Do Young Children Belong in Shul? If They Come, What Will They See?

In a recent article on Huffington Post, a congregational rabbi wrote:

If you feel the urge to react to the sound a child makes in a sanctuary, please know that you are welcome to walk out until that feeling subsides. Children are cherished parts of our spiritual lives, not distractions from it. Just this morning in the sanctuary of my synagogue, I wept at the cries of a new baby, held in his grandfather’s arms. Those cries (and the ruckus I pray he causes in that same space in years to come) spell out a glorious, vital future for my community and for people of faith. After all, we are only older versions of the children we see. We cry. Why shouldn’t they? They play. Shouldn’t we as well? Those children will, one day, please God, take our places as leaders of faith communities. That is, they will be the next generation of faith leaders unless we inform them that their whole selves aren’t welcome in our sacred spaces.

While thought-provoking and provocative, when I read his words I immediately remembered the counterargument offered by Rav Shlomo Wolbe zt”l in his book on parenting, Planting and Building (page 62):

We must be careful not to bring our children to synagogue when they are too young. A very young child also has no idea what is going on in synagogue. He is unfamiliar with the prayers, can’t read a Siddur, certainly doesn’t pray, and makes it difficult for others around him to pray. We often see such children roaming around the aisles during prayers…

However, the main problem is not the disturbance in synagogue. Rather, it is the insensitivity we cultivate when we bring these immature children there. A child must appreciate, from the moment his feet cross the threshold, that he or she is in a special place. There should be a feeling of awe there…The longer we delay a child’s first visit to synagogue, the more he or she will understand what transpires there and the more positive will be their long-term feelings for such a place. When a child is brought to synagogue too early, the synagogue becomes his playground. Then it is very difficult to change his attitude and behavior later on, and to imbue him with the proper feeling of awe that should have been associated with synagogue since his childhood… Ideally, a visit to synagogue should be a reward. If the child demonstrates that he can behave nicely, then we grant him a visit to the synagogue. Such an approach makes a visit to synagogue a precious experience.

Last week, I posted these two positions on Facebook and asked readers – What do you think? I was surprised by how many responses the question drew and the level of intensity and vehemence in those answers.

The question of which perspective is correct remains a good one with compelling arguments on both sides. However, a pervasive theme among those who answered was, why are we talking about the issue of children and decorum in shul when the much bigger issue is with adults. In other words, if we are worried about children developing a sense of awe and reverence for our most sacred spaces, it begins with our young people having role models and examples from whom to learn.

Not talking during davening is really hard. It doesn’t matter if you are the rabbi or a congregant, if you understand every word of the siddur or can’t read Hebrew at all, if you connect to God through prayer or struggle to feel you are in His presence at all, no matter what it is difficult. Sitting through a service that takes anywhere from an hour and a half to three hours, depending on the minyan and the particular weekend, surrounded by friends one rarely sees, not exchanging any greeting or conversing is difficult, if not impossible.

Davening with full concentration and no urge to talk has never been easy, but our generation is particularly challenged in this area because of the ubiquitous presence of technology in our lives and the result of our decreasing attention span.

Some shuls have held “no talking campaigns” including listing the names of those who have signed a commitment not to talk at all during davening. Others have appointed decorum police who have been deputized to maintain the quiet by patrolling and shushing those that open their mouths other than in prayer. It is my understanding that those solutions are short-lived and not sustainable. The insatiable urge to be social combined with the growing inability to focus for that long cannot be overcome in the long run by campaigns and shushing.

After giving this issue great thought and discussing it with colleagues, here is my personal pledge and my suggestion for you. While it may be difficult to not talk at all from the very beginning of davening until the very end, there are core components in which both because of halacha and common courtesy, nobody should be saying a word.

BRS hosts a club nobody wants to belong to. The Kaddish Club meets once a month. It is comprised of those in their period of mourning for the loss of a loved one. We gather to study a relevant Torah text and provide a supportive environment with those going through similar circumstances. Members of the Kaddish Club throughout the years have described how important and significant it is for them to recite Kaddish. In those moments, they think about and picture their loved one and feel they are paying great tribute and honor. When those around them are talking or schmoozing it is a great affront to their tribute and to the memory of their loved one. We would never start talking to the person next to us while attending a memorial service. For the members of this unenviable club, every Kaddish is a mini memorial service and those that disrupt are rude, offensive, and hurtful.

