.

Among the 2,049 workers surveyed, including freelancers and entrepreneurs, in the United States, United Kingdom, Sweden, Iceland, Denmark, Finland, Norway, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Germany, France, Australia, India, Singapore, and Hong Kong, those who were “heavy” learners — devoting more than five hours a week to things like reading, taking classes, and watching online courses — reported being happier, less stressed, more productive and more confident than those who spent less time learning.

Science is only now catching up to what our Torah knew all along. Learning, studying, and attending shiurim have been among our core values since the Torah was first given thousands of years ago. We are not just the rabbis or teachers of the book, but we are the people of the book, a people devoted to continued education and lifelong learning.

The pasuk says, V’hagisa bo yomam va’layla, toil in Torah day and night. We are mandated to be a community of “heavy” learners, finding time each and every day to study. Doing so not only helps us gain knowledge and improve ourselves, but it turns out also guarantees to make us happier, more satisfied, more confident, and more productive.

A few months ago, our Beis Medrash of BRS organized a trip to New York to expand our exposure to Torah leaders and gain inspiration for continued learning. Over the course of our two days, we visited several Yeshivos and met with extraordinary Talmidei Chachamim including Rav Naftali Jaeger, Rav Yonasan Sacks, Rav Baruch Simon, Rav Yaakov Glasser, Rav Moshe Weinberger, Rav Ephraim Wachsman, The Skverer Rebbe, Rav YY Jacobson, Rav Zvi Sobolovsky, Rav Mordechai Willig, Rav Moshe Tzvi Weinberg, and Rav Avraham Schorr. After a quick stop at the Rebbe’s Ohel, our group returned to Boca on fire, inspired and passionately committed to not letting a day go by without learning Torah.

Each Rav shared Divrei Torah and graciously engaged us in questions and answers. Many of the messages overlapped, though each brought their own distinct approach to Torah and a Torah way of life. While every Rav offered ideas that were transformational, Rav Avraham Schorr, Rav of Congregation Nezer Gedalyahu in Brooklyn, not only gave us inspiration, he sent us back with homework.

The Gemara (Chagiga 9b) teaches:

א”ל עבדו ולא עבדו תרוייהו צדיקי גמורי נינהו ואינו דומה שונה פרקו מאה פעמים לשונה פרקו מאה ואחד

“Hillel teaches the one ‘who serves Him’ and the one ‘who does not serve Him’ are both referring to completely righteous people. But the pasuk is hinting at a distinction between them, as one who reviews his studies one hundred times is not comparable to one who reviews his studies one hundred and one times.”

In order to qualify as a true eved Hashem, one who serves Hashem, you must be willing to study a Torah text not just one hundred times but review it one hundred and one times.

Said Rav Schorr, if the Gemara promises that reviewing 101 times is the key to being an eved Hashem, it must be true. He therefore turned to our group and challenged us to take one blatt, one page of Gemara, and learn it each day for 101 days straight. Don’t skip, don’t get bored with that one text. Never miss a day, he enthusiastically charged, explaining: “The first 30 days will take a long time. By the 40^th and 50^th times it will take 15 minutes. By the 90^th time you will walk on the street and recite the page by heart.”

He told us of a Jew he knew who had recently passed away who, in addition to his other learning, reviewed the same Torah material for forty years in a row, every single day. The man suggested that when the Gemara (Shabbos 31a) tells us that we will each be challenged by the heavenly court, kavata ittim l’Torah, did we establish set times for Torah learning, it means did we learn the same thing, in the same place, at the same time, each and every day. Achieving that level of kevi’us, of consistency and constancy, will transform a person and mold them into a true eved Hashem.

Rav Schorr concluded by saying, “Take the first page of Maseches Berachos and learn it for the next 101 days in a row. Never miss a day. I’ll tell you what you’ll do afterwards, you won’t stop.”

Honestly, I knew our group was moved, but I didn’t think anyone would take him up on it. One hundred and one days is a long time to not miss. This was a group of doctors, lawyers, and businessmen with busy lives juggling family responsibilities with professional obligations, leaving very little discretionary time. Maybe they had time to learn a little each day but would anyone really take on this challenge, reviewing the same page of Gemara 101 days in a row?

The hundred and first day after our “fly-in” trip fell out on Lag Ba’Omer. Our group held a BBQ reunion. We ate, sang, and shared memories of the trip, but what happened next literally brought tears to my eyes. One of the members of our group had made laminated copies of Daf Beis, the first page of Maseches Brachos, and given it out to the group when we returned from the trip. Now, on Lag Ba’Omer, a day dedicated to celebrating the survival and continuation of Torah She’b’al Peh, the group went around reciting the page of Gemara. Though only one person at a time had the actual page in front of them, several others, who were celebrating their 101st consecutive day with this daf, recited it in unison by heart.

One of the people from the group who had completed the challenge said that his goal at the outset was by Day 40 to be able to learn the page without using the Artscroll. He did it, and by day 101, he was literally reciting the page – a full page of Gemara, two sides – by heart. It was an absolutely inspiring and breathtaking thing to see.

Another member of the group described that at times in life a person can feel lonely, but ever since he has mastered this page of Talmud, he feels he is never alone because Berachos Daf Beis has become his friend and accompanies him wherever he goes. No doubt the person who said this is special, but he isn’t a Rosh Yeshiva, a Gadol HaDor. He is a professional, a “regular guy,” someone we would consider among the ba’al ha’batim in our community. Yet, that daily commitment to study and the acquiring of a real ownership of one page of Talmud transformed his relationship with Torah learning, with Hashem, and even to a degree with himself, and it can for you, too.

I would have expected the group to say, “That was an interesting experiment,” feel proud and accomplished for having succeeded, and move on. But Rav Avraham Schorr was 101% correct. He said, “I’ll tell you what you’ll do afterwards, you won’t stop,” and he was right. Some in the group have continued with Berachos Daf Gimmel and started a new count, others are taking on Shabbos Daf Beis, but in the end, all those who had finished the assignment just wanted to continue one way or another.

