Tag Archives: humility

Thankful for Chanukah

Do you remember that it was Chanukah, just a week ago? What do we take away from it? What do we take away from eight days of lighting candles (what’s so “spiritual” about that?), of saying Hallel (that’s pretty “religious”), thanking God (also “religious”) and maybe eating latkes. Oh, yeah, and playing dreidel. That’s very extremely religious, somehow. (Can’t believe that I didn’t spin a dreidel this past Chanukah. Then again, I was spinning myself around, taking care of Mother, so that counts for something.)

We tweeted one Chanukah day that one reason Chanukah is eight days, rather than seven, is to teach us that Chanukah never ends. We need to—we want to—keep on thanking Hashem, from this world clear into the next world. Thanking Hashem not only implies recognizing that you are being cared for, benefitted and that you owe something to the Giver, it is all of these. It is recognizing and communing with the Giver.

The more we thank Hashem for, the more He shines His light of goodness into the world. The ideal height for light the Chanukah menorah is between about 11–35 inches, a third of a meter to just under a meter. Why so low? It’s impossible to gauge the depth of wisdom encapsulated by the light of the Chanukah light, or even of its oil or its wick. But we are human and we are Jews. We are created with a desire to understand, to “explain” and “theorize” as much as we can. We find life so much easier when we (think we) know “why.”

But our Sages, who told us to light, told us that Chanukah light/luminosity is not meant to be used like ordinary light, even if we want to use it to learn Torah. It is a light placed low because we have to reflect on the humble, less glorious parts of life. We need to silently reflect that this great light is not only for the brain, or for the geniuses. It is a light for all of life, even the mundane and profane parts. It is a light for all of us, when we (think we) know and when we (realize that we) don’t know.

Because often, when we don’t know that’s when we can know the most. When we think we know or have the answers, we miss information, instruction and inspiration. By putting the Chanukah lights “off limits” and in “the strangest of places” (to light a light), our Sages are sending us a message: Be humble; be open; be aware. This is how we continue to be thankful and get to be more thankful.

Eight nights. Full circle and then some. It’s a long winter. You never know how dark or cold it’s going to get. Make sure to carry Chanukah with you. And don’t thank me; thank God.

© Copyright 2013 O. Bergman/148West

 

Twitt

Chosen Person

We’re on the threshold of receiving the Torah, again. As we wrote earlier, one of the reasons we stay awake all Shavuot night to learn Torah, is to awaken our desire for living Torah, despite any obstacles we may face in life. And face obstacles we will.

Rebbe Nachman talks often of the desire to be a Jew, the desire to live Jewishly, the desire to actualize the desire to daven (pray) more/better, learn Torah more/better, be charitable and kind more/better, have stronger faith and love for God, etc. What’s the starting point for that desire? The starting point is to realize that not only are we Jews the Chosen People, but that you, in your Jewishness, are a Chosen Person. Without your having stood at Mount Sinai at the Revelation to receive the Torah, no Jew, not even Moshe Rabbeinu, would have the Torah.

You were chosen to be there and, like the rest of us, you accepted the invitation and the responsibility. And you’re going to fail. Not all the time, hopefully, but often enough to think about quitting or about moving the goalposts (i.e., lowering your standards of Judaism). But this misguided thinking is based on a lack of humility. Your failures—just like my failures and the other guy’s failures—should give you a clearer picture of what your currently capable of and where you need improvement. Your failures, and the humility they breed, should weaken neither your desire nor your resolve for Jewishness. On the contrary—they should strengthen them so much that your failures become stepping stones to Jewish success.

Have a beautiful yom tov. Don’t forget. Being happy that it’s yom tov is a mitzvah. Don’t get suckered into an argument or a funk because the cheesecake didn’t come out right or the rabbi’s class was too long.

Based on Likutey Halakhot, Hekhsher Keilim 4:18

 

© Copyright 2013 O. Bergman/148West

Twitt

When I Grow Up

I want to be Like Reb Yitzchok Dovid Grossman, the rabbi in the picture. He is one of the most authentic people I know. He is at home with any chassidic group, with any stream of Judaism, with any Jew, learned or not, observant or not. I don’t know him personally, but I’ve had the chance to observe him up close, once on a flight back from Uman-Rosh Hashanah, and once when he turned up at a shul in my neighborhood in Jerusalem a number of years back.

Patience, respect, a warm smile, dignity, no compromise on Torah values or observance, and a love for his fellow Jews—real people, with all their warts, not just in the abstract. The other day, my nephew e-mailed the photo below and I felt I had to let people know what a Jew can be. Rabbi Grossman is so humble he won’t mind having his picture on the Internet and he won’t mind if it’s not on the Internet.

RavGrossman

© Copyright 2013 O. Bergman

 

Twitt