But it isn’t only for mourners’ Kaddish that we must make a commitment never to talk. Kaddish is a holy prayer. It can only be said in a minyan and demands that we stand out of respect while it is recited. Moreover, our rabbis taught (Shabbos 119b), R’ Yehoshua ben Levi said, Whoever responds Amen, Yehei shemi rabbah with all of his strength and concentration has any decrees against him torn up. Each Kaddish is an opportunity to affirm our commitment to live lives of Kiddush Hashem and to merit great blessings. Is anyone so secure in his or her blessings and not needing any more that they can afford to talk during Kaddish and forfeit the merit of answering it properly?

Whichever side of the bringing children to shul debate you come out on, we can all agree that as adults we must do a better job of being role models. We must aspire not to talk at all or walk out on davening. In the meantime we should work on not talking from Baruch She’amar through the repetition of the amidah or when the Torah is being read.

But minimally for now, let’s all commit to never ever talk during Kaddish. It is not only an act of sensitivity to the members of the Kaddish Club and their loved ones, but it is among the greatest things we can do for ourselves.

“Mr. President, my daughter has something she would like to say to you”

Last week, my daughter Rachelli and I had the privilege of going with Rabbi and Rebbetzin Pilichowski to the White House Chanukah party. Being together with Jewish leaders from around the country including two Supreme Court Justices, Members of Congress, prominent Rabbis, and accomplished Jewish academics was an amazing and memorable experience.

The entire White House kitchen was koshered and elegant signs hung that said, “Meat is Glatt Kosher, Baked Goods are Pas Yisroel, all Wine is Mevushal. All foods have been prepared Lemihadrin with a Mashgiach Temidi.” Every effort was extended to make Jews of all backgrounds and levels of observance feel welcome and included.

The 90 year old Menorah that was used came from Temple Israel in Long Beach, N.Y., a Synagogue that had been severely damaged by Hurricane Sandy. It was lit by Rabbi Larry Bazer, the Joint Forces Chaplain for the Massachusetts National Guard. Rabbi Bazer was invited to the party last year, but was unable to attend, as he was four months into his deployment in Afghanistan where he spent every night of Chanukah with a different group of soldiers.

As we stood there watching the Menorah illuminate the main hall of the East Wing of the White House, I couldn’t help but marvel at how remarkable a time we are living in and the blessings of living in this incredible country. Chanukah is the story of triumph over those that sought our spiritual annihilation through systematic assimilation and worked to cause us to lose our identity. Thousands of years later, here we were standing in the most powerful building in the world with the most powerful man in the world celebrating proudly our Jewish identity and the perseverance of the Jewish people.

After the President made his remarks he greeted a few people and began heading back to the residence. When he passed by where we were standing I called out “Mr. President.” He turned, shook my hand and wished me a Happy Chanukah. I introduced him to Rachelli and said, “Mr. President, my daughter has something she would like to say to you.” To be honest, I was a little nervous that Rachelli would freeze, be intimidated or star struck and forget to deliver the message that she had planned on sharing if given the opportunity. But my Rachelli didn’t miss a beat and delivered her important message flawlessly.

“Mr. President,” she said, “I have many first cousins that live in Israel. I want to thank you for what you have done to help them and keep them safe.” “Your welcome,” said President Obama, “it is my honor.” Rachelli boldly continued, “Mr. President, please do everything you can in the future to stand with Israel and to make sure my cousins are safe and secure.” “I will do my best,” said the President, and with that he moved on. At that point the First Lady offered an amazing compliment to my daughter, but that is for another time.

In anticipation of seeing the President we had given thought to what we would say, how we would say it, what message we wanted to communicate, what we wanted to accomplish, and what was the best use of our limited time with the leader of the free world. In this week’s parsha, Vayigash, Yosef similarly prepares his brothers for their audience with Pharaoh, helping them formulate their message and craft their request to be settled in the land of Goshen. It is only natural and appropriate to be particularly thoughtful and planned before speaking with someone of extraordinary influence and power.

