Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

#Vayechi #תשפב

This past Sunday, together with some holy chevra from BRS West, I ran a half marathon. It was not my best race. Far from it. I knew this going in. The heat and humidity were far higher than I had anticipated. But far more impactful was my general lack of sleep in the past few weeks of having our new baby at home.

The first few weeks after having a baby are wonderful, exhilarating, exciting, and most of all, exhausting. Despite the fact that we've done this before, nothing fully prepares you.

Aliza and I joke that our inability to remember exactly what it was like the last time we had a baby is most likely due to absolute sleep deprivation that comes along with it. It seems that Hashem, in His infinite wisdom, made it impossible for new parents to form short term memories – or no one would have kids again.

And in all of that, the rest of life must continue. How is it even possible? It seems that together with the Bracha of a new baby in the family, comes the bracha of expanded capacities. All at once, we find ourselves pushing beyond what we thought could fit into our time, schedules and emotions. With the additional responsibilities, comes additional strength, creativity and mental resources.

Not everything works out perfectly, but there is a distinct feeling of becoming more.

This expansion lies at the root of the most counter-cultural productivity advice I have encountered:

Rabbi Adin Steinzaltz zt”l was without doubt, one of the most prolific teachers of Torah in the past century. Aside from his extensive works in print, he was the founder of multiple educational institutions and organizations. A number of years ago, he addressed the challenges of attempting the accomplishments he attained:

In my last letter to the Rebbe, I told him I was holding down three full time jobs: scholarly writing, outreach work in Russia, and a network of schools in Israel. Since it all seemed like too much for one person, I asked him what to focus on. His answer was typical of him, that I should “continue to do all these things and to do more things and work even harder.”

Rabbi Steinzaltz commented that it's a strange thing to tell a person that feels overwhelmed – you should take on more. But that was always the Rebbe's orientation. Both for himself and his Chassidim.

This advice flies in the face of all modern thinking on productivity. We are supposed to take breaks, recharge and relax. Or we will suffer burnout. Everyone knows that our mental health depends on getting enough sleep, and creating down time and space for entertainment and enjoyment. All of this is demonstratively true. But how then do we explain the renewed ability to do more when there is more to do? Why is it that when you want something done, you ask a busy person?

I was reflecting on this idea a little while ago when trying to convince one of our children to do something they didn't want to do. I found myself falling into well worn parental tropes, telling them “You can either do this the easy way or the hard way.” It is understood that “easy way” means without fear or pain or punishment. “Hard way” means fear, pain and punishment.

And then it hit me. This is terrible Chinuch! We have, as parents, as teachers, as society, been training ourselves and our children for generations, that difficult is equivalent to negative. We are teaching them that they should aim for the easy way.

Of course, difficult is still difficult. It is unpleasant, challenging, uncomfortable, annoying and exhausting, but it's not negative. The opposite is true as well. Not everything that is enjoyable, comfortable and entertaining is necessarily good.

This is not a novel idea; it is, at least intellectually, quite palatable. But actually choosing to do difficult and worthwhile things, rather than easy and comfortable things, is a skill that needs to be honed through a life of work.

When we consider that learning to difficult things is an Avoda, we reach a disconcerting conclusion: When we are feeling overwhelmed, have we truly reached our limit, or are we just experiencing natural resistance to doing hard things?

There is only one way to find out: Try to do more. If it works, great! If not, then we have learned a little more about our limitations. That was the Rebbe's advice. If you're overwhelmed, take on more.

The goal is not burnout. It's not to sacrifice mental health for the rat race. It's about seeing difficulty and challenge as opportunities to grow, develop and expand. This as true in exercise as it is in Avodas Hashem, davening, learning, parenting, building a home, and deepening relationships. We are conditioned to look for the easy way. But we become better people when we push ourselves to do difficult and worthwhile things. This is where growth occurs.

Indeed, the Yismach Yisrael explains that this secret is hidden in our Parsha, when Rashi famously tells us:

למה פרשה זה סתומה... שבקש לגלות את הקץ לבניו ונסתם ממנו Why does this Parsha begin without a break in the Torah? Because Yaakov wished to reveal the redemption to his sons, but the it was concealed from him.

