Rabbi Yisrael Lipkin of Salant
Man must give priority to the soul over the body with respect to himself; but must not overlook the body where someone else is concerned, since the next person’s physical [gashmiyus] are his spiritual [ruchnius] affairs.
From Tenuas HaMussar (The Mussar Movement)
For an excellent treatment of this topic, I happily suggest taking a look at R Micha Berger’s post, here.
Note: A few of the thoughts and ideas that make up this post have been sitting in my Blogger Dashboard since 08/09/06, after I sent an email to someone regarding banned seforim and authors.
Even though I attended what was know as a “top” public school in Kansas, this book was never required reading. In fact, it wasn’t until I was 22 (summer of 1992) that I first read it. Holden Caulfield, the main character, was a mouthy teen who had been expelled from four schools and was rather discontent with society, adults, and especially people who were “phony”. Holden saw the hypocrisy within his society and in many of the people he encountered. In many ways, not so different from some individuals that would be labeled as “at-risk” or “in-risk”.
One of my favorite quotes (of all time) can be found in chapter two. Holden says, “People never notice anything”. I have always thought this to mean that Holden felt that people didn’t understand him and that they were not even willing to attempt to understand him. It is that lack of observance (not the Torah u’Mitzvos kind), that feeling that we are not important and what we say doesn’t matter that can often lead to a lack of observance (yes, the Torah u’Mitzvos kind). Most people want to be recognized and valued. When parents, teachers, family members or the community give the impression that someone isn’t important or “worth the time” it can have a devastating effect on a person. Of course, when a teen or adult gets to the point that they even contemplate the idea that Hashem forgets about them, then we get into a situation that might bring about that lack of observance.
“People never notice anything,” is a mindset that seems to go against many Jewish values. Part of the reason I like the quote is because I see how it resonates with many people. That’s I attempt to notice things. I try the be first to wish others a “Good Shabbos Kodesh” or give a “Yashar Koach”. I attempt to take an interest in what is going on in my life of those around me. Lately I have become keenly aware of when people have a birthday coming up (mostly thanks to Facebook). To simply ask someone how they are doing, but not push beyond the answer they give is really going only half the distance.
I know this personally, because friends will ask me how I’m doing, and my first reaction is to say, “everything is fine”. Mostly I do this because R Yisrael Lipkin (Salanter) held that “one’s face is a Reshus HaRabim”, a public area (I believe the story goes that he saw someone looking obviously very serious during Elul and commented to this person, that showing distress might bring others down, as well). I’m slowly realizing that if a good friend asks how I’m doing, the they do deserve a better answer than, “fine”. This is sort of like R Dessler’s idea that even though we want to be givers and not takers, sometimes you can be a taker, like when someone really wants to give you a gift, and by taking you are giving to that over person.
“People never notice anything,” just isn’t true. It’s easy to think that, in the big picture, our actions don’t really make a difference. I fall into this mentality quite often as of late. Usually, it’s really before I’m about to do something nice for someone or prior to actually making a difference. If a novel, movie, song, or other aspect of what’s called “pop culture” speaks to our youth, I think, for myself, that it is important to find out why. If you meet a teenager and they are into an author or a musical artist then there’s something (even if it’s completely off base) that “speaks” to that person. This isn’t meant as an academic critique of Mr. Salinger’s book, but I’ve often wondered to myself, “What if Holden had felt that an adult understood him?” Had that been the case, we would have had a very different story.
Before Rav Shimon Schwab left Europe he went spent Shabbos with the Chofetz Chaim in Radin. Shabbos night a group of students came over to the home of the Chofetz Chaim and he said:
We know the mun had the ability to take on whatever taste we wanted it to. What happened when the person eating the mun didn’t think about what he wanted it to taste like?
The Chofetz Chaim answered his own question: Then it simply has no taste.
This gets me every time. It’s one of my favorite d’vrei Torah. If I don’t think about my Avodas Hashem, then it has no taste. If I don’t appreciate the people my family, it’s like they don’t exist. How often does my learning or mitzvah performance seem like tasteless mun?
I know that I go through the motions quite often. I’m aware of it and I attempt to work on it. I’m sure that Rav Schwab heard the words of the Chofetz Chaim and it also gave him food for thought.