The next day, Rachelli and I realized something upsetting. We all have the privilege of an audience with someone even more powerful than the President on a daily basis and yet, we couldn’t recall the last time we measured our words, gave thought in anticipation of that meeting or planned what we were going to say. True, davening doesn’t offer the same pomp and circumstance or grandeur of the White House. But, if you think about it, we have access to the Almighty, the King of Kings, the Master of the Universe who brings His providence to governing the world and our lives. We consistently are provided an opportunity to ask God for whatever we want, to issue a request, to communicate a message of great import and yet we just walk in and wing it at best or thoughtlessly cruise through it at worst.

There are two more elements to our experience that evening that I believe can inspire us to greater reverence in our relationship with the Almighty and the formal time we spend together with Him in His house, the Shul. At the conclusion of the evening, we were given permission to daven Ma’ariv in the Red Room. Not only were we welcomed to hold our Minyan, a number of White House Ushers stood guard outside the room to protect the decorum and to insure that we wouldn’t be distracted by unnecessary interruptions or noise. If the White House Ushers are sensitive enough to intuit their mandate to protect decorum during prayer, shouldn’t we be more sensitive to usher in quiet and reverence during our davening services?

Lastly, there was a person walking around the event dressed somewhat casually. I know that seeing him caught me off guard and disturbed at least a few other people as well. How could someone walk around the White House in the presence of the President in such an informal, casual fashion we wondered? Doesn’t the dignity of this special space demand the honor of more formal attire? Later, it occurred to me that perhaps we should be equally bothered by the casual attitude which is brought by many to their dress and appearance in God’s House and in His presence.

The Talmud records and the Shulchan Aruch codifies a special blessing upon meeting a King. Halachic authorities debate if a modern day President meets the criterion to say the blessing today with most suggesting it be said without reciting Hashem’s name. The text of that blessing is most instructive. When in the presence of great power we acknowledge that God shares His honor with mere mortal man – “Shenasan michvodo l’basar v’dam.”

Being karov l’malchus, in proximity of the President, is supposed to illicit an awe, reverence and veneration that we can translate back onto our relationship with Hashem. Rachelli and I, as well as the Pilichowskis, will not soon forget the feeling of being in the White House with the President and First Lady. I hope and pray that similarly we don’t soon forget the lessons we learned that night – to measure our words carefully before speaking to God, to be Ushers and guardians of decorum in His house and to have our dress be formal and bestow honor to Him.

Kindness and Goodness in the Darkest Moments

A pediatrician from the area shared a remarkable story with me this week. In 2005, when Hurricane Wilma struck, many people and businesses lost power for an extended period of time, including this doctor. She was unable to practice or care for her patients. Out of nowhere, she received a call from our very own Dr. Aaron Kaweblum, who offered her space to operate in his pediatric office until she was able to return to her own building.

Now, almost eight years later, she shared, her father has paid it forward. Her father is a dermatologist in Long Island. He was blessed to still have power this week, despite the horrific storm the area sustained. Remembering the kindness bestowed upon his daughter, he made an unsolicited call to a colleague who had lost power to see if he needed a place to host his practice until the power was turned back on.

Sometimes, the most extraordinary acts of kindness and goodness are born in the darkest moments. During those times, we get a glimpse into man’s capacity to act selflessly and to truly care about others. Two weeks ago, a young child in our community, 13 month old Coby, became gravely ill. He was airlifted to Miami Children’s Hospital moments before Shabbos. There was little we could do but pray, and pray we did. I will never forget the intensity, sincerity, and unity contained in the prayers that Friday evening on Coby’s behalf.

For the next week, our community came together in an incredible way. People who had never met Coby or his parents took upon themselves to do better and to be better in his merit. Tehillim gatherings were held in the Shul, in people’s homes, and in schools across the community. A woman from the community emailed me that she was stuck in NY due to the storm, but was following Coby’s story closely. At one point during the storm, the power went out. Not sure what to do, she enlisted eight of her friends who sat the entire evening and said the complete book of Tehillim for Coby.

