Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

In the past month, three families in our BRS West community have lost parents – all three, survivors of the Holocaust. Our community is relatively young; we have many more baby naming and bris celebrations than Shiva houses. But listening to the stories of children and grandchildren, I was confronted with a number of powerful realizations, none of them are novel, but the reminders are important.

I guess it's this kind of reflection that Shlomo HaMelech (קהלת ז:ב) advocates for when he tells us:

טוֹב לָלֶכֶת אֶל־בֵּית־אֵבֶל מִלֶּכֶת אֶל־בֵּית מִשְׁתֶּה בַּאֲשֶׁר הוּא סוֹף כָּל־הָאָדָם וְהַחַי יִתֵּן אֶל־לִבּוֹ It is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of feasting; for that is the end of every man, and a living one should take it to heart.

Firstly, the reality that our generation is the last to know these heroes first hand. This truth creates a deep sense of responsibility to the past and future.

Secondly, the knowledge that these towering personalities are our only link to entire worlds that were destroyed. With the loss of each one, there are countless names, faces and places that go along with them.

But perhaps the most profound realization is the most simple. I was stuck by the sheer impossibility of attempting to confine such rich, painful and tumultuous lives into words. How does one summarize a life?

Sitting and listening to these families I began to reflect on the messages and legacies that shine through decades of life, love and relationships. The stories that were so often retold, the quirk, the phrases, “He would always say...” “She always told me...”

It's obvious, tragic and peculiar to note that it is unusual for a single event or action to make much of a mark. No one includes the once-in-a-lifetime vacation to the summary of a life. Of course, these stories are remembered fondly; but usually in a larger context. And it's this larger context that makes up the content and substance of life.

We tend to think of our own lives as a series of monotony punctuated by high points. But for those on the journey along with us, the meaning of our relationships are build and broken during the countless hours in-between the highlights.

That's where the “always used to say...” is honed, heard and passed on.

Effectively, it appears that the sum total of life is far less about thought, speech or action; and far more about the impressions we make on other people over time and space.

The word “impression” is not my own. Chazal (רש״י סנהדרין קד ב), and many later seforim refer to the רשימות that are created from the life, legacy and learning of meaningful people. This notion is a metaphor, of course. In a very literal sense, the רשימה of one thing onto another is occurs when two items are pressed together – they leave a mark on each other; an impression.

Perhaps it's a function of our resilience, perhaps it's stubbornness, but people, and certainly Jews, need a lot of imprints before a lasting impression is made.

In a way, this is the entire story of our people from Sefer Shemos and on. It took ten plagues, splitting the sea, manna from heaven, and water from a rock before we were ready to stand at the foot Sinai and receive the Torah. Yet even that fantastic impression was short lived – forty days later we built and bowed to a Golden Calf.

These were not weak willed people. Chazal refer to that generation as the דור דעה – the generation of knowledge. They knew, they understood, they got it. But change is difficult, and it takes time.

The Medrash (שמות רבה מא:ו) tells us that even Moshe Rabbeinu himself had a hard time assimilating Hashem's Torah into his understanding:

דָּבָר אַחֵר, וַיִּתֵּן אֶל משֶׁה, אָמַר רַבִּי אַבָּהוּ כָּל אַרְבָּעִים יוֹם שֶׁעָשָׂה משֶׁה לְמַעְלָה, הָיָה לוֹמֵד תּוֹרָה וְשׁוֹכֵחַ, אָמַר לוֹ רִבּוֹן הָעוֹלָם יֵשׁ לִי אַרְבָּעִים יוֹם, וְאֵינִי יוֹדֵעַ דָּבָר, מֶה עָשָׂה הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא מִשֶּׁהִשְׁלִים אַרְבָּעִים יוֹם נָתַן לוֹ הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא אֶת הַתּוֹרָה מַתָּנָה, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וַיִּתֵּן אֶל משֶׁה Rabbi Abahu says: for forty days Moshe would learn Torah and forget it. After forty days, he said “Master of the Universe, I have spend forty days and I know nothing.” What did Hashem do? He gave the Torah to Moshe as a gift.

The Shem Mishmuel (תשא ופרה תרע״ה) questions this Medrash. If Hashem is going to give the Torah to Moshe as a gift, why teach for forty days and nights? And why does the Torah present the events as if Moshe was being taught Torah for the entire period?

He explains: Each time Moshe learned a little, it made a small, imperceivable impression. At the end of forty days, Moshe was dejected. He didn't feel how these lessons added up to “The Torah”. Hashem's gift, however, was the capacity to see how the dots connected inside of Moshe. As if all at once, the myriad of tiny teachings coalesced together to imprint the Toras Hashem into Moshe Rabbeinu's heart and soul. All at once, he felt that he had become someone else; that something had changed within him.

This is how we change ourselves as well. Slow, consistent, disciplined dedication holds the keys of transformation. Likewise, this is the process that enables us to raise our children, become Avdei Hashem, and create a legacy.

As Will Durant wrote: “We are what we repeatedly do.”

On the one hand, this perspective is demanding and daunting. But on the other, it's incredibly uplifting. Our lives – and the impressions they leave – are far more about our trends, affect and habits than our major successes. But it is equally true that even our most devastating failures are only blips on the radar of our years. Indeed, even our greatest national failures are smoothed over with the passage of time.

Chazal (ברכות לב ב׳) teach us that Hashem relates to us with a highly selective memory: He promises us that He will never forget the covenant of Sinai, but has no problem erasing the Egel HaZahav from memory.

The Mei HaShiloach (ח”ב, ליקוטי הש”ס, ברכות לב) explains this double standard from the perspective of Halacha: When two people are fighting over who owns a piece of land, the Beis Din will rule in favor of the one who is in possession. But if the other litigant can prove that the land belonged to his father, then the presence of someone else there is now suspect.

Likewise, every Jew, is a child of the Avos and Imahos. They already impressed each of us with the natural proclivity to love and fear Hashem. Any question of deviating is thus standing in contradiction to a Chazakah – a previously affirmed status quo. We hold within us the impressions of all those who came before us. All that is left to do is to add our own רשימות.

In the deepest way, the slow, dedicated effect of all of our lives recreates that sublime impression that was the goal of all creation – that humanity should live in the Image of Hashem.

Hashem should help us that the impressions of my life and yours, and all who came before us, will bring the world just a little closer to Him.