For most of our lives, and indeed, for most of the commentaries, this is understood as a surprise to Yaakov and tragedy for his children. Perhaps a necessary reality, but something upsetting, none the less. If only Hashem would have allowed Yaakov to tell us how and when Geulah would happen!

Not so, says the Yismach Yisrael:

Since Yaakov wanted to reveal to his children the world of Mashiach, of Geulah and of Redemption, by definition, he needed to demonstrate to them that light comes from darkness. If we want to experience redemption, we need to get comfortable with the darkness that precedes it.

It's interesting to note that Yaakov Avinu himself has only recently grown into this understanding. At the beginning of his time in Eretz Yisrael the Torah tells us that בקש לישב בשלוה – Yaakov desperately wanted to settle in tranquility.

But Hashem brings upon Yaakov challenge after challenge. Yosef and his brothers, Yehuda and Tamar, the abduction of Dina. The famine, and the threat of losing Binyamin. Throughout this time, Yaakov is desperate for a moment's reprieve.

How uncanny that in the final 17 years of his life, Yaakov achieves that which he never could ever before. Calm, serenity, a relationship with his children and grandchildren. Unity in the family, and the chance to enjoy his life – ויחי יעקב – Yaakov was finally alive.

What enabled Yaakov to experience life?

The Torah tells us that when Yaakov hears that Yosef is alive he prepares to move his life to Egypt. Consider how terrifying this must have been for Yaakov. Hashem has promised that the Jewish people would experience exile. And now, Yaakov was willing entering exile himself.

And in choosing to do this frightening, dark and terrifying thing is Yaakov's final message to his children. You can do this the easy way of the hard way. I beg you: Do it the hard way. Choose something difficult and enter into the challenge willingly. Don't look for the easy way out. Because ויחי is not the same as וישב – living and settling are opposites.

Some friends questioned that sanity in attempting the race at all. It's good question – one that I replayed about a billion times in the 13.1 challenging miles of the run. But by the end I discovered that life is not a sprint but it's not a marathon either. Both of these have a finish line as their goal. And life is not about getting to the end.

Yaakov is telling us that Life is Training. The goal is to engage and get better at it. Some days are fantastic. Most come with aches and pains. Fatigue and setbacks are normal parts of the growth process. The goal is to keep at it – that's how we become more.

#Vayigash #תשפב

This week we merited to bring our son into the Bris between Hashem and His people. For Aliza and I, this was a particularly emotional mitzvah – Our son is the first child born in the family since the passing of my father-in-law. As such, our boy will merit to carry (most of) his grandfather's name, as we named him Alter Yehuda Yudel. (Don't worry mom – We're calling him Yehuda.)

The night before the bris, in preparation for this mitzvah, I spend time thinking and learning while holding our new son. (Some of these ideas were shared at the Bris, some are written here for the first time.)

Bris Milah is a uniquely important mitzvah on many levels. From a cultural and historical perspective, the mitzvah of Milah was almost always outlawed by out enemies. And yet, it was almost always performed with great mesirus nefesh, even in the worst of circumstances. From a halachik perspective, Bris Milah is the only positive mitzvah that we fulfill today that would incurs kares for non-fulfillment. And from an emotional perspective, the Talmud tells us that the mitzvah of Milah is imbued with Simcha – joy – that enables this mitzvah to be performed joyfully throughout our generations.

The enduring commitment of Klal Yisrael to this mitzvah while awe-inspiring is noticeably peculiar. It is no secret that Bris Milah is an inherently painful and uncomfortable mitzvah. Despite the cries of babies and tears of mothers and fathers, the great mitzvah of Milah enjoys widespread observance – even amongst those who are not otherwise observant. Reasonably, none of us should enjoy it any more than taking our kids to the pediatrician to get their shots. The deepest desire of parents is to save our children from pain, and yet we willingly submit our infant sons to public surgery – and we celebrate it! What is it about this mitzvah that speak so deeply to the soul of our nation?