Coby has thank God turned the corner and is expected to miraculously make a full recovery. Neither his parents nor we will ever understand why their little boy had to go through this traumatic episode. But what we do know is that in his merit, some people opened a book of Tehillim for the first time. Others, who had given up on prayer, prayed more passionately and authentically than they ever had before. Still others did the mitzvah of taking challah for the first time, or recommitted to working on lashon ha’rah, or to learning more Torah.

Sadly, for too many, it takes tragedy, crisis, or human suffering to be willing to stop thinking about ourselves and to think of others. Hurricane Sandy, like so many natural disasters before her, elicits many theological questions that haunt us. Did God bring about the storm, or was it the result of nature? Why would God allow thousands, if not millions of people to suffer and to experience such devastating damage and loss?

As badly as we may want answers, and as much as we may seek to understand, part of believing in God’s existence is the concession that there are things about His world and the way He runs it that we simply cannot comprehend. What we can grasp, however, if we pause to notice it, is the extraordinary way that His children come together in the face of disaster.

Stories abound from around the NY area of people and families who selflessly thought of others and sought to relieve their suffering in small but meaningful ways. One person who had power used an extension cord and two power strips to invite anyone who needed to plug in to charge their phones. Others brought supplies, shared food, and even offered hospitality and the ability to do laundry. A Jewish community outside of NY sent busses to Long Island and New Jersey last Erev Shabbos to pick up strangers and bring them back for a Shabbos with lights, heat, warm food, and warm friendship.

Indeed, one leader of the Jewish community in the Five Towns described the situation as follows: “So the FEMA people are now going door-to-door asking people what issues they have. The guy said to me – how many people are staying here. I said we had 11 on Friday night. He said the FEMA people are just amazed that everyone in Lawrence who got their power back has families staying with them, some they don’t even know. He said the entire team is mesmerized at how the Jewish community is taking care of their downtrodden.”

Rabbi Adlerstein shared a humorous anecdote from this horrific episode. “Some community centers, shuls, and families in areas that had power and heat invited people from Far Rock away, Long Beach, and those areas to stay there for Shabbat, and they arranged transportation to pick them up. Someone who stayed behind asked a policeman if the people had been picked up yet. He told her “Yeah, the Hizbollah people came with buses and took everyone away.” She said, “umm…do you mean…the Hatzalah people?” He said, “I guess so, I’m not from this neighborhood ma’am.”

Twice in Bereishis, Avraham Avinu is confronted with the test of Lech Lecha. The first time it is to leave his homeland and his family – “Lech lecha mei’artzecha.” The second time it is to bring his beloved son to sacrifice him – “Lech lecha el Har Ha’Moriah.” The Midrash contemplates which Lech Lecha was a greater test and naturally concludes it was the commandment to Avraham to slaughter his own son. How could the Midrash have even contemplated this question? Can one compare the test of leaving one’s homeland with the promise of achieving fame and fortune with the test of killing one’s own offspring? Of course not. But perhaps the Midrash was wondering a different question: Which is greater – rising to the one-time occasion to perform an extraordinary act, or persevering daily to consistently live a life of values? This indeed, is a question worth contemplating.

From Coby’s illness and Hurricane Sandy we have learned much about ourselves and about others. We have seen the greatness, kindness, and generosity inherent within all of us. For now on, let’s work on ourselves to think of others daily and not wait for a crisis or emergency to put them first.

Prayer, Not Politics

This past Sunday, BRS hosted Ambassador John Bolton, former U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations and consultant to the Romney campaign. As a non-profit organization, BRS does not endorse any candidate or political party nor do we contribute to any campaign. As I have written previously – what we strongly endorse is being informed and educated on the issues of the day, particularly those that matter to us as a passionate, pro-Israel community. We have always invited and hosted candidates or theirsurrogates from both parties and we will continue to do so. Indeed, an invitation has been extended to the Obama campaign and we will be honored to host the President or his surrogate should he accept.

