Readjusting the scales.

The other day my wife and I were sorting through our “mailbox.” This literally is a box we keep all the “non-immediate” mail that we need or want to look at, but not necessarily “must do now!” mail. I noticed that I have a lot of motorcycle magazines in the box that I still have not read. I used to read them all, cover to cover, within a few days of getting a new issue. Now I see several issues from the past few months that I never even cracked open. What’s been going on??

Hmmm, well, I started getting Art Scroll’s “A Daily Dose of Torah,” and have been trying to keep up in that. I also have “The Mishna Says” series, which I also try to read on a regular basis. Last week I started a Hebrew class. CConversational Hebrew, not necessarily what I’ll see in the Torah/siddur, but hopefully will help my pronunciation, and help me to learn more about the language anyway, plus I have family in Israel that I hope to visit again within a few years.)

After thinking about all that, an analogy suddenly flashed in my mind. During the 10 days of Repentance, we say that Hashem is looking through His book of names, deciding who will live and who will die, etc. I’m going to have to go through my reading list (magazines, books, different study material, etc.) and decide what will stay and what will be removed. Not that I’d cancel all of the motorcycle magazines and fun reading material. But instead of 4 magazines, maybe 2 will be enough. I need to set more realistic expectations.

When I relayed this to my wife, she felt bad as she thought I was sacrificing something I enjoyed reading. But as I thought about it more, I realized there’s no one holding a gun to my head, saying I must read about the next parsha, and forget reading about the flashy new motorcycle that Kawasaki is developing right now. Rather, I WANT to study the next parsha. When the bike comes out, I can still give it a spin and see if it’s what I want as well. :-)

By: Gregg Schwartz

I figured out something recently that I would love to share with anyone who rides the subway. LOOK AT THE TRACKS!!!

Sometimes when I arrive at the subway station, I get real lucky and the train is right there waiting for me, it’s doors wide open just asking me to board. On most occasions though, the train is not waiting for me. Rather, there is train congestion and this happens to be the place its signal told it to stop.

Before I dare to enter the train, I look straight ahead. Anyone can see the signals ahead if only they make an effort to look ahead. A red signal tells the train to stay put, and an orange signal tells the train to get ready to move and it is quickly followed by the green signal. One of my favorite things to do is to stand next to the train with one eye on the signal and the other in the train.

You will see people heading up or down the stairs (depending on the station), and their eyes brighten up. Could it possibly be? A train waiting there just for me? Their eyes widen and they go full speed ahead making sure those doors don’t slam before they get in. They will trample anyone in their way. One by one, the train becomes filled with huffers and puffers; and suddenly their agitation sets in, “move already!!!”.

While we don’t always “see” signals that lead us in the right path, G-d does give us instincts to know right from wrong, and life directions that feel right or wrong. They are there, we just need to look for them. It will save us a lot of huffing and puffing.

Mark and David asked in their suggested topics: Am I more judgemental of the non-observant since becoming a BT?

Often times when we are becoming frum, we are at just about the most judgmental times in our lives. When it comes to non-frum friends and family one thinks, “If I could see the truth, why can’t they? They have no excuse!” On the other hand, we think about the frum people, “How can they talk during davening? How come he goes so fast through davening that when I’m starting “Ata Chonein,” he’s taking his three steps back?! How can people sleep through their Friday night seuda without any Zmiros?”

Of course, when Yiddishkeit is new and exciting, it is easy to get overconfident and judgmental about others. However, I would make two comments. One is that we all know that after a few years go by and things are not so new anymore, we start to understand our frum friends a little better, as we become, or are inclined to become, more like them. Once the davening becomes fluent and we aren’t excited by it anymore, there’s a desire to speed through it to things we want to do more. It becomes, then, easier not to judge frum people because we are more like them now.

When it comes to judging non-frum people, I think it’s good to step back from yourself and ask the question, “Why did I become frum to begin with? Was it because I was the only one who was intellectually honest and searching, examing all the evidence with disinterested objectivity?” No! I, at least, became frum because I was inexorably drawn to it, once I began learning about it. There was an inexplicable pull that caused me to incredibly fascinated with Torah and Yiddishkeit. I reflect on the fact that I know dozens and dozens of people who were exposed to the same people and teachings that I was exposed to. Yet they remained unmoved, while I was blown away and drawn after it.