As we celebrate Shavuos, a day that doesn’t commemorate the Torah being given thousands of years ago, but a day on which we each stand at Har Sinai again and receive the Torah anew, we must ask ourselves, do we want to be happy, do we want to be productive and do we want to be less stressed?

It is time to become “heavy” learners, setting aside time each day to study, grow and improve. Find something that interests you, learn it, and take the time to review it again and again. I’ll tell you what you’ll do afterwards, you won’t stop.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHrSLa0aG-4

What Not to Say When There are No Words

Image result for i'm really sorry i haven't been in touch i didn't know what to say When people in our lives are struggling or suffering, we desperately want to help but often are at a loss for what to say or what to do. In her deeply insightful book, “Option B,” Sheryl Sandberg describes that people going through a difficult time often find that they are no longer surrounded by people, but platitudes.

One of the most popular, not said out of malice or insensitivity, but rather in the absence of anything more thoughtful, is ‘If there is anything I can do, please let me know.’ She quotes Bruce Feiler who writes, “While well-meaning, this gesture unintentionally shifts the obligation to the aggrieved. Instead of offering ‘anything,’ just do something.”

Sandberg suggests instead of asking, “Do you need a meal,” ask “What toppings do you like on your pizza” or “What do you not want on your burger.” She writes, “Specific acts help because instead of trying to fix the problem, they address the damage caused by the problem.”

Our community’s own Rabbi Grajower echoes the same advice. He writes, “Be specific and (reasonably) persistent. Instead of asking ‘Do you need me to do anything?’ go with, ‘I am in Costco, do you need anything from here?’ Instead of, ‘Can I be helpful with your kids?’ try something like, ‘Taking my kids to Chuck E. Cheese at 12, can I take your kids, too?’”

Sandberg quotes therapist Megan Devine who explains why doing something specific is important. “Some things in life cannot be fixed,” she writes, “They can only be carried.”

That phrase struck me because it is exactly the language our rabbis use when they describe a character trait we are to acquire as a prerequisite to receiving the Torah. Pirkei Avos (6:6) tells us that one of the 48 ways that Torah is acquired is nosei b’ol im chaveiro, carry the burden with your friend. When someone we know and love is struggling, our mandate is to lessen their burden, to carry it with them and ensure they don’t feel they bear it alone.

Dr. Brene Brown describes that true empathy rarely starts with the words, “at least.” She writes, “Fixing your loved one’s problem is not often what is needed, nor is it necessarily your job or even within your ability to do so. Sharing a listening, caring ear is something most people can do.”

Yet sadly, because of the inherent discomfort and the challenge to find the right words, rather than unburdening those struggling, many add to the burden by talking instead of listening and by describing how hard it is for them, rather than focus on the one for whom it is truly most difficult.

Susan Silk, a clinical psychologist, wrote an op-ed for the LA Times in which she shared her fantastic “Ring Theory” that address this phenomenon and provides helpful guidelines:

Draw a circle. This is the center ring. In it, put the name of the person at the center of the current trauma. Now draw a larger circle around the first one. In that ring put the name of the person next closest to the trauma. Repeat the process as many times as you need to. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Parents and children before more distant relatives. Intimate friends in smaller rings, less intimate friends in larger ones. When you are done you have a Kvetching Order. One of [my] patients found it useful to tape it to her refrigerator.

Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, “Life is unfair” and “Why me?” That’s the one payoff for being in the center ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings. When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you’re going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn’t, don’t say it. Don’t, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don’t need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, “I’m sorry” or “This must really be hard for you” or “Can I bring you a pot roast?” Don’t say, “You should hear what happened to me” or “Here’s what I would do if I were you.” And don’t say, “This is really bringing me down.”

If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that’s fine. It’s a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.

Comfort IN, dump OUT.

The Ring Theory is a brilliant prescription for how best to interact with someone going through a crisis. It captures something we intuitively know yet too often fail to practice. In fact, it probably should be posted on hospital room doors and on entrances to shiva homes.

However, for all of its brilliance, the Ring Theory takes something for granted that, unfortunately, is not a given at all. The theory provides guidance for those choosing to engage. But ask anyone who has gone through a crisis and he will tell you, the majority of people in his life didn’t comfort or dump, neither in nor out. They simply disappeared.

Yes, at the moment of crisis, family, friends and community often rise to the occasion. But what happens when the acute crises passes? How present are we in the lives of those we claim to care deeply about when the urgency subsides and the catastrophe dissipates?

As time goes on, without consciously intending to, many take an “out of sight, out of mind” approach, leaving the afflicted person feeling forgotten, neglected, insignificant and alone. What the “Ring Theory” doesn’t account for is that doing nothing and staying silent towards someone struggling with illness, loss, divorce or unemployment can be more painful than saying or doing the wrong thing.

Sadly, there are many in our community suffering from illness, loss and other sources of pain. Simply put – they rely on us, their friends and community, to care enough to enter the Ring. Perhaps we will be towards the center of the circle, or maybe we will be in one of the outside concentric rings. But the worst thing we could do is to disappear from the picture altogether.

Rabbi Grajower suggests, “One of the hardest facets of going through an illness or tragedy is the profound sense of loneliness that accompanies such tribulations… In my experience, the best way to help that person/family feel less isolated is to reach out frequently, with very short messages. Even now, a few people text me every Friday to wish me a good Shabbos. Some friends call or text randomly just to let me know they are thinking of me. These simple messages, which take only a few seconds to send, can be extremely touching and powerful in combatting the loneliness.”

Reach out, visit, send a text, spontaneously drop off flowers or a Challah, invite for a meal, or just let them know that you pray for them, think about them, and empathize with them. Find the important balance between showing up and providing them necessary space.

It is so hard to see people we care about in pain. It is even more challenging when there is nothing we can do to relieve it, reverse it or make it go away. At those times, our responsibility is to be nosei b’ol im chaveiro, to grab on to the burden and do our small part to carry it. Knowing we are davening from the depths of our hearts, doing tangible practical things and making sure to only comfort in can make it the smallest bit lighter for those that we love and care about.

