Rabbi's weekly Blog
Be proactive rather than reactive
Two years ago, at the end of a mental coaching process, I sat with a professional. I wanted to improve my performance in every area of my life, and I had gone through a series of Zoom sessions with him.
As usual, he asked questions that touched on painful or challenging areas, so that I could examine them — and myself — because that is how we grow and move forward in life.
Among other things, I told him that I wanted to lose weight because I was overweight. When he asked me why, I answered that I was beginning to feel it in my knees and was afraid of damaging my health.
He then held up a mirror to me and said:
“Pay attention. You don’t want to lose weight because you want to look good — even though, of course, you do want to look good. You don’t even want to lose weight because you want to be healthy. You want to lose weight because you don’t want to become sick, because you don’t want to cause damage.
In other words, this is not a choice — it is a necessity. It is not initiative, but reaction.
It won’t work for you this way.
When you reach the point where you understand — intellectually, and then emotionally — that you want to lose weight because you want to look good and because you want to be healthy, it will come from the right place. And then you will succeed without constant battles and pain.”
That was the moment when I truly understood the blessing we wish ourselves on Rosh Hashanah:
“May we be the head and not the tail.”
In other words: May we be proactive rather than reactive. May we choose out of desire, rather than act out of necessity.
And this, dear friends, is my wish for all of you:
May we be the head and not the tail.
And by the way, it took me more than a year until I truly reached that intellectual and emotional realization regarding my weight. And then it started to happen, thank G-d.
By the way #2: He told me exactly the same thing about my desire to study a Chassidic lesson every morning before dawn. It took me some time to internalize it — and now it simply works. Try it at home. 😊
By the way #3: He told me the same thing about money as well. But we’ll leave that for another time. 😉
Shanah Tovah U’metukah — wishing you a good and sweet New Year!
“Reiner Zufall.” - Pure coincidence.
This week, I visited a milk powder factory in Germany. It is a long-established company in the industry, one that for many years has made sure to maintain kosher certification so that its products are available to customers who require kosher products.
The company’s managers and salespeople are highly orderly and organized—people of spreadsheets and measurements, as befits a respectable German company. Above all, they take great pride in their products.
My role there, as a kosher supervisor, is more closely connected to the production side. The person I deal with at the factory is usually someone from the technical department. But every now and then, someone from the business side of the company joins a meeting, and then, partly out of politeness and partly out of genuine curiosity, I ask about the business as well: Is the company doing well? Do they have enough customers? How are sales?
This week, they told me with great excitement that they have a relatively new customer—a chocolate company that is buying such enormous quantities of milk powder from them that they have had to extend their work shifts just to keep up with demand.
I was somewhat puzzled by this new customer.
First, the company is located quite far away, and there usually needs to be a very good reason to buy goods from such a distance. Most often, that reason is a good price.
Second, from previous conversations I knew that this factory was not exactly the cheapest supplier on the market. Not because they did not want to be, but simply because some of their equipment is rather old—especially their drying tower, where the milk is turned into powder.
The tower is quite old, around sixty years old. It still does the job, but its output is much lower than that of modern drying towers, which can produce twice as much in the same amount of time.
I knew this because several years ago they had proudly shown me the new tower they were building, one that was supposed to double their production capacity. But I also remembered that the new tower, in which millions had been invested, had failed to live up to expectations. It developed a problem and is not being used at all.
“So,” I asked, “what is your marketing method? What’s the strategy? In such a saturated market, how did you manage to convince such a large customer to come all this way and buy specifically from you, despite the higher price?”
My impeccably dressed, tie-wearing colleague smiled slightly and replied in decisive German:
“Reiner Zufall.” - Pure coincidence.
I had been waiting for a precise explanation, one based on a clear, measurable method, so I was astonished when he continued.
It turns out, he explained, that their milk powder has a distinctive aroma. It is created by the milk powder being slightly scorched at a temperature a little higher than it ideally should be.
And this is not something they planned or intended. Quite the opposite: they do not really have control over it. It is, in a sense, a malfunction caused by the advanced age of their drying tower.
The customers tasted it, tested it, and came back saying that this particular aroma enhances their chocolate in a remarkable way. As a result, they transferred almost all of their milk powder purchasing to this factory.
“Reiner Zufall,” he said to me again with a smile.
I took a piece of paper and showed him something about the Hebrew word for “coincidence,” *mikreh* (מקרה). When its letters are rearranged, they can form *rak meHashem*—“only from Hashem.”
“This isn’t *reiner Zufall*,” I told him. “This is *rein HaKadosh Baruch Hu*—purely the work of G-d.”
I thought to myself: This is exactly what I needed to hear on the eve of the New Year.