I cannot explain this difference in reaction by any natural means. I can’t say that I’m the only deep thinker that I knew. That would be ga’avah and it would be false. The only explanation I have come up with to explain this phenomenon is Siyata Dishmaya. It may sound strange but I don’t put my teshuva in the context of a truly free-will decision for me. I was drawn. Others are unmoved. It seems to me that the hand of G-d plucks out certain Neshamos, for his own inscrutible reasons, and brings them into the fold. (For more on limitations on free will, see Mei Hashiloach Parshas Vayeira, D”H “Vatitzchak Sara,” and Parshas Pinchas. See also, Tzidkus Hatzadik 44.)

I think that we can avoid the feeling of ga’avah and judgmentalism by meditating upon the fact that you and I are only zocheh to be here because of the kindness of Hashem in bringing us close, and not due to any personal intellectual or spiritual greatness.

May Hashem bring all Jews closer to Him soon in our days!

My family and I recently returned from a journey that left me thinking about what I learned there long after the bags were unpacked and the pictures downloaded on to the computer.

Fifteen years ago, before I married my husband, Stephen, I was very active in a funky, Reform shul with a national reputation as a very special place. Indeed, this shul is still alive and vibrant with the kind of joyful energy I have been seeking ever since I left it. Shabbos services are packed, hugs are abundant, the singing is joyous, the Torah study before services is stimulating, and the female Cantor has the voice of an angel. Although generalities are dangerous, most of the congregants seem to be happy, both in synagogue, and outside of it in their daily lives.

During our most recent vacation, we paid a visit to a couple we have not seen in fifteen years, since their wedding day. She was a member of the shul when I was there, and I matched her up with a friend of mine. They fell in love, married, and then we lost touch. She “googled me” and found me a few months ago. They now have three kids and a house and a life together, and they are both still quite active in the same shul I long ago left behind.

Visiting with them flooded me with memories of my former life as a Reform Jew. As I listened to them talk with reverence about how special this shul is, and as I remembered for myself all of my own joyful experiences there, I found myself feeling a twinge of regret that I had to leave it behind. I was happy there. This couple seems happy there. Am I really happier now, as an Orthodox Jew, than when I was immersed in my Reform Jewish path?

This question has plagued me since we returned from our vacation. Very serious, committed Jews now surround me. Their learning, and their allegiance to the Torah continually impress me. I believe we are on the right path, the one designed by Hashem for our family. Are we happy? Does it matter if we are, or are not?

Yes, it matters. We are supposed to serve Hashem with joy. That is what He wants. Certainly, if we expect our children to follow in the derech, we better make sure the path is joyful. It was easy to be happy as a Reform Jew, because when I went to shul, I was not really focused on serving G-d with joy. I thought that is what I was doing. Except that I was driving to synagogue, and eating trafe, and ignoring all of the commandments that didn’t give me personal meaning or joy. In other words, I was serving myself, in the context of my religion. It really had nothing at all to do with serving G-d. It was easier to be happy when I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do, and when I wasn’t paying yeshiva bills and a NJ mortgage and worried about parnussa all the time. It was easier to be carefree when I really believed that all that G-d wanted from me was to be happy and Jewish, and I could decide what that meant.

Now, I am committed to serving G-d with joy, with the emphasis first on serving G-d. Up till recently, I’m not so sure I was focused enough on the “with joy” part of that journey. So concerned have I been with “getting it right” and teaching my children, much of the journey has been quite serious in nature. Sure, there is the attempt to create joy on Shabbos and the holidays, but there is also the stress of preparing for the holidays and figuring out “how to do it” that has lessened the potential joy I could have felt. And, as so many in this community understand, the challenges of being a BT with non observant family has also cast a shadow at times.

I came back from this vacation with a renewed commitment to put more emphasis on the end of the sentence: “Serve G-d with joy.” I have plenty of scapegoats for missing the mark, whether it is the bills, or the lack of confidence in myself, or missing my family. My husband and I have determined that serving G-d is our obligation, and our opportunity. Now it’s also our obligation and opportunity to figure out how to do so with joy, not just during times of simcha, but every day. I can be happy when my religion and synagogue and practices exist for the sole purpose of entertaining me. Can I also be happy when my focus is on serving my Creator? I would hope that the joy and nachas I find from the observant path is of a different and more profound nature than the self-centered happiness of my previous Reform journey. And if that isn’t so, then I’ve really missed the mark.