I Started Doing This for 3 Minutes a Day and It Has Changed My Life

Image result for 3 minutes When is the last time you sat and did nothing? I don’t mean the type of nothing as in you just played on your phone, read a book or sat listening to music and didn’t really “do” anything. I mean absolutely nothing. When is the last time you sat still with no technology, without talking, listening, watching, or reading something?

The first time in a very long time that I truly did nothing was several years ago when I was bemoaning to a therapist friend of mine how attached I felt to my technology. Soon after, I was attending a wedding in his area and he generously offered to pick me up at the airport and spend a few hours together before and after the wedding working on the issue.

I was so grateful and eagerly looking forward… until he told me what it would cost. I would have gladly paid a handsome sum of money instead of the price he asked. He said the only way he would do it is if I agreed to his condition: he would pick me up from the airport and I would immediately hand over anything with an on/off button. I would get everything back when he dropped me back at the airport that evening. That meant no phone, text messages, WhatsApp, or internet, not only for the time we would be together, but while I was at the wedding too.

I reluctantly agreed and when I landed, he dramatically took my laptop and phone, put it in a bag, locked it with a lock and placed it in the trunk of his car. We drove to his office and the first thing he had me do was sit still in a chair all by myself with nothing to read, listen to or watch. I was to simply sit, clear my mind, be lost in my own thoughts, undistracted by anything else.

In those moments, I felt like most of the men in a study I’ve shared before. In this 2014 study, for 15 minutes, participants in the experiment were left alone in a lab room with no phones, screens, or writing implements. All they had before them was a button that would produce an electrical shock if pressed. Even though all of the participants had previously stated that they would pay money to avoid being shocked with electricity, 67% of the men and 25% of women chose to inflict electrical shocks on themselves rather than just sit there quietly and think. In other words, a significant number of people would rather suffer physical pain than be left alone with their thoughts.

The first minute or two, I was basically crawling out of my own skin, fidgety, uncomfortable and feeling like a limb had been amputated. But as the minutes went on, I began to lean into the alone time—breathing, thinking, and relishing the opportunity to just be. It felt different, refreshing, and long overdue. Though I have yet to successfully implement everything I learned that day, it opened my eyes to the critical importance of both maintaining the capacity to be alone, and, even more importantly, to dedicate time each day to doing nothing.

Niksen

The Dutch have a term for doing nothing: niksen. Niksen is not the byproduct of passive laziness. It is the conscious decision to do nothing, to sit motionless, to simply be. We are living in a time where busyness and activity are the default. Stopping, disconnecting and just thinking takes intentionality, requires effort, and only happens if we allocate time for it.

Our generation has an aversion to being still. We confuse busyness with productivity and we often use it as a social currency to impress people with how important or significant we are. Truly impressive people, we think, are busy, crazy busy, insanely busy. We mistakenly conclude that to admit we spend time each day intentionally doing nothing would make us look bad, lazy or unambitious.

But it is exactly the opposite. As it turns out, truly impressive people, truly present people, find time to disconnect, to experience aloneness, to quiet the constant noise so that they can truly hear what is going in their head. Truly spiritual people carve space for hisbodedus, contemplative time, and a standing meeting with Hashem, carrying on a conversation like you would with a friend.

Busyness has been scientifically correlated with burnout, anxiety disorders, and stress-related diseases that ravage the body. Finding time to disconnect from technology and to-do lists and instead mindfully breathing deeply for just a few minutes each day has been proven to improve physical and mental health.

3 Minutes a Day

A couple of years ago, I decided to return to the lessons I had learned that fateful day with my friend. I made a commitment to myself and recruited a few others to spend time each day with our phones in airplane mode (you are allowed to use that, even when on the ground), a timer set to three minutes, and a conscious effort to breathe deeply and get lost in our own thoughts. I can’t say I do it every single day but doing it with friends and being able to hold one another accountable has been very helpful.

The Midrash (Bereishis Rabbah 14:11) tells us not to read it kol ha’neshama tehallel Kah, every soul will praise God, but rather, kol ha’neshima, with every breath we praise Hashem. It is no coincidence that the same root means soul and breath. Hashem animated us and placed a piece of Himself in us when He breathed life into us. When we consciously and mindfully breathe deeply, we revive and nourish our souls and we make space to evaluate and recalibrate our lives.

The days that I do my three minutes are categorically different. Afterwards, I feel calmer, more present, more creative and more connected. The few times I have done my three minutes shortly before going into davening have radically changed that rendezvous with my Creator. (One can only imagine the benefit of spending an hour before Davening clearing the mind, the practice of the Chassidim Rishonim, Berachos 30b)

There are 1,440 minutes in a day. Even if you sleep for 8 hours a night, that leaves you with 960 minutes each day. It is hard to believe that we can’t find three of them to make contact with our souls, and check in with our Creator, especially when doing so will so radically enrich the rest of our day.

We are marching towards Har Sinai and will soon stand at the base of the mountain together. To fully experience that moment, use the remainder of these days counting towards it to form a three minute mindfulness habit.

Each day find three minutes. It can be the same time each day or it can vary based on each day’s circumstances. You can do it alone, or sit down and do it with someone else. You can make a pact with others to hold each other accountable or you can use an app on your phone to form the habit. The details are up to you, but I guarantee you, if you find just three minutes a day to disconnect and reconnect with yourself and Hashem, it will change your other 1,437.

Be a Thermostat, Not a Thermometer: You Can’t Breathe Free When Stress is Your Master

Image result for thermostat or thermometer

*This article appeared in Mishpacha Magazine on April 10, 2019

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 understands this differently, however.

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.

I recently had a conversation with someone in my community I’ve known for a long time. I remember when he was spiritually on fire, excited and enthusiastic about davening and learning, and dedicated to personal growth and character improvement. He has since “cooled down” from those days of elevated spirituality. Without judgment, just with curiosity and a desire to understand, I asked him, what would it take to recover those feelings? Could he go back to that place?