While I do believe politics has a place in a Synagogue, it is a narrow and carefully defined place. Programs should be held in a place and at a time that people can choose whether or not to attend. Steps must be taken to ensure that both the speaker and the audience will speak respectfully, civilly, and with the dignity appropriate to their forum, particularly in a Sanctuary.

Dialogue and debate, whether in an official forum or at the Shabbos table, must be about issues and policies, never ad hominem attacks, name calling, or derisive comments. As we are all acutely aware, there is currently no shortage of critical issues facing us as Americans and confronting our beloved Israel. The safety and security of our brothers and sisters in Israel, the status of Jerusalem as Israel’s undivided and eternal capital, the question of drawing a red line for Iran, the horrible murder of the US Ambassador to Libya, and more, should be on all of our minds and part of our conversations.

As a private citizen, I have very strong feelings on all of the above and I am happy to share them with you personally. In my opinion, this is a defining moment for our generation and an urgent time to advocate, lobby, and persuade our fellow voters and elected officials.

If our goal is to influence policy or sway a voter in either direction, I assure you we will have no impact whatsoever if we are bombastic, disrespectful, and dismissive. As our mothers taught us when we were children, onlythose who are not intelligent or articulate enough to express an idea or position resort to calling people names. It may make the name caller feel better, but there will be no meaningful impact on the issue he or she claims to care about.

There is no better time than Rosh Hashana to revisit how we communicate with others. Contrary to what many believe, Rosh Hashana does not mark the date of the creation of the world. Rather, Rosh Hashana, the first of Tishrei, celebrates the anniversary of the creation of man. What makes us different from that which was created before us? Onkelus and others explain it is the power of speech and the depth of our thoughts that differentiate us from the animal world. When we articulate thoughts with dignity, we affirm our very humanity. When we express ourselves inappropriately, harshly, aggressively, and disrespectfully, we forfeit our humanity and resemble the animal creatures that preceded us.

Affirming our humanity includes recognizing that no two of us look or think exactly alike. The gemara comments that just as our appearances are not identical, so too our personalities, perspectives, and priorities differ. To impose your opinion on others, and have no regard for them if they disagree, is to deny their basic humanity. People are entitled to their opinions.

I recently heard from someone who is identified with a particular political orientation that he was confronted in Shul during davening and told he is aself-hating Jew. Such cruel accusations are intolerable and unacceptable anywhere, but especially in Shul. The Synagogue must remain a safe space; it must be neutral territory for people of all political opinions and ideas to connect to Torah, to the Jewish people, and most of all to Hashem. As I mentioned, everyone can choose to attend an event at his or her discretion. But when we come together to daven, study or learn, politics has no place. Nobody should have to fear that his conversation with the Almighty will be interrupted by someone seeking to condemn or belittle him.

I would even go one step further. The gemara in Rosh Hashana (17b) describes the Chazzan as being nis’ateif, standing with the Tallis over his head. The Maharal of Prague makes an incredible comment:

ומה שאמר שנתעטף כש”ץ, מפני כי העטוף של ש”ץ הוא שלא יהי’ לו נטיה ימין ושמאל לשום צד כלל וזהו העטוף, ואז הקריאה בכוונה לגמרי מתוך עומק הלב ואמתתו, ולא כך כאשר אינו מעוטף שאז אפשר כי הוא פונה לדברים אחרים ואין הקריאה מאמתתו ודבר זה מבואר. אמנם אין הדבר תולה בעטוף הטלית, רק כאשר הקריאה מאמתתו בכונה, דבר זה נקרא עטוף בעבור שהוא מסולק משאר דבר ואין לו נטיה ימין ושמאל, וזהו מהות העטוף לא זולת זה. ולפיכך נאמר בכתוב לשון זה כאשר הוא קורא אל ה’ מאמתות מחשבתו שכך כתיב (תהלים ק”ב) תפלה לעני כי יעטוף ולפני ה’ ישפוך שיחו

“The wrapping or covering of the Chazzan is so that he is not drawn to the right or the left or to any side. Only then can he lead the davening from the depth of his heart.” When the Chazzan wears a tallis over his head, he cannot see anything around him, and he focuses exclusively on what is before and above him, namely Hashem.