I ask you to ask yourselves this same question. “Am I serving G-d with joy today?” If not now, when?

By Larry Lennhoff

For years before I began my journey I was a non-observant bachelor living in Boston. One of my hobbies was eating out. I didn’t like to cook, and had no relatives or other people with whom to share meals, so I ate out a LOT. My definition of dining in (which I rarely did) was to get to-go food from some restaurant and bring it home.

20 years of this and you build up quite a repertoire of restaurants. There were literally dozens of restaurants where I could go and recognize and be recognized by the wait staff. If my friends wanted to know where to go for Mongolian-Thai fusion cooking, I was recognized as the authority. If you asked me for directions, you were likely to get a response in the form ‘Go down Cambridge street until a block past Colleen’s, then turn left at the Pu Pu Hot Pot and continue until you reach the light with the J.P. Lick’s on the corner….

This continued to a lessened extent even when after I met my wife. We soon started becoming more observant. One place she stayed well ahead of me was keeping kosher outside the home. I wasn’t sure I could ever give it up completely. Lose the ever growing, ever shifting panoply of exotic foreign foods for metro Boston’s meager selection of half a dozen kosher restaurants? With the majority those located 45 minutes away by car?

Finally a day came when I unexpected had to make the plunge. No last grand farewell tour, no lingering over a final selection of my favorite dishes, not even a chance to order my one-of-a-kind specialty sandwich from Flossie at the local Friendly’s. I was instantly going full kosher outside the house, if you will excuse the expression, cold turkey. 20 years plus of investing myself in the metro Boston restaurant scene, gone in an instant.

It was easy. I was stunned – since that day I have never eaten non-kosher food at a treife restaurant. I feel pangs of nostalgia, but I’ve never even been seriously tempted to go back and try one last kung pao chi ding.

Here is the takeaway lesson I learned. How many other flaws and habits that I think are a basic part of who I am could I break if I only went out and tried? We all know Hashem gave us free will, and we all know the strength of the Yetzer Harah, but I think we sometime forget that we have a Yetzer Hatov as well. If you are just are willing to trust it and take the plunge, you too may be surprised at just how easy it is.

There was a recent apppeal in Kew Gardens Hills to learn 10 minutes of Mussar every day for a number of weeks to help an ill person, so I suggested a daily 10 minute session to my son. He initial stated that nobody likes Mussar, but after learning for a few days he’s really enjoying it. What changed?

Few people like to get Mussar. Who wants to feel inadequate? It’s a basic human need to feel good about yourself. If we pick up the Mesillas Yesharim and hear it telling us how inadequate we are, any rational person would put it down. And if someone is ineffectively criticizing us, we’ll go to great lengths to eliminate or neutralize the source of pain.

Although we don’t like to get Mussar, we often seem to enjoy giving Mussar. Pointing out someone else’s inadequacies carries an implication that we’re better than that, so it makes us feel better. We overlook the discomfort and pain we’re causing the other person, and the usual lack of effectiveness, since after all we’re doing it for the sake of Heaven and for the person’s own good.

The best answer is to take a learning Mussar approach. The learning Mussar approach starts with the premise that we can always improve in every area. We take the long term view that we’re travelling on a long path and it’s a lifetime journey. Mussar is our guide, it shows us where we can reach, how we can get there, and the pitfalls along the way.

But most importantly the learning Mussar approach gives us an incredibly effective framework for growing with others. It’s no longer I’m right and you’re wrong, but rather let’s travel this long path of growth together. We both have a lifetime of work ahead of us so let’s help each other grow. By taking every life lesson learn to heart we transform our interactions from giving or getting Mussar, to working through every issue together.

Imagine how beautiful our community would look like if we switched from a giving/getting Mussar framework to a learning Mussar together ideal. What if our non observant friends and families really felt that we’re all traveling together on the path to becoming a better Jew. With a learning together attitude, the resolutions to conflicts, will present themselves. It’s really up to us, it’s in our hands to make this difference.

Say somebody you know tells you they can’t be observant because they can’t see ever giving up a specific activity which is forbidden by the Torah. Let’s assume that the prohibition is Rabbinic in nature. What would you say to the person?:

a) I’m sure you could give it up if it was important enough to you.
b) Take it one step at a time, do what you can do now.
c) You don’t have to give it up to be observant.
d) Focus on the big four, Shabbos (and Yom Tov), Kashrus, Taharas Mishpacha and Davening

Let’s say four years later the person is keeping the big four and they ask your advice about the prohibited activity again. What would you say then?

