(Adapted from drasha delivered on Parshas Chayei Sarah/Thanksgiving Weekend 2016)

 

Everybody knows that the day after Thanksgiving is known as “Black Friday,” but fewer know how it got its name. The earliest use has been traced back to 1951, referencing the practice of workers calling in sick on the day after Thanksgiving in order to enjoy a four-day weekend.  Around the same time, the term caught on among the Philadelphia police department to describe the traffic congestion caused by shoppers.  More recently, some use the term to describe the period of the year that retailers go “in the black,” making profits from all the holiday shopping.

 

Whatever the origin of the name, it struck me this year, that while we in America were enjoying the great deals of Black Friday and deciding what new possessions we can accumulate and bring into our homes, our brothers and sisters in Israel were experiencing an altogether different Black Friday, deciding which possessions to save from their homes as they fled through the black smoke that was threatening their communities.

 

“V’Avraham zakein bah bayamim, va’Hashem beirach es Avraham bakol – now Avraham was old, well on in years and Hashem blessed Avraham with everything.”  Could there be a more ambiguous statement or phrase than baKOL, blessed with everything?  With what exactly was Avraham blessed?  Rav Avraham Ibn Ezra suggests that indeed, Avraham was blessed with everything – b’orech yamim, v’osher, v’chavod u’banim, v’zu KOL chemdas ha’adom.

 

And yet, something doesn’t sit right with that explanation.  At this point, Sarah, his life partner has passed away.  He had just lost his “everything.”  Additionally, Avraham is known for his unprecedented and perhaps unparalleled spiritual contribution to the world. It is difficult to accept that the Torah would describe Avraham as being blessed with material and physical wealth, as having “it all,” particularly at this stage of his life.

 

Moreover, the narrative itself seems to contradict this suggestion.  Immediately after supposedly being blessed with absolutely everything, Avraham summons his loyal servant Eliezer and says, “you know, there is something I desperately need: a wife for my son Yitzchak.  This is so important to me that you need to swear you will fulfill your promise and provide that which is lacking, a daughter-in-law.”  If Avraham was blessed with everything, why is the very next statement a description of that which he lacks?  What is this mysterious bakol that Avraham enjoyed?

 

In his Oros HaTeshuva, Rav Kook explains[1] that in a healthy person, there is an inseparable relationship between the individual and the totality of existence and creation.  The person who cares about other people and things around him or her will observe and sense the good in the universe.  In contrast, a self-absorbed person who is obsessed with his or her own happiness and interests is misaligned with creation and everything around them.  He or she simply cannot see the harmony, beauty, integration, and unity of the universe.

 

In Moreh Nevuchim, the Rambam speaks of a person who mistakenly believes that there is more evil and suffering than goodness and joy in the world.  He describes that this belief results from a person seeing himself as the center of the world and therefore measuring the whole world by his own narrow, limited experiences.  Such a person has separated himself or herself from the cosmos.

 

Rav Kook explains that when Hashem blessed Avraham “bakol” it means that Hashem empowered Avraham with a panoramic view of all reality and a broad perspective of the universe.  Rav Kook explains that being blessed bakol, seeing synthesis in the world, is not only to intellectually believe that, statistically speaking, there is there more good than bad in the world, but it means even seeing the “painful” as part of the meaning, order and purpose of the universe.  It means seeing the hard and dark moments and experiences as part of kol, the bigger picture.

 

Avraham lived with, and experienced the world through, a wide-angle lens and therefore, despite whatever particular challenge he was enduring, he was able to see and appreciate how much good there was all around him and even all the good he had.

 

Living with a sense of kol – seeing the whole picture and not just focusing on a small part – provides the faith, courage, and tenacity to endure that which is painful and recognize that even that is not without meaning and purpose.  Having a kol attitude brings calm, an optimistic spirit, and a deep sense of appreciation.

 

Conversely, not embracing a kol attitude, choosing to focus on pain, suffering, and darkness, with no vision or perspective, leaves a person, according to Rav Kook, chronically complaining and persistently unhappy.

 

Fires are raging around Israel.  Just when you think they have tried everything, our enemies invent a new form of terror, arson.  Over 200 separate fires have raged, tens of thousands have been evacuated from their homes, forests have burned, people have been injured, buildings, and homes have burned to the ground.  Among them is OJ, Yeshivas Ohr Yerushalayim where many of our members learned for their year or years in Israel and home to NCSY Kollel each summer, which was partially destroyed by a fire set to Beit Meir.

 

While the fire of evil rages around Israel, Hashem “beirach es Avraham bakol,” fire rages within the Jewish spirit as amazing displays of chesed have emerged.  I saw several websites with spreadsheets of volunteers offering anyone evacuated from their home, complete strangers, to come stay with them.  I don’t recall seeing that among the general population when Hurricane Matthew was headed our way. Nobody in Tampa invited strangers from Ft. Lauderdale to stay with them.  AirBnB in Israel waived all service fees and invited people to offer their homes to others for free.  There is good and beauty even within the dark and ugly.

 

In contrast, our enemies don’t see synthesis.  While we choose to see good, they choose to practice evil.  While we transform terror into opportunities for chesed, they take chesed and use it to advance terror.  It is not a coincidence that when Yishmael is born, the Torah warns us, he is “yado bakol” – his hand will be upon that sense of kol.  He wants to destroy goodness, optimism, hope, and synthesis.

 

Yishmael is yado bakol, but yad kol bo, we stubbornly hold on to our attitude of kol which will triumph over him.  Avraham passed this capacity to see the big picture with hope and graititude on to Yitzchak before he died.  The end of our parsha states, “Vayitein Avraham es KOL asher lo l’Yitzchak, and Avraham gave the kol, the everything he had, to Yitzchak.” Elsewhere we are told that Yitchak gave it to Yaakov and so on.

 

Even if a person is experiencing challenges, hardship or pain, he or she can employ their sense of kol and nevertheless choose to see the good in family, friends, and the world around them.

