I’ve been thinking about counting, because it’s almost Sefiros HaOmer.
I’ve also been thinking about Sitemeter and traffic.
I’ve decided there really is no rhyme or reason as to why people come to read this blog.
No rhyme or reason
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Category Archives: personal
Building towered foresight isn’t anything at all*
Nisan (aside from being my Hebrew name) is the month of that Hashem revealed himself. From a mussar point of view, there’s the whole chametz = Yetzer Hara, soul-searching thing that some of us might undergo. It’s also spring cleaning, when we go though closets, boxes, and even old posts that have been sitting in Blogger Dashboard’s as drafts. This is not one of them.
If I was a sports fan, I would write about how working on bettering yourself isn’t really for a Monday morning quarterback. I, however, did spend way too much time in high school listening to what use to be called “college radio”. The phrase “Building towered foresight isn’t anything at all” has been buzzing in my head for weeks. Mostly because while working on several middos (derech eretz and emes) that involve interactions with others, I’ve come to see that it’s really easy after the fact to say, “I really should have handled the situation better”.
Navigating how to approach people requires being able to have the creativity to come up with multiple outcomes of possible reactions. To only have a perspective to see one outcome or “Building towered foresight” might make you feel that you have achieved the right goal of your avodah on a middah, but I think only seeing one outcome limits you. When speaking with family members, co-workers, or teachers it’s important to try to see several possible outcomes and adapt as needed.
This is also true when dealing with one Yetzer Hara. No chiddush here, I just happen to be re-reading The Juggler and the King for the first time in about 17 years.
* The title of this post is from the song “Fall on Me” by R.E.M.
I give up
Photo from flickr
Every month or so I am completely speechless when it somes to my children’s chinuch. I find myself left without words, not because my children’s education as been ruined by “the system”, but because I’m astounded by how fortunate they are to be learning so many important things that are not always found in a textbook.
A few weeks ago my daughter in second grade told me after shul on Shabbos that she was “mevater (gave up) her lollypop to her older brother”. I was speechless. Not because she gave up a lollypop (althought that was impressive), but because she rocked the term “mevater”. It isn’t a word that gets used a lot in conversation. In fact, I think I’ve only used the term maybe 3 times in my entire adult life. I’m not against the concept of being mevater, however despite the book, Let’s Learn Middos 4: Being Mevater (which we don’t own), I don’t often think of it as a middah. Maybe I should.
For a child (or this blogger) it’s important to understand that “giving up” something can be a good thing. Selflessness, chessed, and understanding what we need vs. what we want are part of growing up. For me, it might also be prudent to be mevater certain inhibitions and notions I have about my own abilities. Can one be mevater the things that hold one back from their Avodas Hashem? Probably, but you have to know yourself and what why you are not doing what you should be doing. Of course, a true student of Reb Nachman of Breslov will comment that one should “never give up hope”, but you could give up what’s blocking you from hope.
For a second grader to understand that all isn’t lost when you give up some candy is an important lesson and one that her Morah has successfully taught. I know the lesson was a success because everyone in my family is on the “mevatar-bandwagon”.
Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh on Novardok
One of the things that constantly amazes me about R Itamar Schwartz and his Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh seform is that he is willing to pull and blend Torah from a variety of sources and derechim. Again, this is a major reason I humbly think his seforim speak to our generation.
For example, in the second volume (both in chapter 1 and 2) he brings down an important educational concept from the Alter of Novardok, Rav Yosef Yozel Hurwitz. In the Alter’s sefer Madregos haAdom he explains that there is a difference between understanding and acknowledging something on an intellectual level and actually experiencing it. The best example of this that comes to mind would be the difference between reading about the beauty of a traditional Shabbos meal and actually being part of an enjoying a Shabbos meal.
Rav Schwarz applies this teaching of the Alter of Novardok in regard to Emunah and D’vekus (faith and attachment) in relation to Hashem. Later, in the same volume (chapter 18) the author writes this:
“…rare individuals would roll naked in the snow or break the ice to immerse in the ice cold water of a lake or pond. Still others practiced a strong form of self-criticism…They might fall into constant bitterness. This will damage their avodah, because without joy, there is nothing!”