Do you see the primary thrust of Torah Observance as:

1) Continually striving to increase your general and specific observance levels in all areas.
2) Do as many mitzvos as you can and avoid as many aveiros as you can.
3) Focus on keeping the big four, the rest is extra credit.

In the two months before Pesach, I had decided I’d had enough. My day was too full to work in the davening, the tehillim, the perek shirah, etc. etc., and still take care of my household responsibilities, a full-time job and a two-hour a day commute.

So I stopped davening.

I’d get up in the morning, make my coffee, sit down at my computer and check out my blogsites, all the while suppressing this nagging guilty feeling.

I told myself it didn’t matter, I’d get back to davening soon, that I was just tired and needed to regroup.

I went through my defiant phase — who needs davening, why bother, what good does it do, I bet half the women in my shul don’t daven, etc. etc. etc.

But while I was having this debate in my head, my external world was collapsing around me.

Our bankroll got thin.

I was tired, grouchy, depressed, inert.

I couldn’t motivate myself to do anything, let alone daven.

Work was hard, things went wrong, plates, broke, I ached, we argued.

And all the time I kept thinking — this is a slippery slope. How can you say you’re “frum” if you don’t even talk to Hashem?

“What’s your problem,” I asked myself. “You keep kosher, you light your candles, you do the important things. So who needs to daven? If I say a little prayer here and there, and remember to say my brochas for eating and going to the washroom, shouldn’t that be enough?”

I’ve done this before, dropped tehillim, stopped davening, davened rushed or badly, given up on perek shirah, until I pulled myself out of the funk.

It is so obvious to me that when I drop my responsibilities to Hashem, my personal world goes very wrong. Things are just harder, as if you’re trying to climb up a hill with a 50-pound bag of sand on your back.

I’m not saying I’m being punished. I think being a BT is forever this crab walk of sideways skittering, two steps forward and two steps back. But this awful feeling of abrogation, of dereliction of duty, of leaving things unfinished, that’s the hardest to take.

I committed to starting up again on Erev Pesach this year. I would pick up the football and run with it. And I did — the whole nine yards (figuratively speaking).

And have been faithfully doing so every since.

And my world is going smoothly.

The bills are paid.

The work is fun and challenging but not frustrating.

My relationship with my husband and others is excellent.

And the sun shines every day, even when it rains.

There’s no doubt in my mind that when you finally understand our sole job is to serve Hashem, everything begins to make sense. The priorities click back into place. Everything becomes a little easier and a little clearer.

I’m not sure, but I suspect that even a BT who decides it’s too much and goes back to his old secular way of life will never be the same again. They’ve had a taste of Gan Eden on earth by seeing a glimpse of kedushah and seeing their part in Hashem’s plan, and it will have left an indelible mark.

Mark and his family had the good fortune of having lunch with Rebbetzin Tziporah Heller on Monday during the Kew Garden Hills stop of her Spring visit to the States. As you know, Rebbetzin Heller has been working with Baalei Teshuva for many years and she is much sought after for her sage advice. Here are some of the thoughts she shared.

Integration

Rebbetzin Heller feels it is important that Baalei Teshuva integrate into their communities. There is no benefit in retaining that which no longer serves you. She compared it to a foreigner learning the language and customs of the place they currently live for their own benefit. This does not mean hiding the fact that you are a Baalei Teshuva or cutting off parts of yourself, it means trying to understand and adapt to your community.

Parenting 

Reb. Heller feels that one area that Baalei Teshuva could use help in is parenting. Many times, BTs are too stringent with their children and other times they are much too lenient. Parenting involves many grey areas and one must deal with each child and each situation differently. It’s also important not to try and make your children be the frum from birth success that you could never be as a BT.

Shidduchim 

Rebbetzin Heller feels that there definitely is a Shidduch Crisis. She does not feel that the situation is worse for BTs because they are usually willing to consider a wider range of people. She said that she has seen success on the SawYouAtSinai.com dating site which combines Shadchanim with a web based database. It is also important for BTs to try to find  advocates to help them find an appropriate match.

Here is a shiur, Reb. Heller gave Monday night at Congregation Ahavas Yisroel titled Finding Inspiration From Within.