To see how, in a stronghold of planning and Excel spreadsheets, of methods and strategies, there are moments when even the professionals throw up their hands and say, “We have no explanation for this.”
This is what I needed to hear—to strengthen my faith and trust that the Holy One, blessed be He, directs the entire world “like clay in the hands of the potter”—literally.
And now, you too have had the privilege of hearing it.
But how do you actually do it?
“But how do you actually do it?” That is what my aunt asked me this week.
Last week, I wrote about arrogance. I shared the Rebbe’s explanation that a roof symbolizes arrogance, while the railing around the roof represents the protection against it.
I also shared some criticism I had received from someone who found it difficult to listen to what I was saying because he felt that I was speaking down to him.
And this week I was by the Rebbe — meaning, in New York. I visited my dear aunt, my mother’s sister, whose home has always been a home for me — especially during the years I studied in New York, but also before and after, and in fact, to this very day.
My aunt, who is a learned woman and does not accept everything at face value, asked me: “I read your post. It sounds beautiful, but how do you actually do it? How can you really speak to every person without a sense of superiority?”
“There is one word for it in Chassidic thought,” I answered. “It is called bittul — self-nullification.”
My aunt opened her eyes wide and, in the kind of Hebrew spoken by people who have lived outside Israel for many years, said: “What are you talking about? Bittul ? Just like that — bittul ?”
I will not presume to define bittul , and perhaps it cannot really be defined. I will only say that I was not surprised by my aunt’s reaction, because among Chassidim, bittul is often perceived as something abstract and almost unattainable.
But our conversation stayed with me for several days, and somehow it suddenly occurred to me that the upcoming parshah, Ki Tavo, contains the secret to neutralizing arrogance — and perhaps even the secret to bittul .
In two words: recognizing the good.
When I say “recognizing the good,” the word recognizing has two meanings:
A. Acknowledging the person who has done good for you — simply saying thank you to someone who has helped you.
B. Actually recognizing the good that we have. Before we even begin to say thank you, we need to look around and notice the good — to truly see it.
When a person recognizes the good in his life and understands that it is a gift he has received, his gratitude comes from a genuine and deeply internal place. And when gratitude comes from such a place, there is no room for arrogance.
Because arrogance can exist only when I consider myself to be something in my own right. But when I say, “Modim anachnu lach” — “We give thanks to You,” when I recognize the good and know that I received it as a gift, I bow my head. And with it, I bow down whatever arrogance may be there.
So how do we actually do it?
Just before sitting down with someone, look inward with clean and honest eyes and recognize that everything we have was given to us. Then acknowledgment becomes gratitude, and arrogance begins to dissolve.
In this week’s Torah portion, across eleven long verses devoted to the mitzvah of Bikkurim , the first fruits, the Torah teaches us precisely how to do this:
A. Sit in your place — professionally or emotionally, spiritually or even geographically — in your good and comfortable place, while knowing that it is a gift from G-d.
B. Take something from your own produce — something you created, something you seemingly made with your own ten fingers.
C. Go backward through your history — not only your own history, but that of your ancestors, even hundreds of years back. Remember where you came from and what you have been through. Realize that, considering everything you and your family have experienced, nothing you have today can be taken for granted. Sometimes, it is not even entirely logical or understandable by ordinary human reasoning.
D. Return to this present moment, when you are settled and at peace, with the basket in your hands — and bow down as an expression of recognition, acknowledgment, and gratitude.
E. And there is another condition, no less important: “You shall rejoice in all the good” that has been given to you.
F. But not alone. Do not rejoice alone. You must share your joy with those around you who need support and help.
Like everything in life, if we want to become good at this, we need to work at it. We need to practice.
From experience, it works.
And you become a better person.
It's unpleasant to experience condescension
It's unpleasant to experience condescension. It's unpleasant to be around a person who looks down on you, and it's even more unpleasant when you ask for advice or help from a place of need, and the giver responds with a certain degree of condescension.
I knew this; everyone knows this the moment they first experience condescension. What I didn't know is that sometimes, I myself can be condescending, or at least that's how the person speaking to me feels at times.
I have some memories in my mind, or perhaps more accurately, memories in my heart, of people who came to me, shared their pain, and I responded from a place of being knowledgeable, wise, the one who understands everything at once and knows what the other person is dealing with. It was gentle, wrapped in consideration, but the other person experienced condescension, bordering on disrespect.
These memories are not from the past year or even from two years ago, but not much longer than two years. I don't know if this happens today; I'm sure it does from time to time, but thank G-d I haven’t received feedback on it recently. I clearly remember the man or woman saying or writing to me later, “You should know it was hard for me to talk to you. I felt that you were coming from a condescending and disrespectful place.” I don't know if there's a more difficult experience than that; I felt terrible. At first, of course, I downplayed it internally—it's nonsense, I’m not condescending, they misunderstood, it's just their perception—but gradually, that annoying voice of my inner compass said to me, “You’re downplaying this to protect yourself, and that's fine, protect yourself as much as you want, but that won't help you grow.”