While the Maharal is speaking of physical stimuli that may distract us, I would like to homiletically apply his words to the “right” and “left” that characterize our conversations. When we are not davening, we can think about and argue about political issues and the merits of those who seek to lead our government. However, when we are in Shul, our hope, faith and trust should not be in any politician or any party. We must be focused exclusively and solely on Hashem with the recognition that it is His policies and His judgment that will determine our fate and that of the United States, Israel and the world.

As we prepare to enter the holiest period of the year, coinciding with this time of great uncertainty, let’s remember the old adage – “Work as if everything depends on you, but pray as if everything depends on God.”

When You Can’t Find the Right Words

We all struggle to find the appropriate thing to say. Whether its bedside of a terminally ill person, seeing a friend whom you just discovered is getting divorced, comforting a mourner, or trying to show support to someone after a miscarriage or stillbirth, it is nearly impossible in some situations to find the right words. Indeed, instead, many fumble, stumble and actually say something that causes more discomfort than comfort and more stress than solace. So what should be done, how should we react?

Rav Asher Weiss asks that it seems we have two verses that teach the same thing. In our parsha, we are taught, acharei Hashem Elokeichem teileichu, follow Hashem by imitating Him. The gemara also derives from another source, az yashir – zeh Keili v’anveihu, just as He is kind and compassionate so must you be. These two teachings sound exactly the same, but we know that can’t be. We don’t derive the same lesson from two different versus so what is the difference between the messages?

I once read an article in the Journal of the American Medical Association written by a second year medical student. He explained that he learned a lot of information, science and medicine in his first year, but there was one lesson that was more important. He writes of an experience going on rounds with his professor:

“I started by explaining that we were first-year medical students and that I hoped he wouldn’t mind if I asked him some questions about his illness. Mr. B replied that he was happy to participate. I started at the beginning of his illness and he told me that he had been readmitted to the hospital for the treatment of a recurrence of his cancer. As he told his story, he pulled up his loose hospital gown and exposed his abdomen, showing us a scar from a prior surgery, which had resulted in the removal of an abdominal tumor.

As I proceeded with the interview, I concluded that aside from the nurses, we were probably Mr B’s first visitors that day. I wondered about his family, which he had not mentioned so far. A bit later, I asked him if any of his family members had visited him since his readmission. In a stoic fashion, he answered that he had admitted himself to the hospital a week before to undergo his current chemotherapy regimen and he had pressed his wife to stay behind. He reported he did not feel it was worth his wife’s time to stay with him. He reasoned that he would be home in a week’s time and strongly encouraged his wife to avoid missing time at her job and to take care of their house.

On the one hand, Mr B’s composure, strength, and determination impressed me. At the same time, it seemed paradoxical. How was it possible for him to cope with a cancer recurrence all by himself? My curiosity got the better of me. I decided to deviate from my memorized list of questions and to explore gently his professed independence. After taking a moment to find the appropriate words, I said, “Mr B, your courage has impressed me and I admire your determination and strength. Can you share with us what it is that is carrying you through this challenging period in your life?” The question had barely left my mouth when his expression changed. The hard lines of his face and the rigidity of his trunk seemed to soften. It seemed like my question had struck a deep chord within him. He briefly glanced up at the ceiling and after a few moments, he looked back and confessed, “The hope of going back into remission is what’s carrying me through all of this.” He then began to cry.

Earlier in the year I had observed Dr C holding the hand of another tearful patient. After that patient encounter our group discussed with her the pros and cons of a physician taking hold of a patient’s hand. Some of us were more comfortable with doing so than others. Some students expressed concerns about the appropriateness of holding a patient’s hand and whether doing so might be deemed an intrusion into the patient’s personal space. After facilitating a discussion about the matter, Dr C concluded that a physician has to use appropriate judgment and be personally comfortable with holding a patient’s hand before extending his or her own.