His answer was so straightforward yet so illuminating. He told me that the biggest obstacle to his continued spiritual growth was the incredible stress he was under.

The more I’ve talked to people about this, the more I’ve learned it isn’t just him. He was on fire at a much simpler time of his life. Now he is married, and his time and decisions are not his alone. He has children, who bring their own stresses. He works hard and feels the tremendous pressure of providing for his family, paying his children’s tuitions, and the sense that he must keep up with everyone else.

He and 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.

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 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.

In 2014, a research team conducted an experiment whose results were nothing short of scary. For 15 minutes, participants in the experiment were left alone in a lab room with no phones, screens, or writing implements. All they had before them was a button that would produce an electrical shock if pressed. Even though all the participants had previously stated they would pay money to avoid being shocked with electricity, 67% of the men and 25% of women chose to inflict electrical shocks on themselves rather than just sit there quietly and think. In other words, a significant number of people would rather suffer physical pain than be left alone with their thoughts.

This study was conducted five years ago, and things have only gotten worse. It’s not just that we don’t have time to think — 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 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. The Chalban, Rav Chaim Cohen, points out that the root of the word hergel, habit, is regel, foot. Our feet mindlessly carry us through rote behaviors and feelings. The goal of celebrating a holy regel, a Yom Tov, is to break the hergel, to get out of the cycle of rote habits and entrenched feelings and to experience a new reality where we can dream of becoming different and better.

As you prepare to commemorate the holiday of geulah, start finding those moments. 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, at home or in a restaurant or hotel, create a ritual of asking everyone to turn their phones off. Not just to vibrate, but off. (Or, even better, don’t even bring any devices into the room.) 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 we say Hashata avdi — right now we are in servitude to the noise and static, let’s pray and believe that l’shanah habaah bnei chorin, next year we will experience both national and personal redemption.

Anger is Contagious Like the Flu

Flu season is currently making itself known around the community, first among kids and now hitting adults. But diseases and illnesses are not the only things that are contagious. Without you even realizing it, how you are feeling today is likely influencing and impacting the feelings of people around you. According to Dr. Nicholas Christakis of Yale University, “If someone smiles at you, you smile back at them. That’s a very fleeting contagion of emotion from one person to another.” He found that if you are exhibiting happiness, a friend living nearby has a 25% higher chance of becoming happy too.

But Dr. Christakis found that the opposite is also true. His research shows that if you display anger, those around you will fill with anger too. The contagiousness of happiness is welcome, but when anger spreads, it is toxic, destructive and can have devastating consequences.

Our parsha contains the admonition, Lo seva’aru eish b’chol moshvoseichem b’yom ha’Shabbos, do not kindle a fire in any of your residences on Shabbos. In its literal sense, this pasuk is the source of the prohibition to light a fire on Shabbos. However, the Shelah HaKadosh, R’ Yeshaya HaLevi Horowitz (1558-1630) offers a homiletical interpretation.

He suggests that eish, fire, is an allusion to anger and rage. The pasuk is instructing us that a person must never let anger or machlokes burn on erev shabbos or shabbos. The Zohar says that moshvoseichem, guarding “your house” from fire, refers to your heart and guarding it from being filled with emotional fire: anger, bitterness, or negativity.

The Rambam writes that real anger is never healthy, it is never warranted or productive. At most, one may exhibit anger in order to communicate a message or accomplish a goal but one can never actually give in to the emotion of anger.

An angry person loses judgment and vision, and often acts in a self-destructive fashion. The Sefer Chareidim (Teshuvah, Ch. 4) writes: If one lost a beautiful flower, it would be madness for him to react by breaking a precious object worth thousands of times more than the small flower. Similarly, the person who loses his temper shatters his peace of mind – a commodity far more precious than the relatively trivial loss which triggered his anger.

The word “rage” comes from the Latin rabies, meaning madness. Giving in to rage is an act of madness because you give up so much and get nothing in return. The Rambam in Hilchos Dei’os (2:3) writes that anger diminishes a person’s overall quality of life: “Those who frequently become angry have no quality of life; therefore, [the Sages] instructed us to distance ourselves from anger to the farthest degree, until a person acts as though he does not sense even those things that would justifiably anger a person.”

Shabbos is characterized by serenity, tranquility and contentment. There is no room for even the appearance of anger, impatience, or controversy. Erev Shabbos is particularly predisposed to anger, with everyone rushing and hurrying, much to do, and often children who are not cooperating or adults who are not meeting our expectations of what needs to be done. Shabbos, too, we can easily be tempted to be angry when the meals don’t go the way we want, our nap is disrupted, or the rabbi went on too long with his derasha.

Shabbos is a particularly important time to conquer the urge for anger and maintain cool. In the special Retzei paragraph in Shabbos benching, we ask – shelo sehei tzarah v’yagon v’anachah b’yom menuchaseinu, let there be no distress, grief or negativity on this day of our contentment.”

We often think of anger as an instinctive emotion, a reaction that we cannot help or control. Clearly, the Zohar, the Shelah and others didn’t see it that way. Kindling a fire is prohibited on Shabbos because it is meleches machsheves, a constructive, creative act. Anger, too, is a creation, not simply a natural reaction. When we get angry, we have made a decision, consciously or subconsciously, to create anger and to allow ourselves to be angry, but we don’t have to. Lo seva’aru eish, don’t create anger. Be in control and resist the urge which can in fact be overcome.

In an article titled, “10 Things I Learned When I Stopped Yelling at My Kid,” an anonymous mother describes the moment she decided to change. She had lost it with her children in front of a handyman and was mortified. She pledged to go one year, 365 straight days, without yelling. When she wrote the article she was over 400 days without giving in to her urge to yell or scream or get angry and she shared the top 10 things she learned in the process. Here are a few of them:

Yelling isn’t the only thing I haven’t done in over a year.