The ikar, the main point, is that unless the end result (or the journey) is, in fact, simcha, joy, then you are not getting the whole picture…!כי כשאין שמחה – אין כלום The question I often have is, “How do I get there”? It’s the ability to extract different strengths from a particular derech that really the gadlus of Bilvavi. In an information age, when many Torah observant Jews can have access to many different seforim, multiple shuls and schools in a community, different types of Jewish newspapers and weekly publications (I’m not even getting into what’s available onilne), it’s hard to distinguish between what might be substance and what might be filler.
While some argue that Novardok was a type of Mussar that was only applicable for a particular time in the world’s history, I’m glad that the Bilvavi is exposing aspects of it to a new generation. Don’t worry, I’m jsut as happy when I see a quote from the Baal haTanya as well. One way that I know I am listening to a true talmidei chachamim or a tzaddik (and I don’t throw around that term) is that when they quote sources it will be from a variety of sources.
“Ben (the son of) Zoma said: Who is wise? He who learns from all people, as it is said: ‘From all those who taught me I gained understanding’ (Psalms 119:99). -Pirkei Avos chapter 4 mishna 1
For other posts dealing with the Novardok Yeshiva and school of Mussar click here.
Holden Caulfield and the lack of observance
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.
I heard on CBS radio that J.D. Salinger had died. As a former fan of fiction, avid reader of THE NEW YORKER, and someone who thought, once upon a time, of going into writing, I had to pause and give some thought to Mr. Salinger and, of course, The Catcher in the Rye. The primary thing that comes to mind whenever I think about The Catcher in the Rye is the fact that, sometimes, it takes just one written work to make an impact. Culturally, this book was one of the first written works to speak to and about teenage life in post World War II America. As often noted, while the book was intended for adults, many young adults felt that it spoke to them and reflected their feelings of alienation. It was published in 1951 and banned very quickly due to language, adult situations, promotion of smoking and alcohol drinking, etc. The book continues to be banned.
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.
The taste of "Niskatnu HaDoros"
“Niskatnu HaDoros”, the diminishing of the generations, refers to the idea that each generation that is further away from the giving of the Torah, is weaker and further away from Kedusha. You know how people say, “they don’t make them like they use to”, the “them” in this case would be someone from the previous generation in comparison to someone in our generation. Think of that “alter Yid” you see in shul who takes time to actually kiss his siddur after davening. Or the “bubbie” you see in the checkout line in the grocery store, quietly saying Tehillim to herself.
Now think of all the “young married guys” who, after shul is over, run to be “first” in line at kiddush. Think of the young mother loudly talking on her cell phone while in line to purchase groceries for Shabbos Kodesh. Yeah, these would be examples of “Niskatnu HaDoros”. I guess that I’ve got it easy (another example of the diminishing of the generations) because I don’t have to come up with fictional examples. I can just see it in my own kids.
The three kids that Hashem gave to my wife and I are the following ages: 10, 7, and 3. They, like most of the kids in this dor (generation) have a penchant for any candy that’s sour. Sour drops, balls, sticks, gum, gummys, apples, drinks, milk (ok, my kids don’t dig sour milk), etc. They crave it. Even the littlest one likes sour sticks. Now, as much as my children love these items, that affection pales in comparison to the pleasure they derive from watching their Abba attempt to eat these things. I pucker up and make, what they view as, the funniest face ever. Why? “Niskatnu HaDoros”, that’s why. So, the next time you sit at a Shabbos table or schmooze with a friend over coffee and bemoan the fact that the youth of today have lost that “tam”, taste, for Torah u’Mitzvos, think of sour sticks.
Availing myself during aveilus
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…
Spoons, sugar, Chelm, and me
Last night my son and I were talking and he mentioned a book he saw in his school library about the “Wise Men of Chelm”. He told me one story (the one about the bell that signals the town’s fire brigade) and I, in turn told him the following:
The was once a debate in Chlem about which item actually makes tea taste sweeter: the Sugar or the Spoon.
One side held that it was the sugar because when you pour the sugar in your cup of tea and stir it, the sugar will disappear. When you can’t see the sugar then your tea is sweetened.
Now the other side believed that the tea would be sweetened by the spoon itself. The sugar’s only purpose was so that one would know how long to stir. When the sugar had dissolved then the spoon would have sufficiently sweetened the cup of tea.
One side held that it was the sugar because when you pour the sugar in your cup of tea and stir it, the sugar will disappear. When you can’t see the sugar then your tea is sweetened.