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#Chanukah #תשפב

Late on Tuesday night, I sat in the hospital room rocking chair holding our son. He's barely a few hours old. I looked at his calm, pure face and thought about the miracle of Jewish continuity, of the immense kindness of Hashem.

I thought about the overwhelming privilege and awesome responsibility that Hashem has bestowed upon us; to help this beautiful Neshama to become an Eved Hashem and Ohev Yisrael.

I thought about the countless neshamos that Hashem brought in this world in different and far more painful times. The souls that came to illuminate and elevate the darkness. I am filled with gratitude that our generation is so blessed. It seems to me that our we and our children have not been tasked with the worlds of darkness.

Despite the obvious and plentiful challenges of our generation, it is unquestionable that our lives are far, far better than any of our ancestors. This truth certainly makes for a more comfortable existence. But I won't deny that there have been times I have wondered if perhaps our lives might be a little more meaningful if we were living in more challenging times.

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#Vayeshev #תשפב

Thanksgiving is a strange day in the Blumenthal home. Despite the past fifteen years of living in the US, Thanksgiving remains foreign to me. Of course, I enjoy a deep-fried turducken as much as the next carnivorous patriot. (Though I still struggle with eating cranberry-apple pie as anything other than dessert.)

My wife, on the other hand, has deep emotions about the day. Thanksgiving for her, conjures warm feelings of family, belonging and nostalgia.

So this year, in this divisive climate, I took some time to think about my gratitude to the USA. I certainly feel a deep sense of gratitude to this wonderful country for all the opportunities it has given me. On a communal and national level, I am grateful to this country for providing the safety and freedom that has enabled our community to flourish and our children to grow.

But more than anything, I am grateful to the Master of the World that I still feel like a stranger.

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#Vayishlach #תשפב

The Rebbe, Reb Simcha Bunim of Peshischa put down his cup one motzei shabbos and turned to his chassidim with worried eyes. “I see a time just before Moshiach will come that Jews will not be able to support themselves with a regular Parnassah. They will need to find work on the side to support their needs. I'm shivering at the thought of it...”

To the Chassidim of that generation, this vision most likely conjured images of extreme poverty and hardship. But perhaps the Rebbe was glimpsing at us – a generation of extreme consumerism and the side hustles needed to support it.

Our generation has witnessed the emergence of a new class of American holidays: Black Friday, Cyber Monday and even more recently, Prime Day. These Yamim Tovim are celebrated across the country with ever increasing participation and excitement.

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#Vayetzei #תשפב

As our daughter Temima arrived home last Friday, I asked her what she had learned in school that day. (For reference, Temima is recently four years old.) Temima: I learned about unicorns and rainbows! Me: Really?! That's what the Morah taught you? Temima: Silly Abba. That's what I was learning about. I don't know what the Morah was doing. But Look Abba, I drew a rainbow!

There's a lot of charm to a four year old's imagination. (And I'm sure we'll hear more about this particular imagination at parent-teacher conferences...) But it dawned on me that our daughter was simply verbalizing a reality which we, as adults, experience all the time, but have conveniently forgotten about. Four year olds are always clearly living in the fuzzy space between tangible reality and their perception of it. But truthfully, so are we all, whether we like to admit it or not.

Simply put: The world that we live in is nothing more or less than a story that we are telling ourselves, about ourselves. We are the protagonists, the directors and the narrators. Everything and everyone is a supporting character in your story.

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#Toldos #תשפב

Raising children is hard. Raising dedicated, observant, healthy normal, passionate Jewish children is even harder. But achieving all that as a Baal Teshuva? It often seems impossible.

Perhaps some of these sentiments resonate with you:

“I wish I had the opportunities that my children have!” “If only my parents pushed me to daven, learn and practice my Hebrew skills! Why don't my children appreciate it?” “I got connected to Yiddishkeit through the Kiruv Rabbi on campus. Should I let me children try going “Off the Derech” so that they can find meaning like I did?” “How can I deny them the experiences that lead me to become who I am today?”