I often, especially lately, will see or read something and it hits me in the face. Most recently, it was comic in the Forward that has become a bit of a bee in people’s bonnets. I chose to contact the artist and got his side of the story. If perception is everything, then we as a Torah observant community have our work cut out for us. To eat the mun and not taste it, is up there with feeding the mun to someone else and they only tasting something bitter.
(The beginning of this post was originally posted here)
Knesses Yisrael (Slabodka)
Talmidim who devotedly attended the sick were forgiven for any shortcomings.
From Sparks of Mussar by R Chaim Ephraim Zaitchik
If you haven’t not read R Harry Maryles’ current post, Looking in the Mirror, I humbly suggest you do. Events are happening around us and in a time of crisis, reflecting on ourselves isn’t easy (believe me), but it’s a needed step.
Rabbi Yisrael Lipkin of Salant
It is forbidden to worry, except about worrying.
From Tenuas HaMussar (The Mussar Movement)
Rav Hirsch brings down the idea that the root of aveilus is the Hebrew word aval, which means “but”. This is because while one is mourning someone, there’s always this feeling of “…but, I should have spent more time with the departed” or “…I’m doing ok, but, I still miss the person”. There’s always a “but”.
My father a”h has been niftar for just over two months and I’m hoping that this post will be somewhat cathartic for me. It’s been hard to actually sit down and write lately. This is mostly due to the fact that my father, while in the hospital, mentioned to me that he has always enjoyed reading my blog (I had only become aware that he even knew about it at the end of the summer). While I’m glad that he was able to let me know this, thinking about a post or even writing something reminds me of the fact that he’s not around. It’s the same way with Sugar-Free Grape Kool Aid. My dad, it seems loved the stuff. It was about the only thing I drank, besides coffee, when I was in Wichita. I’ve thought about buying it for home, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Hazelnut coffee is also one of those things my dad loved. He would mix Columbian ground coffee with hazelnut flavored coffee and that was his brew. At work we have hazelnut flavored creamer. I try not to even look at it.
Making sure that I don’t miss a Kaddish is constantly on my mind. There’s a very strong sense of being alone, since I’m the only one (in Chicago) saying Kaddish for my father, but there’s also sort of an unspoken connection that I have to others who are also saying Kaddish in any given minyan.
The “no music” thing has begun to drive me batty. I constantly have tons of music-mixes going through my head. Mixes that, in a way, reflect different aspects of who I am. I’ve got Carlebach songs that flow into a Husker Du/Bob Mould track that will then ease into Diaspora Yeshiva Band song which will blend into early REM tracks that slide into a Rabbis Sons song and finally ending (most recently) with something from the soundtrack to Blade Runner. It’s the ultimate mega-mix in an odd way. I catch myself humming niggunim around my office and in the car. I was never into sports, so I’m stuck listening to news radio (which I don’t mind) in the car. But (there’s that but again), there’s really only so many time I can hear “traffic and weather together on the 8s”.
I’ve felt pretty detached from things at home. Even though my wife is great about it, it bothers me. On the flip side, though, I’m trying to become much more “communal” in terms of my thinking about what I can offer my own community, as well as getting more involved in things.
My drive home from work is tough. I’m lucky that I have a commute that is under 20 minutes, but I use to call my dad (almost daily) on the way home from work. I’m fortunate that I can call my brother and shmooze with him, but it’s not the same.
Two friends (and bloggers) sent me a copy of Out of the Whirlwind by Rav Soloveitchik zt”ll. I’ve found the sefer to be very insightful. I’ll end with a quote from the last chapter, titled “A Theory of Emotions”:
Avelut denotes the critical stage of mourning, the grief awareness, and at this level, we will notice at once that avelut contains its own proper negation-solace and hope. Avelut in Halakhah is interwoven with nehamah, consolation. They are inseparable. The latter is not a frame of mind which displaces grief; there is rather an inter-penetration of grief and solace, of forelornness and hope, of mourning and faith. Immediately upon closing the grave, the line is formed and comfort is offerend to the mourners. What is the Kaddish pronounced at the grave if not an ostentatious negation of despair?
I’m thankful that I live in a community with so many friends who helped me during shiva and continue to do so. I attempt to remember that I’m loved by my creator and that this current situation is a really springboard for growth on many different levels. But…