I also haven’t gone to bed with a gut-wrenching pit in my stomach because I felt like the worst mom ever.

My kids are my most important audience.

When I had my “no more yelling epiphany,” I realized that I don’t yell in the presence of others because I want them to believe I am a loving and patient mom. The truth is, I already was that way… but rarely when I was alone, just always when I was in public with an audience to judge me. This is so backwards! I always have an audience — my four boys are always watching me and THEY are the audience that matters most; they are the ones I want to show just how loving, patient and “yell-free” I can be. I remember this whenever I am home and thinking I can’t keep it together; obviously I can… I do it out and about all the time!

Two words you should always remember are “at least.”

My new favorite words: “at least.” These two small words give me great perspective and remind me to chill out. I use them readily in any annoying but not yell worthy kid situation. “He just dropped an entire jug of milk on the floor… at least it wasn’t glass and at least he was trying to help!” I also use them readily when I want to give up: “Okay, this is hard but at least there are only three hours until bedtime, not 12.”

Not yelling feels phenomenal for everyone.

Now that I have stopped yelling, not only do I feel happier and calmer, I also feel lighter. I go to bed guilt-free and wake up more confident that I can parent with greater understanding of my kids, my needs, and how to be more loving and patient. And I am pretty sure my kids feel happier and calmer too.

Knowing how contagious they are, we take every precaution to avoid illnesses that can be transmitted from one person to another. We must be just as cautious to not only avoid getting angry ourselves, but from contracting the propensity for anger that is contagious and can be transmitted from others. Each and every Shabbos we experience the anger test challenging us not to light a fire in our dwelling, our home, or in our hearts. When we pass, that sense of patience and tranquility not only fills our home for Shabbos, but carries over to the week.

We would never light a fire or turn on a light on Shabbos, let’s not let the fire of anger or rage burn as well.

You Won’t Believe What This Man Did for His Competitor

You Wonât Believe What This Man Did for His Competitor In January, a fire destroyed the building that housed Yossi Heiman’s Fish Market in Borough Park, Brooklyn, leaving him with no place to operate his business and no ability to draw income. Shea Langsam owns a similar store, Fish to Dish, just a few blocks away. One would have thought that as sympathetic as he may be for his competitor’s poor fortune, he would welcome this opportunity to acquire new customers and increase his business.

Instead, Shea did something truly remarkable. When he learned of the fire, he picked up the phone and called his competitor. “When he [Yossi] said that he needs a facility to process and deliver orders for his customers, I said, ‘Why not join me in my store?’ As fellow community members we all try to help each other as much as we can.” Shea received an official citation from New York State Assembly Member Simcha Eichenstein for his incredible kindness, welcoming his competitor to operate out of his space until the store could be rebuilt.

The story is extraordinary for many reasons. It is an example of seeing fellow community members as part of one family, putting their needs ahead of our own aspiration to make more money or grow our business. But the story is exceptional for another reason: It is a truly genuine display of true faith, a great example of emunah and bitachon not existing in the form of empty lip service, but being put into practice in a very real way.

When I saw this story, I was immediately reminded of a powerful passage in the Chazon Ish’s Emunah U’Bitachon:

What we see in life is people like Reuven, who is a moral person, always speaking of trust in Hashem, condemning excessive efforts in life, and expressing his abhorrence of constant pursuit of financial means. Indeed, he is a successful person: he lacks no customers in his store, and he does not need to expend efforts in that direction. He loves the concept of trust in Hashem, because even that concept smiles upon him.

And suddenly, we are surprised to see Reuven, that great truster in Hashem, conferring secretly with his assistants and consultants as to how to stop a potential rival who plans to open a store just like his. Reuven is very upset by this threat; at the beginning he keeps his feelings to himself, because he is embarrassed to reveal them to his acquaintances, fearing their derision. But with time, he loses his sense of shame, and begins to act openly with the aim of preventing the rival from carrying out his plan. Gradually he gravitates towards the crooked path, and his sense of shame evaporates: he openly commits low and deplorable actions – in public. The competition between him and his rival becomes widely known and is the talk of town – and still he feels no shame, but rather comes up with baseless and untrue reasons and explanations in order to justify his actions.

Over time he becomes even more sophisticated and adds new explanations, claiming that everything he is doing against this rival is for the sake of Heaven and is morally acceptable. He actually fools himself into believing this, and fools others as well – simple people or those who love a good fight, and usually he attracts fight mongers, and gossip lovers; Satan creates peace between them all so that they can build a stable fortress of strife and arguments, speaking evil of others, lies, tale bearing and baseless hatred – all of which shorten men’s lives.

The Chazon Ish is describing a phenomenon of people who daven with great kavannah, talk about God and divine providence frequently, regularly employ expressions like “Baruch Hashem,” “Be’zras Hashem,” “Imirtza Hashem,” “Chasdei Hashem,” and yet when the rubber meets the road, they totally abandon faith and erase God from the picture. One cannot talk about believing in God and then be ruthless in business, undercut competitors, take excessive initiative or be paralyzed with anxiety and worry about things beyond our control.

True faith in Hashem means catching ourselves before getting anxious about our competitors or feeling fear about our income and reminding ourselves that while we should take initiative, work hard, be creative, and have ambition, we must leave the rest to Hashem, our senior partner in any enterprise.

Minimally, emunah means we need not worry, but Shea Langsam has taught us that living with emunah can mean even more. With faith in Hashem, we can even find the capacity to help a competitor, recognizing that Hashem can partner with both of us and bring us each great success and prosperity.

The pasuk in Tehilim (81:10) says Lo yiheyeh becha el zar, which is usually translated as don’t have among you a foreign god. The Kotzker Rebbe offers an alternative, fantastic homiletical interpretation. He explains, don’t relate to God as a zar, someone who is foreign, distant and a stranger. Don’t talk about God while failing to maintain a real, personal and intimate relationship with Him.

We talk about God a lot, we even claim to talk to God three times a day. But many of us leave Him in shul, we say goodbye when we close the siddur. Real emunah means taking Hashem to work with us and feeling not only His presence everywhere we go, but His partnership and investment in us and in our success.