 

There is a 12-year-old boy and a 17-year-old girl from our community currently undergoing very difficult and painful treatments and in need of our heartfelt Tefillos.  Please daven each day for Eliyahu Dovid Yehuda ben Nechama Rut and Chaya Yocheved Alexandra bas Chaviva Tova.  I visited the pediatric floor of Sloan Kettering this week for a few hours and I must tell you I was overwhelmed by the pain and suffering all around.  My heart broke from hearing a little girl across the hall wailing to her mother and begging to “get them off of me, leave me alone, just stop.”  If you need a little perspective about what is important in life, what real problems look like, and what real pain feels and sounds like, spend some time in a pediatric oncology ward.

 

The suffering is startling, but the chesed is truly astonishing.  The kindness, sensitivity, and love from the staff and volunteers, who can only be described as angels, is beyond belief.  The faith, resolve, and perspective of the two families going through this is incredibly inspiring.  Neither is wallowing, questioning, angry, resentful, or turning inwards.  Neither is under a cloud of darkness.

 

As progeny and disciples of Avraham Avinu, as inheritors of an attitude of bakol, both families constantly express appreciation for all those around them and for the extraordinary acts of kindness and goodness they have seen and received.  Both have asked that we take on extra acts of kindness, mitzvos, and personal growth so that their children’s pain will be the catalyst and inspiration for bringing greater good into the world and give it some meaning, instead of it just being random.

 

I took an Uber from the hospital and the driver overheard me on the phone with Yocheved describing my visit and my observations about the hospital. When we arrived, my Pakistani driver asked me if he could give me his email address so that I can send him the name of the child so he could pray for her.

 

The capacity to see the good that results from your pain is what it means to be blessed bakol, with a positive perspective and a panoramic, broad vision.

 

My friends, on this Thanksgiving weekend, let us give thanks for being part of such a magnificent people and beneficiaries of such a special legacy.  Avraham was blessed bakol, and we, too, can be if we choose to live our lives with vision, perspective, optimism, and gratitude no matter what is happening.  At havdallah tonight, we will thank Hashem for distinguishing bein ohr l’choseh, between light and darkness.  We don’t have Black Friday or Black Sunday or Monday or Tuesday.  As Jews, our mandate and our mission is to illuminate each day and dispel the darkness.

 

May the dangerous fires in Israel be extinguished and a state of calm and safety return.  May Eliyahu Dovid Yehuda ben Nechama Rut and Chaya Yocheved Alexandra bas Chaviva Tova and all those who are ill have complete, speedy and painless refuah shelaymas.

 

And as we say in benching – “ha’rachaman hu yevareich osanu v’es KOL asher lanu, May God bless us and the KOL that we have, kmo she’nisbarchu avoseinu Avraham, Yitzchak, v’Yaakov baKOL, miKOL, KOL, as he blessed our forefathers with a perspective of KOL, kein yevareich osanu kulanu yachad bivracha shleima,” v’nomar amen.

 

[1] See R’ Moshe Weinberger’s “A Song of Teshuva” on Oros HaTeshuva for an expanded explanation and additional insights regarding this idea.

 

The wedding was magnificent. A beautiful chuppah took place on the beach as the sun set, and then it was time to go inside for the reception. I looked at my place card and went to my assigned table. When I got there, I was startled to discover that I was seated at a table of the chassan’s young friends, many of whom I had never met. I looked around the ballroom and noticed both a rabbis’ table and a table of community members, either one of which would have been a much more logical placement for me. I engaged in great conversation with the young men at my table and I enjoyed the evening, but I must admit, I was bewildered and confused as to why I was put at that table. To be honest, I was more than just perplexed. I was insulted and offended and felt somewhat singled out.

 

The final dance concluded, sheva brachos were recited, and I headed to the valet to retrieve my car. I reached into my suit pocket for the ticket, and immediately I felt like a fool. In my pocket were two place cards that looked exactly alike, with nearly identical envelopes and calligraphy. In truth, I had been assigned to sit at the table with my peers. Unbeknownst to me, however, a place card from a different wedding had remained in my pocket, and when the time came to find my seat, I had taken that old place card out instead of the one I had been assigned at this wedding.

 

The Gemara (Bava Basra 60b) tell us, “Keshot atzmecha v’achar kach keshot acheirim,” which is usually translated as, “Correct yourself first and only then correct others.” Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch suggests an alternative translation. The word keshot appears a number of times in the tefillah of Berich Shmeih — as in Oraisei keshot u’neviohi keshot — and it means “truth.” Based on this, Rav Hirsch explains the mandate of our rabbis as, be truthful with yourself and only then examine others.

They say that when you point a finger at someone else, three more point back at you. In my case, it became obvious and undeniable that although I was pointing a finger at my hosts for having seated me in the wrong place, the blame lay entirely with me.

 

Often, life is more complicated and less clear. And yet how often do we rush to judgment, failing to pause and reflect on our role in any given situation? How often do we draw unfavorable conclusions regarding those around us, even our good friends?

 

The Mishnah (Avos 1:6) tells us: Aseh lecha rav u’kneh lecha chaver, v’hevei dan es kol ha’adam l’chaf zechus — Make yourself a rav and acquire for yourself a friend, and judge each person in a favorable manner. What is the connection between the injunction to give the benefit of the doubt and the imperative to acquire a friend?

 

Rav Menachem Benzion Sacks, in his commentary on Pirkei Avos, explains that the capacity to give the benefit of the doubt is a prerequisite to being a good friend. Nobody is perfect. Everyone has flaws and deficiencies. Shlomo Hamelech, in his great wisdom, observed, “Ki adam ein tzaddik ba’aretz asher yaaseh tov v’lo yecheta — there are no fully righteous people in the world who only do good and never fall short.”

 

We cannot have real, meaningful, and enriching friendships if we cannot favorably judge the people we interact with. Nobody wants to be judged negatively. None of us wants to be caught, criticized, or condemned by our friends.

 

To be a good friend means to allow other people to be imperfect and vulnerable and to give them the confidence that you will be loyal — which means giving them the benefit of the doubt and assuming the best, whenever possible.