When I gathered the courage and listened again to what they said, to the experience my conversation partner had, this time from a place of genuine, open listening, without defensiveness, I could clearly understand what they were talking about. It didn’t make it easier, but it did lead me to work on it.
In *Likkutei Sichos*, volume 24, in a discussion on the verse “and you shall make a parapet for your roof” (Deuteronomy 22:8), the Rebbe explains that in the context of personal work, the “roof” symbolizes arrogance and pride, and the parapet is needed to restrain this roof, to ensure it doesn’t cause harm—“and you shall make a parapet for your roof.”
The Rebbe then lays down the foundations for anyone who influences another person, and in my understanding, this includes relationships, parenting, and certainly for a Chabadnik.
Here are the words of the translated discourse:
"The purpose of the 'parapet for your roof' is not so much to protect oneself from spiritual downfall but also for the sake of others, so that your roof—your arrogance and pride—does not cause the spiritual downfall of another Jew."
"When a person has pride, not only is it a flaw in their personal spiritual work, but it can also cause the downfall of the Jew upon whom they have influence. When one influences others with words that come from the heart, without personal interests or agendas, those words will surely reach the heart and have their intended effect."
"But if one's words are mixed with ego and pride, not only does this interfere with the success of their words and in drawing the other closer, it can even lead to the opposite—G-d forbid, their pride and words might distance the listener."
Do not judge
If I had my way, there would be an eleventh commandment: “Do not judge,” continuing the Ten Commandments we all know about: Do not steal, do not murder, do not covet and… do not judge.
Twenty years of work with the public have taught me that you can never really be in the other person’s shoes. You can think something about a person, and then suddenly you receive more information about him that changes your viewpoint entirely.
The Rebbe learns this specifically from this week’s Parasha, Parashat Shoftim:
The Torah says, “Judges and officers you shall appoint in all your cities.” Our Sages learn from the phrase ‘in all your cities,” that judges should be appointed not only in the Land of Israel, but rather in every place where Jews live. Why? Because the judges of the Land of Israel cannot really understand a person who lives abroad, and a judge who cannot understand you, cannot judge you, either!
“Do not judge your friend until you reach his place,” says Hillel the Elder in Pirkei Avot. “The satiated does not understand the hungry,” people say, and it’s true; oy, is it true.
So one needs judges and officers, but when the Torah says that officers are needed it says in the same sentence “in all your cities.” A judge can judge only after he has reached the place of the judged; only if he is able to open his mind and understand the defendant and his situation – his weaknesses and his difficulties.
That is exactly my message this week for all of us. As we stand, right before the Yamim Nora’im (High Holy Days), in the days of Selichot, it would be good – a moment before asking forgiveness – to make a resolution not to judge another person “until you reach his place.”
The Path to Wealth
A Jew of German background heard the rabbi in Schul, on the Shabbat when parashat Re’eh is read, mention the pasuk, “ Aser te’aser - You shall surely tithe the entire crop of your planting, the produce of the field, year by year.” He listened carefully. The Rabbi brought the wonderful conversation between Rabbi Yochanan and his young nephew, the son of his sister and his friend and famous challenger, Reish Lakish.
Rabbi Yochanan said to his nephew: “Say a pasuk .”
The nephew then quoted the pasuk of “You shall tithe…” and asked his uncle, “What does the expression there, aser te’aser ?”
“It means: tithe so that you will get rich ( aser bishvil shetitasher ),” replied Rabbi Yochanan. In other words, a person who is careful to give his tithes is promised that he will be wealthy.
The young boy didn’t let it go at that (see the beauty of the Gemara , which considers it legitimate for the young nephew to argue with his great uncle, Rabbi Yochanan): “How do you know that?” How do you know that a person who tithes indeed becomes wealthy?
Rabbi Yochanan replied: “Go try it.” Give the tithe and test Hashem.
The nephew still wasn’t satisfied: “Is one allowed to test Hashem?”
Said Rabbi Yochanan: “You are right. Ordinarily one should not test Hashem. But in anything connected to ma’aser , it is permitted.” And he brought, as proof, the pasuk from the Prophet Malachi, where Hashem says, “Test me.” “Bring all the tithes to the storage house… Test me if you will, with this, says Hashem Tzva’ot ; see if I do not open up for you the windows of the heavens and pour out upon you blessing without end.”
So, said the Rabbi in his Shabbat sermon, whoever brings tzedaka to the Schul has Hashem’s promise that he will be rich and get back at least ten times what he gave.