Thanksgiving & Being a Jew

Was it President Lincoln in 1863, President Washington in 1789, or the Pilgrims themselves in 1622? While historians may debate when the holiday of Thanksgiving was first instituted, the practice of giving thanks began much earlier.

We read in last week’s parsha, Vayeitzei, that Leah names her fourth son Yehudah from the root hoda’ah out of gratitude to Hashem. Indeed, the Talmud (Berachos 7b) quotes Rav Shimon bar Yochai as teaching that, in fact, Leah was the first person in history to say “thank you” to Hashem.

How could that be? Did Adom Ha’Rishon upon being exiled from Gan Eden and learning about second chances not say “tov l’hodos laShem, it is good to thank the Almighty?” Did Noach and Malki Tzedek not express their gratitude to the Master of the Universe? Did Eliezer not communicate appreciation for divine assistance in fulfilling his mission of finding a wife for Yitzchak? And the list could go on. How could the Talmud make such a bold assertion when it seems from the Torah itself not to be true?

Rav Shmuel Binyamin Sofer of Pressburg offers a beautiful suggestion. Yes, there were individuals prior to Leah who had expressed gratitude. However, their gratitude was always in response to a supernatural phenomenon, to the revealed hand of God in their life. Leah, in contrast, was the first to say thank you for something which others considered completely natural. Her thank you wasn’t the result of being miraculously saved or being given a second chance. Leah expressed deep gratitude to Hashem for the natural, biological experience of having a baby. Her thank you was an implicit acknowledgment that even that which appears natural, regular or ordinary is also the result of the extraordinary hand of the Divine.

As we mark the holiday of Thanksgiving this weekend, it is an opportunity to remind ourselves that the most authentic thanks is for that which we are tempted to take for granted and not even recognize at all. If you woke up this morning and you have all your faculties, you should give thanks. If you have a roof over your head and food to eat, you should give thanks. If you are blessed with a spouse and children, you should give thanks.

And as our brothers and sisters in Israel have tragically learned too often of late, if when you go to sleep at night, everyone in your family and in your home is as healthy and well as they were when you and they woke up, you should give tremendous thanks.

The great Rav Yeruchem Levovitz offers another answer to our question. He explains that most people say thank you in order to pay off their debt of gratitude. Someone does something nice for us and in a quid pro quo, we say thank you to them to settle the score. Indeed, in each of the incidents that preceded Leah saying thank you, the speaker offered a one-time expression of appreciation and moved on.

Leah did something categorically different. She named her son Yehudah. She named him, “I am grateful.” Every time she called out his name – “Yehudah come for supper, Yehudah did you do your homework, Yehudah – what time will you be home tonight,” she reawakened her sense of appreciation. Unlike the others who said thank you and paid off their debt of gratitude, Leah formulated a feeling of thanks that was sustained, perpetual, and that was felt each and every day on a consistent basis.

Rav Yeruchem explains that this is what Leah meant when she gave him his name. “Hapa’am odeh es Hashem?” Should I only thank Hashem this one time and move on? No! I will continue to thank him over and over again.

The United States may officially celebrate Thanksgiving one day a year, but to be a Jew, to be the progeny of our Matriarch Leah, is to be overflowing with thanks each and every day. The Chiddushei Ha’Rim of Ger, Rav Yitzchak Meir Alter, points out that we are called Yehudim after Yehudah specifically because we as a nation are to be characterized by an ever-present sense of gratitude.

Though we read of Leah naming Yehudah last week, her message continues to resonate into this week as we celebrate the holiday of Thanksgiving. Let us live up to our name as Yehudim, and rather than be consumed by only worry and concern, feel deep and profound gratitude for all of the blessings in our lives, particularly those that we too often take for granted and fail to appreciate.

The Blessing in Being a Blessing

Image result for be a blessing Each year at the Rabbinical Council of America convention, an award is given to a chaplain. To be honest, it has never been the highlight of the gathering for me. A few years ago, however, I was grateful to be present when the award was given to Rav Zvi Karpel. When he accepted the award, he described what had driven him to work in chaplaincy. His words moved me to tears and touched me deeply.

וְאֶעֶשְׂךָ לְגוֹי גָּדוֹל וַאֲבָרֶכְךָ וַאֲגַדְּלָה שְׁמֶךָ וֶהְיֵה בְּרָכָה:

“And I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you and I will make your name great… v’heye beracha.”

In a world of paganism, idolatry and moral depravity, Avraham discovered and chose God and now, in our parsha, at the age of 75 the Almighty reciprocates and chooses Avraham. Hashem promises if you come with Me, leave your homeland, your father’s house and all you know, I will make you a great nation and shower you with beracha, blessing.

Hashem’s proposal to Avraham concludes with an interesting phrase – וֶהְיֵה בְּרָכָה. It can’t mean “and you will be blessed” because Hashem has just told him, וַאֲבָרֶכְךָ, “I will bless you.” So what does it mean?

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch writes: “It does not say והיית ברכה, or ותהיה ברכה, but והיה ברכה, become a blessing. In these two words the whole moral task is summarized… All others strive, not להיות ברכה to be a blessing, but להיות ברוכים, to be blessed.”

With this charge, Hashem was not only promising Avraham that he would be blessed, but at the same time was challenging Avraham to take the richness of his experience, to learn from his own story and to use it to become a blessing for others. Others pursue being blessed, satisfying their wants and needs and finding their own happiness. To be progeny of Avraham is to take whatever blessing we have and to pursue becoming a blessing in other people’s lives, using it to help others find happiness.

This, in fact, was the true test of לך לך , go forth. The journey was not a geographical one but an existential one. The destination was not a physical address but a journey of self-discovery – לך, go. Where? לך, to who you are meant to be.

Hashem was challenging Avraham and all of us – reflect on your life, identify your talents and skills, and contemplate the lessons you have learned from your life experiences, and then pay it forward. Become a blessing. Help others and enhance their lives.