 

So they didn’t e-mail, text, or call you back immediately. Perhaps they never received your message or were preoccupied with a pressing matter. So they haven’t reciprocated by inviting you for a Shabbos or Yom Tov meal. Maybe they cannot afford to entertain guests, or they are insecure in their ability to host a proper or meaningful Shabbos or Yom Tov seudah. So they said hello and shook hands with others at the kiddush or simchah and ignored you like you were invisible. Maybe they simply didn’t see you or were distracted at the moment.

 

To be a good friend is to be forgiving, flexible, and willing to cut others slack. It is to see the best in them, not look for the worst. To find an excuse or explanation for their behavior, not to compile the evidence to support a case against them.

 

Of course, not everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, nor does everyone deserve our friendship. But if we seek to develop lasting friendships and acquire real friends, not just passing acquaintances, we must be more forbearing, and train ourselves to give the benefit of the doubt and not jump to assume the worst.

 

Rav Menachem Benzion Sacks points out that the Mishnah subtly includes a strategy for judging others favorably. Rather than say hevei dan ha’adam l’chaf zechus it says hevei dan es kol ha’adam l’chaf zechus, judge the entire person favorably. The key to drawing positive conclusions is to look at the entire person, including his finest qualities and your whole history with him, rather than concentrate on the isolated negative incident alone. To be a good friend is to see the totality of the person, including who he strives to be, and not just focus on the reality of that particular moment.

 

Next time you are tempted to point your finger at another, check your pocket. You may just find that the fault lies with you.

 

**The following article appears in The People & the Book column of the Jerusalem Report

 

 

 

Over three decades later, it is still considered one of the biggest marketing blunders of modern times.  In 1985 one of the most recognized businesses on the planet admitted a newly-released product had flopped, and relaunched the product that had been superseded, to general satisfaction. We can learn a great deal from their miscalculation: more of this shortly.

 

This week’s Torah portion, Ekev, contains the second paragraph of the shema prayer, which begins by telling us that if we listen to God’s expectations of us, we will live a fulfilled and blessed life. “V’hayah im shamo’a tishme’u el mitzvotai.”  This opening expression is awkward and indeed proves difficult to translate.  Why does it mean to surely listen as opposed to just listen?

 

The eighteenth-century scholar, Rav Chaim Ben Attar in his commentary Ohr Ha’Chaim explains it as follows: V’haya, im shamo’a, if you listen – if you sincerely and genuinely consider what is being said – tishme’u, then you will hear.  The verb was repeated to show that being an active listener is a prerequisite for true hearing, which is the cornerstone of a healthy relationship. This insight is not only true for our relationship with the Almighty and His messages and directives for us, but also critical for every relationship we have in life.

 

In his highly acclaimed Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, author Stephen Covey writes, “Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply. They’re either speaking or preparing to speak. They’re filtering everything through their own paradigms, reading their autobiography into other people’s lives.”  Imagine how our world would change, our relationships would grow, our opportunities would expand and our wisdom would increase if we learn to be better listeners so that we truly hear the words and messages coming our way regularly.

 

The great medieval commentator Rashi offers an alternative interpretation.  Quoting the Midrash he says: “Im shamo’a b’yashan, tishme’u b’chadash.  If you listen to the old, you will hear it in the new.”  What does that mean?

 

Words have connotations.  “Old” often has a derogatory undertone and implies outdated, antiquated, stale, tired and no longer useful.  We use “new” to describe something fresh, exciting, cutting edge and superior.  In our world, the old is obsolete and discontinued while the new is sought after and sold out.

 

Perhaps Rashi is telling us that this paradigm is flawed.  The new is not necessarily an upgrade.  The old is often superior and it is the standard by which the new is measured.

 

Let’s go back to where we started. In 1985 Coca-Cola was 99 years old and the company was concerned the drink was becoming stale and outdated.  They therefore reformulated Coca-Cola and launched “New Coke.” Their extensive taste tests had convinced them that their new formula was more satisfying to “modern taste buds.”

 

It turned out that the old was much better and more sought after than the new. The public reaction was such that in less than 80 days, Coca-Cola announced that they were bringing back the original Coke, now branded as Classic Coke.   It still sells over a billion bottles and cans a day.

 

In the world of marketing and products something is either old or new.  However, in the life of a Jew committed to Torah there is no such dichotomy or clash between old and new; they co-exist and complement one another beautifully.  The new must be built on the age-old; the old is its foundation, and it is the window and filter through which the new is viewed and received.  The old, our heritage, tradition, teachings and values are the yardstick through which we measure, evaluate and absorb the new.

 

Never has “new” occurred at such a frantic and feverish pace.  In our lives, the word upgrade is everywhere.  We are bombarded with messages encouraging us to upgrade our cell phone, upgrade our software, upgrade our apps, upgrade our car and even upgrade our appearance.

 

The “new” in technology, medicine, social progress and even Jewish practices brings much opportunity and blessing that we should embrace and integrate into our lives.  However, much of the “new” is incompatible with and rejected by our old, timeless and inviolate values, teachings and practices.  In religious life, often ideas and practices that are presented as upgrades and progress are in fact downgrades and regress.

 

How do we know if we should embrace or rebuff, accept or reject the new?  According to Rashi, the answer is in our portion and we repeat it each day in our Shema.  “If you listen to the old, you will hear it in the new.”  We must always investigate the “new” and see if we find echoes of the “old” making it a continuation of our tradition, not an abandonment of it.

 

There are countless lessons to extract from the Olympics beginning in Rio. The tenacity, resolve, grit, discipline, drive, and sense of teamwork of each athlete is simply inspiring and can serve to motivate each one of us to pursue our dreams relentlessly. Olympians serve as models of being extraordinarily focused and determined to realize the goals they have set for themselves. They are not satisfied with anything less than putting forth their very best effort and achieving the best results. Watching them obligates each one of us to identify at least one dream or goal for ourselves and to pursue it with everything that we have.

 

But there is another lesson that strikes me during this Olympic season and it too is applicable to our lives. Most of us tend to devalue time. Young people think that they will live forever and have endless days before them. Older people sometimes feel that the prime of their lives is over and spend the days trying to pass the remainder. Contemporary society has even developed an idiom, “killing time.” Technology has made this task easier as we can pass the hours mindlessly surfing the web, playing on our smart phones or flipping the channels.