There I was sitting next to my crying patient. I was at a loss for words to respond to my patient’s tearfulness. Instead, I took his hand and held it firmly. He gently squeezed my hand in reply. The room was briefly silent. Somehow, my gesture, I believe, seemed to confer a wordless message of support and encouragement. Eventually, after a few moments, Dr. C stepped forward. She thanked Mr B for his time. Our group wished him well, and we moved into the hall. I was the last to leave. As I did so, I looked back at Mr B, briefly bowed my head, and waved my hand as I stepped outside.”

Rav Asher Weiss explains that there is a fundamental difference between the two lessons that seem identical. Following Hashem by imitating Him represents the first level. It means we should emulate His actions. Visit the sick, bury the dead, feed the poor, comfort the mourner, etc. This level could be achieved by actions alone.

The second lesson, however, in which we don’t just follow Hashem, but glorify Him, requires us to give more than just our actions. We must give of ourselves. We must feel empathy, compassion and concern for those who are suffering. Following Hashem means taking care of His children. Glorifying Hashem means even more. It is feeling the pain of His children, identifying with their hurt, putting ourselves in their circumstance and seeking to sympathize with their plight.

As we begin the month of Elul, it is a time to not only work on our relationship with Hashem, but to improve the love, care and concern we show His children. Unfortunately, there are too many opportunities to give of ourselves and to display empathy all around us. Showing someone you feel his or her pain can bring tremendous comfort. Reach out to someone struggling financially, or to someone you suspect is feeling isolated or alone. Visit someone who is sick or recovering from illness.

When it is difficult to find the right words, don’t feel obligated to say any. Like the second year medical student, we can convey more with a silent gesture of empathy, affection or support, than with uncomfortable platitudes. Sometimes, just letting a person know that you empathize with their pain and wish you could take it away is the greatest comfort you can offer.

The Secret to True Happiness Is the Present

Last week, while in NY on the BRS Men’s Club trip, I was very taken by something in the subway. On this particular subway car, there were three ads in a row that all revolved around the same thing – happiness. While marketing different things, all three ads tried to leverage people’s general unhappiness and dissatisfaction in life. Each one used the same tactic, ‘Are you searching for happiness? Buy our product.”

Most of the planet is consumed with the pursuit of happiness, but unfortunately many spend their lives in pursuit without actually ever catching that elusive feeling. We have just begun the month of increased happiness, mi’shenichnas Adar, marbim b’simcha, when Adar enters, we seek to promote the feeling of happiness.

There are many aspects to achieving happiness and it would be a gross oversimplification to reduce it to one thing. That said, I want to share one insight.

Harvard Professors, Matthew A. Killingsworth and Daniel T. Gilbert published a study in the journal, Science, in which they found that people spend 46.9 percent of their waking hours thinking about something other than what they’re doing.

Happiness is a direct correlation to our peace of mind. Living a distracted, fragmented life filled with mind-wandering and lack of focus is the source of people’s unhappiness, they argue. The more present we are in that which we are doing, the more focused our lives, the less tension we feel and the result is greater happiness.

There are many important and critical applications one can extrapolate from their study, but in this limited space I want to share just one. I have received significant feedback lately about people’s dissatisfaction and disillusionment with the 9:00 am Shabbos minyan. And so, I tweeted and facebook-ed the following question “How would u shorten shabbos morning davening within halachik boundaries in an effort to make it more enjoyable and meaningful?” Surprisingly, I received more responses and comments from this post than I have for any other I have written.

A meeting of the Gabbaim and Rabbis was held in which many great conclusions were reached and later approved by the Board of Directors as to how we can improve the quantity and quality of the Minyan. I look forward to sharing them with you and implementing them soon.

However, it occurs to me that the greatest factor determining the quality and meaning of our davening experience cannot be provided by the Chazan, Gabbai, Rabbi or anyone else. Yes, those individuals contribute to the davening experience, but ultimately whether or not we find meaning in prayer is a result of our ability to focus, shut out distraction and concentrate.

Happiness and satisfaction in davening is the same as in life. It requires us to be present, focus and engaged. We all have to work much harder to decrease and eliminate the conversations during davening and supervise our children so that they are not ‘trick or treating’ throughout Shabbos morning.