When accepting his award, Rabbi Karpel shared the following (shared here with his permission):

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 to 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.

Rabbi Karpel was orphaned at a young age. He could have reflected on his life experience with a sense of bitterness, anger and resentment. Instead, he decided to become a blessing. He recognized that his personal experiences positioned him to help others and provide for them what he didn’t have. For over 32 years, countless families at Daughters of Israel Geriatric Center in West Orange, New Jersey had support, love, guidance and help when their loved one was transitioning to the next world.

For all of them, Rabbi Karpel is a blessing. היה ברכה – look at your life and figure out how you can become someone else’s blessing.

Do You Know Your Rating? I Was Shocked When I Discovered Mine

Image result for uber rating I took an Uber a few months ago and noticed something that disturbed me greatly. It wasn’t anything I found in the car, but rather something I happened to notice on the app. I was well aware that Uber drivers carry a rating based on the score their passengers give them. But I never knew that Uber passengers are also rated.

It turns out on a scale of 1 – 5, my Uber drivers had left me with an average of 4.77. I was mortified. Why not a perfect 5 stars? What did I ever do to offend a driver? I was always punctual, courteous, and clean.

With the proliferation of technology, rating others has become easy and accordingly common. There are websites to rate your doctor or lawyer and even your kallah teacher. There are apps to review all of your experiences from eating in restaurants to staying in hotels. Nevertheless, rating others, especially if it will affect their income and reputation, is not necessarily the correct thing to do.

A college student recently asked me about the halachic permissibility of contributing to the website http://www.ratemyprofessors.com/. She had a negative experience with a professor and wanted to know if it violates the laws of lashon ha’rah, gossip, to give the professor a poor rating on the website and to warn others not to take her.

Rating others may be fraught with halachic questions and we need to weigh them carefully before indulging in the rating game. That choice is ours. Being rated, however, whether on Uber or elsewhere, is usually out of our control. Though we may not ask to be evaluated by others, perhaps we can embrace our ratings and use them to be motivated and inspired to improve.

When I saw my less-than-perfect Uber rating, I immediately consulted Uber’s website and, as if they were writing to me, it says:

Very few people have a perfect rating, so don’t despair if your average isn’t 5.0. Things that seem small to you can matter to your driver – it’s easy to accidentally slam a door if you’re not thinking about it. Knowing a little more about the things that affect a driver’s happiness can help you be a 5-star rider.

I felt a little better, but I also became determined to raise my rating. Each subsequent Uber ride since noticing my rating, I have waited for the driver on the curb to ensure he or she doesn’t wait, I have consciously closed the door gently, and I have made a concerted effort not to talk loudly on the phone.

I don’t know if my rating will improve, but I do know that my behavior and sensitivity improved simply as a result of the acute realization that I was being evaluated and scored by others.

In May, a couple in Portland, Oregon had a nightmare experience when the Amazon Echo in their home recorded their private conversation and sent it to one of the people in their contact list that they were talking about. The company acknowledged the glitch and said it happened because of an unlikely string of events and they were looking into it.

We each have something infinitely more powerful than an Amazon Echo recording us, not only in our homes, but everywhere we go. The Mishna in Avos (2:1) says:

הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלשָׁה דְבָרִים וְאִי אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה, דַּע מַה לְּמַעְלָה מִמְּךָ, עַיִן רוֹאָה וְאֹזֶן שׁוֹמַעַת, וְכָל מַעֲשֶׂיךָ בַסֵּפֶר נִכְתָּבִין

“Keep your eye on three things, and you will not come to sin: Know what is above you: An eye that sees, and an ear that hears, and all your deeds are written in a book.”

If you wouldn’t want what you are saying recorded, simply don’t say it, because it is being recorded and it is contributing to the rating of the kind of person you are.

Accessing your Divine rating is not as easy as finding your Uber rating, but just knowing that He is watching, listening and scoring all that we do should motivate us to want to constantly improve and strive for a 5 out of 5.

Although the theme of Rosh Hashana through Yom Kippur is judgment, which connotes harshness and strictness, in truth these days contain great mercy and Heavenly favor. The Tur quotes the Midrash that it was on Rosh Chodesh Elul that Moshe ascended to receive the second set of luchos, tablets, after the first ones were broken following the debacle of the Golden Calf. Moshe came back down on Yom Kippur with new luchos in hand, signifying Hashem’s forgiveness. Therefore, these days from Rosh Chodesh Elul through Yom Kippur are a time of pardon and appeasement each year.

Hashem reaches out to us and invites us to confront what we have done throughout the year to lower our rating. We take stock of the insensitivities, hurts, failures and shortcomings and we take responsibility for them and commit not to repeat them.

When He senses our sincerity, Hashem resets our rating and lets us start off the year with a perfect score, challenging us to maintain it. That is a gift Uber doesn’t offer. Let’s take advantage of it.

Rav Elyashiv Said That This is Our Generation’s Most Important Mitzvah…

When we think about Kiddush Hashem, we tend to think of martyrdom. Tragically, Jews throughout our history have been forced to give up their lives and have died al Kiddush Hashem. But the simple meaning of the pasuk regarding Kiddush Hashem in our parsha does not describe how to die as a Jew, but rather directs us how to live as one.

The Rambam includes the mitzvah of making a Kiddush Hashem, sanctifying God’s name, in Hichos Yesodei HaTorah, whose early chapters deal with emunah, faith and yiras Hashem, fear of Heaven. He writes: “kol beis yisroel metzuvin al kidush Hashem ha’gadol ha’zeh. All of the Jewish people are commanded to sanctify God’s great name.”

Why does the Rambam say “metzuvin” regarding Kiddush Hashem, a word he doesn’t use to introduce other mitzvos? Aren’t we metzuvin, obligated, in all mitzvos? Moreover, why does he include this mitzvah among the foundational principles of the Torah such as belief in God and the divinity of the Torah?