 

There is no place that we see the value of every second more sharply than the Olympics. Athletes train their entire lives building up to this moment. Whether diving into a pool or pushing off the starting line of the track, everything they have worked for comes down to this. Races are often decided in the fraction of a second. The difference between qualifying or staying home, winning a medal or simply showing, being celebrated or a forgotten can be a millisecond.

 

From a Jewish perspective, killing time is a crime tantamount to murder–only when you do it, you are both the perpetrator and the victim simultaneously. Time is among the most precious commodities that we have. Once it has passed, it cannot be recovered. If it is wasted, it cannot be made up. There is a limited amount of it allocated to each one of us and with every passing second we come closer to emptying our account. As badly as we would like to slow it down sometimes, or speed it up at others, we cannot control time. It moves along at a steady pace entirely beyond our manipulation.

 

Each moment of our lives is precious and pregnant with possibility. We have the choice to fill our time with noble pursuits like helping others, improving ourselves, challenging our minds, developing our souls, caring for our bodies or connecting with family and friends. Or, God forbid, we can allow time to pass without anything meaningful, squandered, wasted and unused.

 

Not only must we make every day in our lives count–every hour, every minute and as the Olympics teaches us, every millisecond matters. It can make or break us. If we combine all those milliseconds that we waste, we can find the time we think we don’t have, to pursue noble endeavors and to achieve our goals, aspirations and dreams.

 

A Jew once asked Rav Yisroel Salanter, “If I only have 15 minutes a day to learn, what should I learn: Chumash, Gemara, Navi or Halacha?” Rav Yisroel answered: “Learn Mussar, character development, and you will realize that you have much more than 15 minutes a day to learn.”

 

The following poem articulately reminds us of the value of time:

 

Every Moment Is Precious (Author Anonymous)

 

To realize the value of ONE YEAR

 

Ask a student who has failed his exam.

 

To realize the value of ONE MONTH

 

Ask a mother who has given birth to a premature baby.

 

To realize the value of ONE WEEK

 

Ask an editor of a weekly newspaper.

 

To realize the value of ONE DAY

 

Ask a daily wage laborer who has 10 kids to feed.

 

To realize the value of ONE HOUR

 

Ask those waiting for a loved one in surgery.

 

To realize the value of ONE MINUTE

 

Ask the person who missed the train.

 

To realize the value of ONE SECOND

 

Ask a person who has survived an accident.

 

To realize the value of ONE MILLISECOND

 

Ask the person who won a “silver” medal in the Olympics.

 

Take advantage of every moment and be a champion at whatever you aspire to do!

 

The most remarkable thing about the failed coup in Turkey last week is how utterly unremarkable it actually was. While this particular coup was unsuccessful, since 1960 Turkey has been overthrown four times through takeovers organized and perpetrated by its own military.

 

Much more remarkable than Turkey’s latest coup attempt is that in its 240 years, America has never experienced anything similar. One of the most wonderful reflections on our great country and its citizens is that no matter how vociferous and strident the debates and campaigns, when the final ballot is counted and a new president is elected, he or she is the undeniable, undisputed leader and Commander in Chief.

 

When George W. Bush served as president, he garnered great opposition and disapproval, but nobody of consequence seriously suggested or attempted to overthrow him. Over the last eight years President Obama has garnered tremendous discontentment and vocal disagreement, but not a coup or a takeover.

 

Which brings us to this coming November 9^th, the day after the coming presidential election. Like it or not, ecstatic or deeply depressed, unless something extraordinary occurs, Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump will be elected the 45^th president of the United States of America. He or she will not be the president just for the percentage of the population that votes for them. He or she will be the president of every single American, no matter how distasteful or repulsive that may be for those who will vote for the losing candidate or perhaps don’t vote at all.

 

Elections consistently bring out rigorous debate and raucous disagreement. However, this election feels particularly negative due to the fact that only a minority of Americans actively like either of the candidates. Undeniably, there are qualities and behaviors in both candidates that are disheartening and deeply concerning.

 

A recent ABC News/Washington Post poll shows that 6 out of 10 Americans describe themselves as dissatisfied with the choice between the presumptive nominees. That means that most people cannot focus on what they like about a candidate, only about how they dislike and distrust the other candidate more. This reality breeds a culture and atmosphere of even greater rhetoric, contentiousness, and name-calling among the electorate than usual. Rather than advocate for their candidate, most people simply cannot imagine voting for the other candidate and have lots to say about those who can.

 

Recent elections of all sizes, from president to state senator to local school board, have brought out a lack of civility and caused great damage that remains long after the polls close and the inauguration balls conclude. The decibel level of the debates and the personal attacks in the discussions around Shabbos tables, at kiddushes in shul or at the gym have led to the breakup of friendships, and to families whose members can barely tolerate one another.

 

If that was true in the past, what will be left in the wake of this upcoming election? How will we overcome the polarization that is rapidly and increasingly developing before our eyes? Will the people who swore to leave the country if the other candidate is elected start packing their bags and booking their flights?

 

How will we resume talking to one another civilly and lovingly on November 9^th when we will be living in a country being led by someone for whom many have contempt and disdain and it is the fault of the “other,” namely, those that voted for him or her?

 

As this election season rages on and will only grow more intense, it is not too early to be thinking about the morning after and the impact of the tone, tenor, and vocabulary of the conversations we are having now.

 

Certainly we are entitled to, and to some degree have a responsibility to, make our voices heard, to express our concerns, criticism, and critiques. It is a hallmark of this great republic and a foundational principle of democracy that we debate freely and advocate unreservedly. But nowhere in our law books or in our traditions does it mandate that we call people with whom we disagree names or question their character to make our point. Indeed, at the core of our democracy is the recognition that others are entitled to see things differently and to share their point of view without fear of being slandered or of being slammed.