I received an impassioned email from a beloved Congregant this week asking me to help improve the decorum in Shul. He can’t understand how those around him take prayer so flippantly and casually. He ends his email by saying the following (shared with his permission):

“I wanted to ask those around me: Do all of you have perfect health? Do all of the members of your family have great health? Do you and your families all have jobs and parnasa? Do you all have food on your table? Is your house safe and not in foreclosure? Is our Israel perfectly safe in this mad world? Is our own country safe by what is going on around us? Are the Jewish people safe where ever they are?”

“I cannot speak for others,” he writes, “but our family has been through some of the worst situations we could have ever imagined over the past few years. If it was not for prayer I personally would be in the other world as the stress level was at an all time high.”

Let’s fill the month of Adar with simcha, by being present in all that we do, and let’s work especially hard in focusing in our davening, rather than those sitting around us.

Don’t Obey Your Thirst, Resist It

We are living in a time and culture that promote happiness, satisfaction and indulgence. Indeed, we are regularly inundated with messages and marketing such as “obey your thirst,” and “just do it.” In that context it is particularly difficult and onerous to observe a fast and to resist the temptation for food and water for a full 25 consecutive hours. And yet, the Torah associates Yom Kippur, the Holiest day of the year, a time in which we can achieve extraordinary heights in our spiritual ambitions, with self-restraint and self-control. True greatness is not the ability to obey your thirst, it is the capacity to resist your thirst and pursue a greater goal.

Judaism rejects embracing asceticism as a path to holiness. Yet, we collectively engage in abstinence from all types of physical pleasure for a full day to prove to ourselves and to God that we can. There is one temptation, one urge and desire that is not included in the abstinence of Yom Kippur, but which I would humbly submit we accept upon ourselves nevertheless. For some, this form of self-denial may be even more difficult than fasting from food and drink. I am referring to speech and the powerful and potent force it represents in this world.

There is nothing intrinsically wrong with food. Indeed, we need it to nourish ourselves and to sustain our existence. We are permitted and encouraged to indulge in tasty foods the other days of the year. However, on yom kippur, we achieve angelic status by elevating ourselves above the everyday mundane needs, wants and desires.

Similarly, not only is speech not inherently bad, it is good and serves as the bridge to allow us to communicate with others and Hashem. We should speak freely (but appropriately) throughout the year, but I would like to suggest that for Yom Kippur we accept upon ourselves to try to go a full day without speaking. In fact, some of our most pious men and women throughout Jewish history observed a ta’anis dibbur, a fast from speech, on yom kippur.

Not speaking to others for 25 hours sounds like an impossible goal and unachievable objective. Yet, doing so, I believe, would accomplish a number of goals. Firstly, we would eliminate the temptation to gossip, slander, or speak inappropriately on the holiest day of the year which most certainly would be a great merit. Secondly, by going into the day knowing that we will absolutely not talk for this period of time, we would be able to focus on our davening without feeling pressured to entertain conversation with the person sitting next to us. Lastly and most importantly, not talking to others would force us to spend time talking to ourselves, something we rarely do, but which is a necessary component of self-growth and development.

For many, accepting a ta’anis dibbur, a fast of speech for a full day is impossible. I understand that those with little children or elderly parents, etc. can’t simply check out for a full day. However, I would suggest that every single one of us is capable of observing a ta’anis dibbur while in Shul. Let’s collectively accept upon ourselves for 25 hours not to say a single word while in Shul, even during the parts of davening in which it is permitted to talk.

Throughout the year, when people approach me on the bima during davening, I struggle with my commitment not to talk on the one hand and the importance of not being rude on the other. Of course if there is an emergency or pressing issue, feel free to interrupt me or any of the Rabbis who can be of assistance. However, if you are just coming to say good Shabbos, please accept my apologies if I simply shake your hand and give you a big smile without engaging in a conversation.

Let’s all enter a social contract and commit to use the Sanctuary for davening exclusively and reserve our schmoozing for the lobby. I am confident that if we do, our personal and communal Yom Kippur experience will be greatly enhanced as a result.

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