I became a BT 24 years ago. Prior to that, I was strictly BLT.

Making the transition from BLT to BT was an adventure, filled with memories that profoundly embarrass me to this very day. After all, I didn’t know ANYTHING! I was raised in an assimilated home which spoke very little about G-d, Judaism, or anything even remotely Jewish. How I stumbled into REAL Judaism is another story, not for this post, but I will say that G-d reached out an arm and I latched on.

During my first year discovering Jewish observance, I drove to shul on Fridays and Saturdays. I would park my car blocks away and out of sight. One day, just as I was getting into my car to drive home, my rabbi walked by and saw me. He knew that I drove, how could he not? Still, I said to him, “Rabbi, I was really hoping you wouldn’t see me doing this.” My rabbi replied, serious, yet non-threatening, “What do you want me to do, hit you over the head with a stick?” That must have been a good line since I still remember it.

Then one day I received a phone call from a synagogue member who had an apartment for rent in the community. He asked me if I might be interested? I imagine he must have been shocked when I moved in the next day. Driving on Shabbos would now become no more than a faint memory of a past life. This is just one from a storehouse of retrospectives on how I found my way back to my Jewish roots. As I review the events which led up to my return, and to this very day, it isn’t hard for me to see that Hashem was leaving His business card every step of the way.

After moving into my new home in the community I recall the thrill of one day being invited to my Rabbi’s house for the first time. His father, another rabbi, was also there, a short, stout man harboring a full and neatly trimmed white beard. With a strong South African accent the father asked me, “How are you acclimating?” Too nervous to think with any clarity, I assumed he was talking about the weather, not about my new life’s direction. I told him I thought the climate in Santa Monica was outstanding.

I’m only telling you this little embarrassment in trust that you won’t repeat it to anybody. If we keep it just between you and me no one will ever have to know that it ever happened. In case you are interested, I’ll tell you what my acclimation was REALLY like. Something akin to thawing a caveman out of a block of ice and then dropping him into the house of Emily Post. I can tell you that It was difficult, and it took me a long time to adjust.

Speaking of my new and wonderful community, I would often be invited to people’s homes for Shabbos meals. A number of times, early on, I would use the bathroom of one of my hosts during Shabbos and by sheer force of habit, turn off the light on the way out. Then my reflexive actions would take over as I “quickly” flicked the light back on, hoping that no one would notice. Turning the light off was not really a difficulty since it was without thought. Turning the light back on was much more problematic because, reflexive or not, I knew what I was doing. Inculcating into myself the idea that Jewish law comes ahead of personal embarrassment was a level I had not yet attained.

We former BLTs can be very self-conscious, at least I was. In many cases, people such as myself are opening our eyes to this new and very different world for the first time in our lives. There is so much we do not understand. We don’t know the routines, people are using expressions that are totally foreign to us, and we are in constant fear of exposing ourselves as ignoramusses.

What I yearned for more than anything else was guidance. I wanted people to be sensitive to my situation, to read my mind, to stay one step ahead of me at all times and give me a heads up before I made a fool out of myself. Judaism has a lot of walls and a lot of holes, and I think I made a habit of bumping into walls and falling into holes. I needed a bunch of big brothers.

Here are a few more early recollections to give you an idea.

There was a non-kosher restaurant I used to frequent that had a weekly $3.95 steak and baked potato special…YUM! One evening, just as I was leaving my apartment for that favorite dinner of mine a friend walked over. I said hello, told him where I was going, and then I volunteered, “It may not be a kosher steak, but it’s not as bad as eating pork.”

I’ll never forget his reply, “I don’t know about that.”

Five words, and over 20 years later I’m still thinking about them. What reason did I have for believing that pork was worse than non-kosher steak? Maybe it’s worse, maybe it’s not, that’s not the point. I was making assumptions without any basis in fact to back them up. I wasn’t asking questions and I wasn’t looking for answers. I was making it up as I went along, because it felt right to me. At that moment I realized that my life up to that point had been guided by a secular outlook to the world. I knew what was right and what was wrong. I knew what was serious and what was minor. I knew because…well…I just knew, that’s all.

I was crushed by this self-revelation. I didn’t go to that restaurant that night. I missed out on my delectable steak and baked potato. In fact, as of that evening, never again, to my knowledge, have I ever eaten anything that wasn’t kosher, not at home, not with friends, not with family members…nowhere…ever!