 

The Gemara (Berachos 58a) states, “Just as the faces of people do not exactly resemble one another, so too their opinions do not exactly resemble one another.” What is the comparison between faces and opinions? Rav Shlomo Eiger (1786-1852) explained that we would never become exasperated or disturbed that someone’s facial features are different than ours. We wouldn’t condemn or criticize someone for having different color eyes or hair than we do. We implicitly recognize that everyone is created differently and it is our differences that weave the wonderful tapestry of our interconnected lives. Similarly, we should recognize that everyone’s opinions are the result of their being created differently and raised differently. Just as someone is entitled to look different, so too are they entitled to think differently and approach things differently without harsh disapproval or condemnation.

 

Our practice of taking three steps backward at the conclusion of the Amidah comes from a Gemara in Yoma (53) which states, “Hamispaleil tzarich she’yafsiah shelosha pesios l’achorav v’achar kach yitein shalom. The one who prays must take three steps back and only then pray for peace.” R’ Menachem BenZion Zaks (in his commentary on Pirkei Avos) explains that we cannot pray for, nor achieve, peace if we are not willing to step back a little and make room for others and their opinions, their tastes and personalities.

 

After stepping back, we ask “oseh shalom bimromav,” God, please bring peace, and we turn to the right and to the left. Explains R’ Zaks, achieving peace and harmony means bowing towards those on the right of us and those on the left of us, not just straight ahead on our path.

 

Maintaining the capacity and the will to bow towards those on the right and left of us religiously, politically, and in every other way is a prerequisite to the peace we claim we desperately seek and yearn for.

 

While America has never experienced an overthrowing of its government, we the Jewish people twice experienced foreign bodies invading our land, destroying our Temples, and dispersing us into exile. When analyzing the underlying cause, our Rabbis did not provide a political or military reason, but rather suggested a spiritual source. We practiced sinas chinam, baseless hatred: intolerance, incivility, coarseness, and hyper criticism of one another. In an environment and atmosphere of hate, the house of love and Godliness simply could not continue to exist.

 

We know (Yerushalmi, Yoma 1:1) that in every generation in which the Temple is not rebuilt, had it existed it would have been destroyed. In other words, two thousand years later we continue to embrace a legacy and culture of sinah, of hate and disdain.

 

This Sunday marks the beginning of the Three Weeks, the period designated on our calendar to introspect and contemplate the Jewish condition, its causes and its roots. Rav Avraham Yitzchak Kook famously said (Orot HaKodesh vol. III, p. 324), “If we were destroyed, and the world with us, due to baseless hatred, then we shall rebuild ourselves, and the world with us, with baseless love — ahavas chinam.

 

Over the next three weeks and continuing through the election and beyond, before each conversation we have let’s ask ourselves will this topic, my opinions, and the way I am expressing them contribute to repairing the world with baseless love or destroying it with baseless hatred. Why even participate in conversations with others on topics in which we know we disagree strongly and in which the most likely outcome is not one of us convincing the other, but rather a bitterness and hostility between the two?

 

So if you can’t understand for the life of you how someone could support the candidate or the ideology or the lifestyle on your right or on your left, take a step back and make room for their opinions anyway. Bow towards them in a bid for a friendship and a family loyalty that transcends our differences. Doing so may just finally bring the elusive peace we are so desperate for.

 

Once upon a time, becoming a Bar Mitzvah meant coming of age and bearing greater spiritual responsibility and accountability. For many today, turning thirteen means become a brand with your own logo designed for the occasion and yarmulkas, clothing, and gear bearing your special insignia. Before protesting, please understand: I am not suggesting there is anything wrong with this trend as it is all in good fun and adds to the excitement and enjoyment of this major milestone. However, it should not be lost on us that this phenomenon is likely the result of a larger trend in society today.

 

In 2004, long before emerging as a presumptive nominee for President, ABC News did a story called Donald Trump: The Genius of Self-Promotion that describes how Trump built up his brand and status as an elite businessman through self-promotion, boasting, and bragging. Jeffrey Sonnenfeld of the Yale School of Business Management opined, “Of all the things he’s developed, the biggest thing he’s developed is that image.”

 

Muhammad Ali’s recent passing elicited overwhelming reverence, admiration and affection, despite his being one of the most bombastic and pompous athletes or public figures of all times. Consider a sampling of his famous quotes:

 

“I’m young; I’m handsome; I’m fast. I can’t possibly be beat.”

 

“It’s hard to be humble when you’re as great as I am.”

 

“I am the greatest, I said that even before I knew I was.”

 

“It’s not bragging if you can back it up.”

 

“I’m not the greatest, I’m the double greatest.”

 

“I’m the most recognized and loved man that ever lived cuz there weren’t no satellites when Jesus and Moses were around, so people far away in the villages didn’t know about them.”

 

“At home I am a nice guy: but I don’t want the world to know. Humble people, I’ve found, don’t get very far.”

 

Ali may have been talented, charming and entertaining, but on humility he was absolutely wrong.

 

In the seventh of his thirteen principles of faith, the Rambam writes:

 

We believe that [Moshe Rabbeinu] is the father of all the prophets before and after him, all of whom were beneath him in stature. He was chosen above all mankind, achieving a greater knowledge of the Almighty than anyone before or since. Moshe Rabbeinu reached a level that surpasses human attainment and approximates the angelic. There was no barrier that he did not penetrate, no physical limitation that hindered him, and no imperfection large or small [to impede him]. In achieving this [level], he lost his sensual and imaginative faculties; his drives and desires ceased, leaving only his pure intellect. Concerning this it is said that Moshe communicated with God without any angelic intermediary.

 

Essential to our faith is the belief that Moshe was the greatest person to ever live or that ever will live. What enabled and empowered Moshe to actualize human potential more than anyone else? How did he achieve this unparalleled lofty level that can never be and will never be replicated?

 

Rav Chaim Volozhiner (Ruach Chaim 1:1) suggests that the answer can be found in our Parsha (Bamidbar 12:3) which describes, “V’haish Moshe anav m’od mikol adam” “And the man Moshe was more humble than any other person.” Moshe’s modesty and unpretentiousness allowed him to see himself as a vessel to serve the Almighty, improve the world and be of service to others. He had absolutely no ulterior motive of elevating his brand or increasing his name recognition or his net worth. His pure intent and practice combined with his unsurpassed potential made him the ideal medium for God to communicate through.