The Slonimer Rebbe explains that Kiddush Hashem is not just another mitzvah. It is essential to who we are and how we see ourselves. Being a living, breathing, walking Kiddush Hashem is fundamental to our mission, foundational to our identity and an axiom of our faith. One can never put a check next to Kiddush Hashem as if they have fulfilled the mitzvah and are done. How I talk, eat, walk, relate, do business, what I watch, say, where I go, all are platforms and opportunities for Kiddush Hashem.

The Slonimer Rebbe notes that the Rambam emphasizes kol beis yisroel metzuvin, this command is not for the holy, the righteous or those that give up their lives. It is on kol beis yisroel, every Jew. It is not just a mitzvah, but our mission statement. It is our calling. It is why we exist.

Each decision, spoken word and action must be preceded with the question – what impression am I about to make? Will I reflect positively on the Jewish people and on the Almighty or will I leave a negative impression? Will God be proud and feel I have advanced His cause, or will I set back the mission for which I have been chosen?

Rabbi Yosef Shalom Elyashiv zt”l once commented that every generation possesses a mitzvah that is especially significant for its time. Previous generations were challenged with the mitzvah of dying al Kiddush Hashem. Rav Elyashiv believed the mitzvah for our day is to “let the Name of Heaven become beloved through you,” to live al Kiddush Hashem.

The form of the verb the Torah uses when instructing us to sanctify Hashem’s name is instructive. The passuk doesn’t say kiddashti, sanctify Hashem’s name, but it says v’nikdashti, in the nif’al, the simple, passive form of the verb. Rav Nissan Alpert, a student of Rav Moshe Feinstein and a Rosh Yeshiva of YU, explains that the Torah specifically uses this form of the verb to communicate the essence of Kiddush Hashem and to capture what should be the mission of every person. Had the Torah said to actively sanctify God’s name, I would have thought one must seek out major, public opportunities with fanfare, pomp and circumstance. Instead, the Torah uses the simple passive nif’al, v’nikdashti to remind us that most Kiddush Hashem opportunities are not on a grand scale, they are not premeditated and they don’t require us to give our lives. The essence of sanctifying Hashem’s name is contained in the small, every day, mundane and casual aspects of life.

A high school principal shared that a student once exclaimed, “I wish I would have been alive during the Holocaust – I could have been a hero and someone would have written a book about me.” We need to teach our children that to be a Jewish hero you don’t need to sacrifice your life and die to sanctify Hashem’s name, you need to direct your life and live to positively represent it and Him.

Rabbi Berel Wein was once invited to a meeting with the editor of the Detroit Free Press. After introductions had been made, the editor told him the following story:

His mother, Mary, had immigrated to America from Ireland as an uneducated, 18-year-old peasant girl. She was hired as a domestic maid by an observant family. The head of the house was the president of the neighboring Orthodox shul.

Mary knew nothing about Judaism and had probably never met a Jew before arriving in America. The family went on vacation Mary’s first December in America, leaving Mary alone in the house. They were scheduled to return on the night of December 24, and Mary realized that there would be no Christmas tree to greet them when they did. This bothered her greatly, and using the money the family had left her, she went out and purchased not only a Christmas tree but all kinds of festive decorations to hang on the front of the house.

When the family returned from vacation, they saw the Christmas tree through the living room window and the rest of the house festooned with holiday lights. They assumed that they had somehow pulled into the wrong driveway and drove around the block. But alas, it was their address.

The head of the family entered the house contemplating how to explain the Christmas tree and lights to the members of the shul, most of whom walked right past his house on their way to shul. Meanwhile, Mary was eagerly anticipating the family’s excitement when they realized that they would not be without a Christmas tree.

After entering the house, the head of the family called Mary into his study. He told her, “In my whole life no one has ever done such a beautiful thing for me as you did.” Then he took out a $100 bill — a very large sum in the middle of the Depression — and gave it to her. Only after that did he explain that Jews do not have Christmas trees.

When he had finished telling the story, the editor told Rabbi Wein, “And that is why, there has never been an editorial critical of Israel in the Detroit Free Press since I became editor, and never will be as long as I am the editor.”

The shul president’s reaction to Mary’s mistake – sympathy and kindness instead of anger — was not because he dreamed that one day her son would be the editor of a major metropolitan paper, and thus in a position to aid Israel. He acted as he did because it was the right thing to do. (Story shared by Jonathan Ronseblum)

Each day in Kedusha we affirm our mission statement – nekadeish es shimcha ba’olam – we are here to sanctify Your name in this world, to live Your values, model the lifestyle You want us to live, pursue justice and righteousness, and bring Your presence ever more into a world that seems to be driving it away.

Our mission is to be marbeh k’vod shomayim, increase honor and admiration of God, to have the people who work with us, shop next to us, work out near us, do business with us walk away and say wow – that’s what it means to be a Torah Jew. That person was honest, kind, sensitive, had integrity, was thoughtful, moral, and humble. Webster’s dictionary still includes a definition of “to Jew” as “to bargain sharply with; beat down in price.” Our mission is for dictionaries to list “to Jew” as to be kind, gracious, honest, good, just, giving, to be humble and righteous.

Tip the valet or show appreciation to your waiter – you have made a Kiddush Hashem. Be stingy or unappreciative and you’ve made a chillul Hashem. Hold the door for the person behind you or say good morning to the security guard, you have made a Kiddush Hashem. Walk right by them or let the door hit the person in the face, you have set back the mission. Be honest, trustworthy and reliable, you have sanctified God’s name. Bend the truth, cut corners and be unprofessional, and nobody will want to learn about your God. Share a racist or lewd joke or discriminate and you have made a chillul Hashem—a vacuum where God cannot reside. Fight for justice and see all people as containing a tzelem Elokim and you have given a huge boost to the mission.

Our parsha reminds us that we have a mission to fulfill, a mandate to achieve.

May we never again be forced to die al Kiddush Hashem, but may we find the strength, resolve and courage to make choices each and every day that will result in Kiddush Hashem.

Niksen

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