All of this restaurant talk reminds me of the time I learned that I was supposed to have a six hour waiting period between eating meat and dairy. As I was now becoming truly observant, I would always wait six hours after eating meat before eating dairy, and I would also wait six hours after dairy before eating meat.

I did this for a year or two before learning one day that the rules for eating dairy after meat were not the same as the rules for eating meat after dairy. There is a particular reason why this discovery profoundly upset me. Why had no one realized that I was new to Jewish observance and that I needed somebody to come forward and provide me with this information? How can I ask people the appropriate questions when I don’t know what questions need to be asked?

Another example I remember which really bothered me was after tearing a paper towel one Shabbos.

“What are you doing?” someone asked me as if in shock.

“I don’t know. Aren’t I allowed to tear a paper towel?”

“NO! Not on Shabbos.”

The point is that many times we former BLTs really do not know what we are doing. We certainly don’t want to look foolish, and we absolutely need YOUR help and input. How sensitive are we, you and me, to the plight of those Jews who really need Jewish friends helping them along? That is the subject of KIRUV. Are we looking out for the genuine needs of our fellow Jews? Are we trying to be ahead of the curve, or are we simply following the curve, often after the curve has fallen off the cliff?

As I write this I realize that Pesach is almost upon us. Does not the son who doesn’t even know how to ask a question come to mind? Perhaps this year, as you read about the four sons at your Seder tables, you will give a bit of additional reflection to the plight of this child in need. I know I will, now that I have reminded myself of what it was like for me.

Eliyahu and his wife Leah run a forum called Observant Judaism HQ. Give it a visit when you have a chance.

True Happiness is a Spiritual Pleasure

Every pleasure in life is a piece of G-dliness to which we can connect. The awe of a sunset, a baby’s smile, hitting a home run, and winning the lottery are all experiences that G-d created, and they have a special connection to the Infinite. The more real the pleasure, the more of a connection to the Infinite.

Some pleasures bring a momentary happiness like an ice cream cone, or a new car. This is only a temporary joy. The Infinite Being created the physical universe as finite. The physical world by nature is temporary; pleasures that are tied to physicality are therefore limited. Our joy from these pleasures is also temporary and limited.

In contrast, we experience joy when we do the right thing under difficult circumstances. That joy is much more meaningful, and longer lasting. If you save someone from drowning, you might feel an inner joy from that event the rest of your life. Physical pleasure gives us temporary joy; spiritual pleasure gives us longer lasting joy.

True Joy Comes from Within

To access more joy, we must understand that true joy comes from within. When we have an experience that gives us true joy, like having a child, we aren’t really having an external experience, like we are when we eat a hamburger. The external event is merely allowing us to get in touch with the joy that’s inside us. That’s why a true joy experience lasts much longer.

We all have tremendous joy imbedded in our soul. The soul is a source of limitless joy. When we are able to focus correctly, we can unlock our hidden storehouse of happiness.

Max Weiman
Kabbalah Made Easy, Inc.
www.kabbalahmadeeasy.com

A Simple Guide to Happiness is available by phone and mail, bookstores and from Amazon. To order call 314-814-6629, email MWeiman@kabbalahmadeeasy.com, or write to:
Simple Guide
PO Box 32088
St. Louis, MO 63132

I was talking to a friend over Shabbos and he related the following story:

He went on an admissions interview with one of his children and the questions being asked were upsetting him. By the time it was over he was really angry. What kind of school was this that would have an outlook like that?

When he got home he headed for the book shelf, picked up Rabbi Pliskin’s book on “Anger” and turned to the section on reframing. After quickly reviewing it he kept repeating to himself: “They’re teaching Torah!” “They’re teaching Torah!” “They’re teaching Torah!” After a few minutes he was able to reframe the institution into it’s proper perspective. Yes, he still disagreed with some of the things they said, but he was able to appreciate the good they were doing and eliminate any anger towards them.

Rabbi Pliskin, suggests that the key to a life of joy is to master this art of “reframing” — to change our negative perception of a situation into a more optimistic outlook. There is a free audio from Rabbi Pliskin on reframing available here. Let me leave you with this description of this simple yet powerful tool from Rabbi Pliskin’s book, “Begin Again Now”:

Reframing means perceiving a situation or event differently than you did originally or differently than it is usually viewed. A person who masters the art of reframing will be the master of the emotional quality of his life. While you do not always have control over external factors, you always have the ability to reframe.