 

Humility for Moshe did not mean denying his unique talents, abilities, and opportunities. It simply meant recognizing that they are gifts and blessings from the Almighty and that they obligate rather than entitle, they create expectations, rather than fame and notoriety. Moshe understood that whatever gifts we have are on loan. They are borrowed but never owned and can be taken from us at any moment.

 

Chuck Knoblauch was a Rookie of the Year, won several World Series rings, earned a Gold Glove and Silver Slugger awards and went to four All-Star games. But as a second baseman for the New York Yankees in 2000 he shockingly and inexplicably lost the ability to throw the ball from second base to first base, something every little leaguer is capable of doing. After trying different positions to solve the mysterious problem, he never regained his previous ability and ultimately retired early from baseball.

 

Brian Johnson is the lead singer of AC/DC, considered one of the most legendary rock bands of all time. In 2003 he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. A few months ago, while in the middle of a concert tour, he had to pull out and suddenly retire at the instruction of doctors who warned him he could suffer complete loss of hearing. Johnson said, “I’ve had a pretty good run. I’ve been in one of the best bands in the world.”

 

Even Ali’s extraordinary athletic skills were borrowed but not owned. After retiring more than once, he was forced to retire for good following a unanimous 10-round decision loss to Trevor Berbick.

 

Muhammad Ali was not “more recognized and loved than Moses” because there were no satellites. It was because while Ali and Trump built careers by being self-promoting, Moshe was the most humble person of all time. It is exactly because he was humble and knew that his gifts were borrowed but never owned, that he in fact “got much farther” than anyone that ever was or will be.

 

Though many in the public are enamored and impressed with those who excel in self-promotion, make no mistake, our personal and private relationships need humility, not hubris, modesty, not self-marketing. To be humble, you need not deny what you are good at or the blessings and gifts in your life. You simply have to be mindful that the talents and skills you employed towards any achievement or accomplishment come from Above and can be taken away as easily as they were given. Humility means living with a sense of gratitude and like Moshe, a sense of obligation and responsibility to use our gifts in the service of God and our fellow man.

 

Moshe, not Muhammad Ali was in fact “the greatest that ever lived,” and it is largely because he never spoke or acted as if he was better or superior to anyone else.

 

This article appeared in Mishpacha Magazine the week of June 1st

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

My wife explained, of course you don’t have one, but arch nemesis means an enemy. Who do you not get along with? She ran off to continue to fill out the journal. Later, my wife saw the journal laying around and opened it up to see how my daughter answered. She was absolutely amazed at what she saw. In the blank for “who is your arch nemesis,” my six-year-old had written, the yetzer harah (voice of temptation).

 

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

 

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

 

While technology was supposed to give us more flexibility and free time, as a point of fact, most people in today’s technological era feel they simply have no time. How many of us say we want to exercise, to read, to learn, to do activities with family and a myriad of other goals, but claim the impediment holding us back is that we have no time.

 

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

 

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

 

She writes, “One study from the June 2011 Monthly Labor Review found that people estimating 75-plus hour workweeks were off, on average, by about 25 hours. I once had a young man tell me he was working 180 hours a week — impossible, considering the fact that this is 12 more hours than a week contains — but he felt tired and overworked, as we all sometimes do, and chose a high number to quantify this feeling.” She encourages us to track our time so that we can be honest and accurate with ourselves and how it is used. She concludes, “Life is full, and life has space. There is no contradiction.”

 

Long before time management experts, Rav Yisrael Salanter came to the same conclusion. He was once approached by someone who asked, “Rebbe, I only have fifteen minutes a day to learn. What should I learn? Chumash? Halacha? Jewish thought?” Rav Yisroel Salanter looked him in the eye and responded, “Learn mussar (discipline and character growth) and you will come to realize that you have a lot more than fifteen minutes a day to learn.”

 

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

 

A Chassidishe Rebbe was once walking with his chassidim when it began to rain. He stopped, looked up and turned to his disciples and asked, “How do you know the sky wants to rain?” He then answered, “Because it is raining.” The students didn’t understand so they inquired what he meant. As they continued to walk he explained that if you want to know if someone wants to do something, see if they are doing it. We do what we want to be doing. If we aren’t doing it, we don’t really want to.

 

Put differently, we confuse wanting to do something with wanting to want to do something. It is in the transition from wanting to want, to actually wanting, that we begin to realize that we have time for what we want to do and we do it. Sometimes that transition just has to happen and other times we can inspire it and move it along. Either way, it is important in the meantime not to give in to our arch nemesis the yetzer harah and erroneously believe that the only thing holding us back is that we don’t have any time.

 

Sefiras HaOmer is a forty-nine day journey to time awareness. It is a system that encourages us to literally or figuratively log our time and have the discipline and strength to fill the spaces in it what we claim we truly want to be doing.

 

It is almost impossible to imagine the Seder night without the singing of dayeinu.  Young children to octogenarians can be found humming the addictive melody to dayeinu.  Interestingly, the Rambam does not have dayeinu in his Hagaddah and even Rav Saadia Gaon whose Hagaddah serves essentially as the basis for ours, only has dayeinu as an addendum at the end of the Haggadah among those songs that only those who can hold their wine sing.

 

Yet for us, dayeinu is central, a centerpiece of the hagaddah and a highlight of Seder experience.  The tune is catchy, but the words and theme are frankly bizarre.  Had you taken us from Egypt but not split the sea, dayenu.  Really, would it have been enough?  If you had taken us to Har Sinai but not given us the Torah, dayenu, it would have been enough.  Really, don’t we talk about how the Torah is the air that we breathe, indispensable to our lives and to our very existence?   Had He given us the Torah but not brought us into Israel it would have been enough.  Really?  Wasn’t Israel created before the world because it, the Jewish people and Torah and the three pillars upon which the world is built?