Now the other side believed that the tea would be sweetened by the spoon itself. The sugar’s only purpose was so that one would know how long to stir. When the sugar had dissolved then the spoon would have sufficiently sweetened the cup of tea.
My son thought this story was hilarious. He told me that it was funny because even though everyone knows sugar makes thing sweet, in then end it really doesn’t make a difference, as long as you like sweetened tea. He went on to bed and I kept think about this story.
People like stories that point out the silliness of others. It’s the same reason we might laugh when we see someone trip or slip on the ice. It makes us feel better about ourselves. It doesn’t make us better people, though. Like those in Chelm, I know that I tend to get confused about what is causing certain things to happen. I’m lucky that my wife usually points this out to me. Focusing too much on the spoon blinds you from seeing what is truly sweet in life. (For the record, this last line too about 4 different rewrites).
“Ben Zoma would say: Who is wise? One who learns from every man.”- Pirkei Avos (4:1)
Mussar À La Breslov
I am always happy when I read something that makes me feel good about myself and what my potential is. This is one of the things at attracted me to mussar seforim. That knowledge of our potential also attracted me to the teaching of Reb Nachman of Breslov. While I own a number of Breslov seforim, I’ll be the first to say that I’m no where near the level of calling myself a chossid of Reb Nachman. I do, however, get a lot of mussar and chizuk from his teachings.
R Lazer Brody recently posted a fantastic essay on the importance of Believing in Yourself. It always amazes me that Hashem allows me to hear a d’var Torah or read something that happens to be exactly what I needed at that time. R Brody’s post was one of those things that I needed to read today.
Here’s a taste of what he says:
Observant Judaism is also like a war. The Yetzer, or Evil Inclination, has an array of weapons and forces at his disposal, to deter and discourage a person from making Tshuva, or to break the heart of a person who’s trying to effectively become a ben- or bat-Torah. If you believe in yourself, you’ll be able to wipe the floor with the Yetzer.
The whole essay in all of its glory can be found here.
The value of life and the day the Yetzer Hara will be slaughtered
“Life is very dear to those who discover its value, and very cheap to those who squander it.”- from the sefer GESHER HACHAIM (The Bridge of Life)
I posted this quote about three weeks ago on Facebook. The sefer Gersher HaChaim, by Rav Yechiel Michel Tucazinsky, was suggested to me by Micha Berger as a good thing to learn when dealing with the death of a loved one. Micha was kind enough to comment on Facebook, “I’m happy to see it is speaking to you. BTW, contrast that quote to the various perceptions of the size of the yeitzer hara on the day it will be slaughtered.”
The gemara that R Berger was referring to is in Sukka 52a:
“Rabbi Yehuda lectured: In the future, Hashem will take the yetzer and slaughter him in the presence of both the tzaddikim and the reshaim. To the tzaddikim he will appear like a high mountain and to thereshaim he will appear like a thin hair. Both, however, will cry. The tzaddikim will cry “How could we have overpowered such a high mountain?” and the reshaim will cry: “How could we not have subdued such a thin hair?”
Rav Dessler discusses this gemara in Michtav M’Eliyahu. He explains thats that a tzaddikim will view all of their challenges, urges, difficulties in life as a tall mountain. The rashaim will see “that one act of the will which could have taken him to the top in one bound” as that thin little hair. (See Strive for Truth Vol 1 pg 105)
The goals and aspirations of a tzaddik in this world are to get close to Hashem. For the rasha, his only interest is to distance himself from the Creator. I think this is what Micha was alluding to.
The things we have a ratzon, a desire, for will fight for. We’ll climb, to use the gemara’s imagery, the mountain if we have to. We will use all of our energy and might. The tzaddik will fight his yeter hara until the end to get closer to Hashem. Don’t be fooled. The rasha will fight also for what he desires. With just as much strength as the tzaddik. What the Gesher HaChaim is telling us is that those things that the tzaddik values are looked upon as almost worthless to the rasha.
That is why both the tzaddik and the rasha will cry, in the end. Out of joy and awe will the tzaddikim cry when they see the high mountain that was their yetzer hara. All most too difficult to conquer, yet they did conquer it. The tzaddikim will cry tears of joy. The rashaim, on the on other hand, will see their yetzer hara, that they gave into time and time again, as nothing more than a hair. Nothing more than a little thing they could have blown or brushed aside. That is why they will cry tears of regret.