Update: My friend Joe points to this great article by Sara Yoheved Rigler which contains a great story of reframing:

I  sat down at the kitchen table and decided to work this through. My feelings of outrage were bubbling up in my heart like a volcano, but the Torah expected me to process and control my thoughts and emotions as well as my actions. I knew that the way to change emotions is to change the thoughts that I was telling myself. By a gigantic act of will, I “changed the tape.” I forced myself to remember good things about my cousin, times she had been loving to me, times she had been vulnerable.

Read the whole thing, it’s an amazing article.

I heard a beautiful thought this past Shabbas on Parshat Vayeitze which illuminates an important idea for ba’alei teshuva. The speaker didn’t know the original source for the idea, so I would love to know if anyone has heard this before and knows where it came from.

Towards the beginning of the Parsha we read about Yaakov’s dream of angels ascending a ladder to heaven.
Why did Hashem specifically choose a ladder as the symbol of the dream? When one is climbing a ladder, it is necessary to climb slowly and hit every rung. So too for us as we’re growing. It’s essential to take it slowly and reach each stage in our growth in its proper time.

Most of us have known ba’alei teshuva who dive into religious life, quickly throwing off all of their old habits and beliefs, and just as quickly jump back out of being frum. It’s necessary instead to take it slowly and methodically. In the book The Kiruv Files, co-authored by Rabbi Dovid Kaplan about his experience working in outreach at Ohr Somayach, he says when he sees a fresh ba’al teshuva sprouting payos, he threatens to yank them out if the person doesn’t cut them off himself. He notes that there is nothing wrong with having payos, as long as they are grown in the proper time when one’s internal behavior and knowledge have sincerely changed, not just his external mode of dress.

Sincere, internal growth is something that Hashem constantly expects of us, but He demands each change in its time. Remember, it was the slow and steady turtle that won the race, not the speedy hare.

Before getting into my latest question/difficulty, I would like to give a quick follow-up on my last post, “Trying to Pray”. I wish I could say there was some dramatic change and my prayers are now impassioned and sincere. Unfortunately, were I to say that, I would be lying. What did change is my perspective, thanks to a wonderful story I read. I can’t remember where it was written, or who was involved (maybe someone who remembers these kinds of things will be able to help—I hate telling unattributed stories), but here goes:

A depressed Jew went to his Rebbe and explained his problem—he felt uninspired in his praying and learning, and in fact didn’t enjoy doing either. The Rebbe answered him by saying that he (the Rebbe) was jealous! He himself enjoyed praying and learning so much, that he felt that he wasn’t fully serving Hashem in either, because his own enjoyment meant that he was never praying or learning for Hashem’s sake alone. Meanwhile, the other man had the opportunity to pray and learn only for the sake of heaven, with no personal enjoyment acting as an ulterior motive.

Since reading this story, I’ve been trying to approach my prayers with the attitude of “here is an opportunity to really serve Hashem.” I might find praying difficult, but that just makes my efforts to pray all the more important. In fact, I do feel that I grow more in twenty minutes of prayer (with a lot of effort to focus) than I do in several hours of preparing for Shabbat guests (a mitzva I love to do).
Read more Replacing Secular Values with Torah Values ›

My first Sabbath taught me an important lesson about training the palate to enjoy the sweet flavor of success.

I had been traveling through Israel on my way from Crete to Kenya, and I was looking to while away a few months volunteering on kibbutz, not attending yeshiva. But it was November, when agricultural work is scarce and kibbutzim don’t need volunteers. So when I happened upon an institution offering room and board, together with a degree of intellectual stimulation, it seemed a remarkable stroke of good fortune, one that would provide a cheap and pleasant distraction for a month or two or three. I miscalculated — by nine years.

It didn’t take me long to recognize the wisdom that permeated the walls of the study hall and to appreciate ancient traditions that guided the Torah community. Committing myself to a foreign way of life, however, was an entirely different matter. I had arrived not knowing aleph-beis, never having heard of Shavuos or Sukkos or Tisha B’av, never having seen a lulav or heard a shofar. Talmudic study was intriguing, the philosophy insightful, but I hadn’t come looking to upend my life or rethink my worldview, and I gave no serious consideration to doing either.
Read more The Sweetness of Struggle and Success ›

I was recently having a discussion with close friend of mine about who we really are and what’s at the core of our personality. As we talked about what mitzvos we strongly identify with and how Hashem identifies with us, we got onto the topic of pasukim (verses) that are associated with our Hebrew names.