 

Every commentator and every Hagadda asks the same question:  What do you mean dayenu, it would have been enough?   Most of the discussions of dayeinu, center around an analysis of individual and particular stanzas.  However, I want to share with you an insight that will give you an entirely new way to understand dayeinu. Understanding what dayeinu is really all about and why it is a centerpiece of our Seder requires us to zoom out the lens and instead of investigating specific lines, to look at the poem as a whole.   What do the 15 stanzas have in common?  Why were these events or experiences chosen?

 

Rabbi Nachman Cohen in his Historical Haggada offers a fantastic insight.   If you look at the Chumash and in Tehillim, chapter 106 in particular you will notice that every stanza of dayeinu corresponds with an incredibly gracious act God did for us and our absolute ungrateful response.

 

Here are a few examples: We say “had God just taken us out of Egypt it would have been enough.” However, if you look in Deuteronomy 1:27 it wasn’t enough. “Because God hates us, He has brought us out of the land of Egypt to deliver us into the hands of the Amorites to destroy us.”

 

Another example: we say, “If you just fed us the manna it would have been enough.” But it wasn’t enough. We said, “our soul loathes this bread.” We say, “If You just brought us into Israel dayeinu, it would have been enough,” but it wasn’t. It says in Numbers, “[Israel is ] the land that eats up its inhabitants.”

 

Explains Rabbi Nachman Cohen, dayeinu is our reflecting on our history and repairing the lack of gratitude we exhibited in the past. Seder night we look back on our national history, we review our story and we identify those moments, those gifts from God that we failed to say thank you for. We rectify and repair our ingratitude and thanklessness through the years by saying dayeinu now. In truth, dayeinu, each of these things was enough to be exceedingly grateful for.

 

Freedom demands gratitude.   If you have are set free, but fail to acknowledge how you attained that freedom, you in fact remain enslaved to your ego and you selfishness.   If you can’t recognize what has been done for you and that you could not have done it yourself, you are not freed from your narrow, self absorbed way of life.  Gratitude is a byproduct of true freedom.

 

The Midrash describes – He who has no gratitude is like one who negates the existence of God.  If you are so insensitive to those who benefit and sustain you, certainly you will never recognize the blessings which God provides.

 

Ingratitude is a fatal character flaw individually and nationally.  On the night of Pesach, when we relive the experience of becoming a people and celebrate our national birth we repair the ingratitude of our past with the recognition that we are unworthy and dayeinu, all that God did for us was beyond what we deserved.

 

Instilling Gratitude in the Home

 

A couple of years ago the Wall Street Journal had an article entitled, Raising Children With an Attitude of Gratitude, Research Finds Real Benefits for Kids Who Say ‘Thank You’.  The author, Dianna Kapp writes:

 

“A field of research on gratitude in kids is emerging, and early findings indicate parents’ instincts to elevate the topic are spot-on. Concrete benefits come to kids who literally count their blessings.  Gratitude works like a muscle. Take time to recognize good fortune, and feelings of appreciation can increase.”

 

The mere act of giving thanks has tangible benefits, research suggests. A 2008 study of 221 kids published in the Journal of School Psychology analyzed sixth- and seventh-graders assigned to list five things they were grateful for every day for two weeks. It found they had a better outlook on school and greater life satisfaction three weeks later, compared with kids assigned to list five hassles.

 

“The old adage that virtues are caught, not taught, applies here,” says University of California, Davis psychology professor Robert Emmons.  Parents need to model this behavior to build their children’s gratitude muscle. “It’s not what parents want to hear, but you cannot give your kids something that you yourselves do not have,” Dr. Emmons says.

 

Everyday actions may be even more important than big efforts, researchers say. “Express gratitude to your spouse. Thank your kids,” Hofstra’s Dr. Froh says. “Parents say, ‘Why should I thank them for doing something they should do, like clean their room?’ By reinforcing this, kids will internalize the idea, and do it on their own.”

 

Seder night is an incredible opportunity to model gratitude for our children, grandchildren and all gathered.  During dayeinu, pause to be appreciative, not only to Hashem for what He has done for our people and for each of us.  Be thankful to those who worked so hard to make Pesach happen.  Someone or someones had to work hard to earn the money to pay for pesach.  Someone had to shop, cook, clean, prepare, set up, clean up, etc.  Don’t just thank your spouse or your parents, but as the article says, thank your children for what they did to pitch in.

 

Dayeinu teaches that Pesach is not just a time to learn the attitude of gratitude and how to say thank you for the present.  Pesach reminds us that to set ourselves free we need to look back at our lives and identify those who made all the difference and whom we neglected to thank.  Pesach pushes us to make a tikkun, to repair the ingratitude and reach out to say thank you.

 

Who Packed Your Parachute?

 

Charles Plum, a U.S. Naval Academy graduate, was a jet fighter pilot in Vietnam. After 75 combat missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. Plumb ejected and parachuted into enemy hands.   He was captured and spent six years in a Communist prison.  He survived that ordeal and one day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came up and said, “You’re Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam and you were shot down!”  “How in the world did you know that?” asked Plumb.   “I packed your parachute,” the man replied,  “I guess it worked!”

 

That night, Plumb couldn’t sleep while thinking about that man.  He kept wondering what this man might have looked like in a sailor uniform.  He wondered how many times he might have passed him on the ship and never acknowledged him.  How many times he never said hello, good morning or how are you.   You see, Plumb was a fighter pilot, respected and revered, while this man was just a ordinary, lowly sailor.    Now it grated on his conscious.  Plumb thought of the many lonely hours the sailor had spent on a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship carefully weaving the fabric together, making sure the parachute was just right and going to great lengths to make it as precise as can be, knowing that somebody’s life depended on it.  Only now, does Plumb have a full appreciation for what this anonymous man did and he now goes around the world as a motivational speaker asking people to recognize, who’s packing your parachute.

 

I have a friend who set up a couple 20 years ago.  He told me something incredible.  Every single year on their anniversary, this couple not only get one another gifts but they get my friend, their shadchan, matchmaker, a gift as well.  For their big anniversary they got him a big gift recognizing that the happiness they have together would never have happened without his bothering to set them up.

 

I know someone who received scholarships from the schools he attended growing up from elementary school through graduate school.  When he became financially successful, the first thing he did was write a beautiful thank you note and make donations to each of the schools that helped give him a chance.