On Motzai Shabbat, when the Rabbi was still putting drops of wine into his pocket for mazel and bracha , the Jew knocked on his door, holding an envelope that contained one thousand dollars. When the Rabbi finished counting the money in Yiddish, this Jew said to the Rabbi: “You said this morning that I will get ten times that amount, right? I’m expecting to receive ten thousand dollars in return.” The Rabbi became alarmed and said, “Listen, see, I meant that…” But the man was already out the door, happy with the promise.
For three weeks the man pursued the Rabbi: “You promised me ten times the amount. You said Hashem promises wealth. Where’s the money?” This – for three weeks. Every time the poor Rabbi would see this man in the street he would immediately cross the street or turn around and hide until he was gone.
One day, the Jew chased after the Rabbi. The Rabbi tried to run away, but the Jew caught up with him and said, “ Kvod HaRav , listen: Hashem paid me back. Today I made a deal and earned ten times the amount. I wanted to tell you that you were right.” And then he continued in Yiddish: “Hashem’s word is reliable, but he doesn’t quite stick to schedules.”…
I heard this so-Jewish story from my friend, R. Benny Ben Ami z”l , who passed away suddenly around this time of year, Nine years ago. Whenever Benny had a chance, he would give tzedaka , more than the conventional amounts. He would give happily and with a full heart; and his heart was as wide as his shoulders. His broad grin and his laughter appear in front of my eyes whenever I think of him. I have a feeling that he tells this story in Gan Eden as well.
We are not supposed to observe the mitzvot in order to receive the reward for them, but even if we do so, Hashem’s promise still stands. The Rebbe once wrote on this topic: “In spite of the fact the mitzvahs in general, tzedaka included, should not be done for the reward, but rather because Hashem, the Creator and Master of the World commanded us to do so, still, Hashem promised aser te’aser – that you will become wealthy both materially and spiritually.”
And anyone who is not sure of this is told by Rabbi Yochanan: “Go try it.”
Shabbat Shalom and Chodesh Tov,
My Wife's Grandmother Couldn't Care Less
When I wanted to get Asher worked up during yeshiva, I would tell him, "But fundamentally, I'm a serious Chassidic guy."
I would always say it after my behavior had been anything but serious—for example, sleeping in late or generally wasting time. Asher was, and still is, a soulmate of a friend, but back then he had a fairly short fuse (which, to his credit, has grown considerably longer over the years). He would get visibly irritated and mutter through clenched teeth, "Your 'principles' ought to be lined up in front of a firing squad."
I genuinely couldn't understand why he got so upset. After all, fundamentally I really was a serious, G-d-fearing Chassidic fellow. I wasn't lying.
Patterns of thought and behavior don't change easily. After I got married, I noticed that this theme kept repeating itself. Time and again I insisted that, fundamentally, I was amazing, while my wife would respond, "Frankly, my grandmother couldn't care less about your principles."
I remember a defining moment—the moment before the change, after which everything was different. We were already deep into family life, with our growing family, thank G-d, and we were talking (or, more accurately, analyzing the subject to death) about optimism, positive thinking, and joy.
I argued passionately that fundamentally I was a happy, optimistic, positive person. The proof, I claimed, was that I navigated plenty of life's bumps and setbacks without falling apart.
My wise wife answered with one of the most practical and considerate things she has ever said to me: "But how does it help me that you're fundamentally happy? If, in principle, you're a happy person, but your face looks like Tisha B'Av because you've had a rough day, then you're not happy. Period. As far as I'm concerned, you can be fundamentally sad—but practically joyful."
That conversation didn't transform me overnight. It was the culmination of years of discussions on the subject. It was the final hammer blow that drove the point home. Something inside me finally understood: principles aren't what matter. What matters is what you actually do.
Or, in the language of Chassidus: the essence is good, but without revelation, it doesn't amount to much. Perhaps that's why the Rebbe so often concluded his blessings with the phrase: " May it be good in a revealed and visible way ."
This week I studied a maamar on Tu B'Av that the Rebbe delivered in 5747 (1987), and it gave me a beautiful confirmation of this idea.
The maamar, which is based on an earlier discourse by the Rebbe Rashab and ultimately on Pri Etz Chaim by Rabbi Chaim Vital, explains that the essential significance of the Fifteenth of Av is that it is the day when the moon shines in its fullness—"kayma sihara bishleimusa" ("the moon stands in complete fullness"). From this central idea flow all the other miracles that the Gemara associates with Tu B'Av, until it earns the remarkable description: " There were no greater festivals for Israel than the Fifteenth of Av ."
The insight that captivated me is that the entire essence of Tu B'Av is simply revelation .