I’m sure you’ve seen those lines in small print in the last paragraph of the Shemoneh Essrei, right? Where you have the option to turn to page 924 in the back of the Artscroll siddur and insert the appropriate Hebrew verse for your Hebrew name. How many of us have actually taken a look at the verse for our own name?
Read more My Name is Not Neil ›

When I was growing up, for New Years Eve I would sleep over at a friend’s house, eat bags and bags of M&Ms and watch some New Years program on TV until I couldn’t stand it anymore. In between talking with my friends about which celebrity is wearing what, we would write or discuss the resolutions we would take upon ourselves in the coming year. I remember how carefully I chose what my resolutions would be, how we would discuss the pros and cons, and how ashamed I was in thinking, oh I didn’t accomplish that in the old year, but surely I’ll be able to do it in the new year.

I have now realized that I should just as seriously take this upcoming New Year.

Not only is Rosh Hashana the time when we start to stand accountable for our actions, but it is also the perfect opportunity to commit to some resolutions. The resolutions should not be as lofty as “I will become more spiritual”, but rather they should be concrete, tangible resolutions that we can SEE ourselves doing. It is the last part – seeing myself doing the resolution – that I failed to understand when I was growing up. I didn’t see myself going to the gym every day, but my resolution was to exercise more. I was setting myself up for failure by committing to a resolution I knew I couldn’t fulfil.
Read more Growing Without Bounds – One Small Step at a Time ›

Transcribed translated and adapted for Beyond BT by Rabbi Dovid Schwartz

Rav Mordechai Gifter Z’L gave this Shmuess to open the 1969 Fall/ Winter Z’man (yeshiva Semester) for the students of the Telshe Yeshiva in Wickliffe, Ohio.

The Kozhnitzer Magid felt that he was stagnating spiritually, that he had simply stopped growing. One night the Ba’al Shem Tov appeared to him in a dream. When he complained of his disappointment over his lack of growth the Ba’al Shem Tov told him: “Your problem is that you are trying to measure the growth of Gadlus (maturity) using the yardsticks of Katnus (immaturity). When a baby is born, each developmental change is pronounced and dramatic. Going from nursing to eating solids to table food to crawling to toddling to walking to toilet training to, most striking of all, talking are all eye-catching, easily discernible stages of growth. Once a child reaches adolescence, the changes are slower and more incremental. The parent loves the child no less during those 4-6 years than during the first 5-6 years of the child’s life. But the progress is so slow that it doesn’t impress the parent or other observers nearly as much. Yet when they stop to think about it they realize that it is precisely these unspectacular changes that, slowly but surely, transform their beloved baby into an independent adult”
Read more That’s One Giant Step for Children, One Subtle (yet crucial) Increment for Adult-Kind ›

In preparing for a move, I was going through an old stack of papers and found inside a pamphlet that I was apparently given during one of my trips to Israel, entitled “How to get deeper into Torah without going off the deep end.” I don’t remember reading this pamphlet previously (because I probably received it quite a number of years ago), but decided to skim through it again now, just to see what kind of advice it offered to the newly religious.

The advice enclosed was sound, things like “Don’t abandon your old identity,” “Go slow” (5 times!), and “Ask questions.” But the one that really struck me was “Honor all your failures.”

“Honor all your failures.” I thought that was quite interesting and not something that I’ve heard so often. It makes sense; I’ve heard the expression more than once that you learn from your mistakes. And honestly, I know that whenever I mess something up, while I do have a tendency to take it hard (obviously, I still have this lesson to learn), I usually try very hard not to repeat such a mistake and as such, grow from it.

The pamphlet goes on to say that getting things right “prevents deep understanding” while “your failures bring depth and grace to your knowledge.” Again, I definitely see the wisdom in such an approach, the more you make mistakes and realize them, the more you recognize and refine the correct way of doing things.

I think this is a really important lesson for many baalei teshuvah, that you don’t have to be perfect, ever. That there is as much growth, if not more, to be made through mistakes and failures, than there is from doing things right. A writer learns that revisions make his writing stronger and clearer. An artist erases many times before producing a masterpiece. And a person should realize that through his mistakes, he internalizes what he is striving for.

Honor your failures, for they are that which you learn from.