 

Have we thanked those who contributed to the lives we are blessed to live?  Imagine if our kindergarten teacher got a note from us thanking her for nurturing us with love.  Imagine if our high school principal, our childhood pediatrician, our housekeeper growing up who cleaned our room, out of the blue got a gesture of gratitude showing that we cared enough to track them down and say thank you after all of these years.   Did we ever properly thank the teacher who was patient with us, the orthodontist who straightened out our teeth, the bus driver who drove us?  Did we express enough appreciation to the person who set us up with our spouse, gave us our first job, safely delivered our children?

 

We all have family, friends, mentors and neighbors, whose efforts are responsible for who we are today.  Freedom means knowing that we didn’t get here on our own.  This Pesach, let’s sing our own personal dayeinu and repair our ingratitude by saying thank you to those who packed our parachutes.

 

When Achilles, the Greek mythological figure, was a baby, it was foreseen that he would die young. In an effort to protect him, his mother Thetis took him to the River Styx, which supposedly contained powers of invincibility. She immersed him into the river, but held him by his heel; as a result, the area under her thumb and forefinger never made contact with the water.

 

Achilles emerged to be a warrior who was triumphant in numerous great battles. Hector, his archrival, learned about the weak point of Achilles, namely the spot above his heel at the back of his ankle. Hector aimed his arrow directly at this vulnerable spot and when it hit its mark, the great Achilles was brought down and he perished.

 

I discovered this interesting legend when I ruptured my Achilles tendon earlier this week playing basketball with a young man from the community, and became curious how the longest and one of the most important tendons in our body got its name. For the record, I was winning the game, but it turns out that my body is not as young as my head thinks it is. I vividly remember my mother not letting me play any sports for at least a month before my Bar Mitzvah and, though I am now a grown man, I only wish she had issued the same edict before this big weekend. Now that you know what happened, when you see me in a boot over Shabbos we can skip the questions and focus only on celebrating together.

 

The Achilles has come to mean more than just a part of the body. The use of the expression “Achilles heel” as a reference to the weak spot that can bring down an otherwise strong person, was first introduced in the year 1810. In an essay by Samuel Taylor Coleridge in The Friend; a literary, moral and political weekly paper, he wrote: “Ireland, that vulnerable heel of the British Achilles!”

 

We all have strengths and weaknesses. While it is more productive to focus on and grow our strengths, we must remain vigilantly aware of our weaknesses. We would all do well to ask ourselves, what is my Achilles heel?

 

The holiest vessel in the Mishkan was the Aron, the Ark of the Covenant that contained, among other items, the precious luchos, the stone tablets. The Ark measured 2.5 x 1.5 x 1.5 cubits. Nothing in the Mishkan is coincidental, including the dimensions of its vessels. The Ba’al Haturim, Rabbi Yaakov ben Asher, notes that it is by design that all of the ark’s dimensions – its width, length and height – are fractions and not whole numbers. He explained that those who represent the Ark and all that it contains must never see themselves as whole, as being completed or having arrived. We are a fraction, a work in progress, imperfect and incomplete.

 

In anticipation of the celebration this Shabbos marking the completion of ten years as Rabbi and Rebbetzin of Boca Raton Synagogue, I have been thinking about the rabbinate and what might be the greatest Achilles heel of our profession from which we need to be guarded and careful.

 

It is very easy for rabbis to begin to take themselves too seriously and to believe somehow that they are more important, their opinions matter more, and they deserve more respect or honor than anyone else. There is an expression I hear regularly and I shudder each and every time it is said to me.  “Rabbi, thank you for taking the time to call me back,” or “thank you for taking the time to meet with me.  I know how valuable your time is.”  I always respond the same way:  “My time is no more valuable than yours and calling you back or meeting with you is exactly how I want to be spending it right now.”

 

Many rabbis hear about how valuable their time is and they start to believe it.  They therefore leave people waiting, stand them up, or fail to call them or email them back in a timely fashion.  People come to rabbis with their problems, oftentimes with the expectation that the rabbi can solve them.  This phenomenon can leave the rabbi feeling like he has the answers and access to all of the solutions and he is all-powerful.

 

With all the heartache, complaints, and gossip about the rabbi and his family that sometimes comes with the job, the truth is that the rabbi gets a lot of kavod, honor.  People stand for him when he enters and wait for him until he is ready to continue certain parts of davening.  He has access to dignitaries and elected officials, he stands in front of the room each week sharing his sermon to an audience eager for his thoughts, and newspapers may call him for his opinion.

 

The bottom line is that it is extremely easy for all of this to go to a rabbi’s head and for him to start believing the hype.  One of the most disappointing parts of the rabbinate is meeting the other members of the rabbinate, many of whom are arrogant, egotistical, self-absorbed, and self-important.

 

Our job as rabbis is to understand and accept the awesome responsibility of answering halachik questions, providing guidance and advice regarding issues ranging from life and death to the mundane, and showing up when people need us most, including during life cycle events, times of illness, struggle, or loneliness.  Our mission as leaders is to articulate a vision for our community and to implement the necessary steps to achieving it.

 

As I reflect on the last ten years as rabbi and last 16 years in avodas ha’kodesh, I feel so incredibly blessed to be surrounded by people who insulate and protect my professional Achilles heel and remind me to take what I do seriously while not taking myself too seriously. I feel so fortunate to be able to count on my Rebbetzin, my family, my rebbeim, and my wonderful community to strike the balance between inspiring leadership in me, and reminding me I am a fraction, not a whole number. They remind me that the measure of a rabbi is not how many comments, likes, or followers he receives online, but rather it is by the personal relationships he is building offline and the lives he is influencing in a meaningful, substantive way.

 

A breakdown and failure of something small and neglected can throw us off balance and bring us down. When I ruptured my Achilles, I fell to the ground in extraordinary pain. No matter what we have accomplished in our professional or personal lives, if we don’t ask ourselves, what is my Achilles heel, we remain vulnerable to a collapse and painful fall. If, on the other hand, we surround ourselves with support and those who will always help maintain our balance, we can go on to bigger and greater things.