This is the indisputable challenge for Baalei Teshuva in raising children to be passionately connected to Torah and mitzvos. In general, even FFB's have no perfect methods for how to do it effectively and conclusively. But Baalei Teshuva have it even harder: we have little personal role modeling to fall back on.

Many Baalei Teshuva (perhaps you, reading this) can still feel the painful and awkward feelings of not belonging. Perhaps you know the feeling of not knowing which page of the Siddur to turn to on Shabbos Rosh Chodesh. Perhaps you still feel like a faker, an imposter. Perhaps you're still nervous to ask important questions for fear of being made to feel “I can't believe you're asking something that basic.”

Along with all these feelings of inadequacy, is that deep desire for our kids to not have to experience the same frustrations. And yet, there is no denying that in raising observant kids in our insular bubble, we are denying our children precisely those experiences that gave way to the love, curiously and excitement that make us the Jews we are today.

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#ChayeiSara #תשפב

There are two things that I learned this week, that don't make sense together.

The First: At parent teacher conferences, I noted to a number of parents that their child was a mench. Every single parent glowed at the compliment and told me that “being a mench was the most important thing in the world for them.” Some continued and explained: Having Derech Eretz is more important than what they are learning. More important than their grades. More important than anything else going on in school.

I loved hearing this – Jews are incredible. Mi K'Amcha Yisrael! Despite our deep commitment to excellence in learning, we are willing to push aside any other priority, any other value for the overarching value of Menchlichkeit.

But there is a second thing I learned this week. And it doesn't make sense. More and more, I am hearing from teachers, rabbeim and administrators that parents are writing, saying and yelling terrible things, in hurtful ways. All in the interest of ensuring that their children have a better experience in school.

I do not begrudge parents the need to “do everything they can” to help their kids. But I do question if we are fully considering the cost of acting with demonstratively negative middos.

I can only conclude that while good middos is still our greatest value, we've been duped into thinking “they don't apply here.”

The world we live in today considers good middos as a cheap token to be quickly abandoned in the pursuit of other goals. Sometimes, they are political goals. Sometimes social, emotional or educational. People are hasty to find reasons to act with disdain and derision the moment they feel “he or she deserves it!” But even if they do deserve it, even if they “had it coming”, the paramount importance of living with Derech Eretz, that we all agree on, should give us pause.

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#VaYera #תשפב

One evening, when Reb Simcha Bunim of P'shischa was a still child, his father was learning with three friends.

The discussions continued until late in the evening. It was the week of Parshas Vayera, and these exceptional Talmidiei Chachomim sat deep in discussion, contemplating Avraham Avinu and his Hachnasos Orchim (hospitality to guests).

Listening in by the doorway was young Simcha Bunim. His father welcomed him into the room and smiled at him. “Simcha Bunim”, he said “I would like you to think hard, and come up with a new interpretation on the mitzvah hachanasos orchim. Perhaps you could come up with a chiddush (original Torah thought) to share with us before going to bed.”

Simcha Bunim agreed and went into the next room.

Half an hour later, as the four men got up from the table, Simcha Bunim's father called into him, and said, “Let's hear your chiddush on the mitvah of hachnosos orchim.”

Simcha Bunim took his father's hand and led him into the next room. There were three beds with three pillows and three sheets and covers for his father's friends.

“Tatteh,” Simcha Bunim explained, “My chiddush in Hachnosos Orchim is that the beds should be ready in case they need to spend the night.”

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#LechLecha #תשפב

Once, during a trade fair, a number of rich merchants gathered in an inn. They were all Chassidim of various courts, and of course, each of them told stories of the wonders and miracles done by their particular Rebbe. Reb Shmuel Gurary, a Chossid of the Rebbe Maharash, was present as well. When it was his turn to tell a story, he said:

“Once, someone offered me a serious business proposition in timber harvesting and sales. It would require an enormous investment, but could generate a tremendous return if all went well. The risk was great, but so was the potential reward. Of course, I sought the advice of the Rebbe Maharash. The Rebbe told me to invest, and that’s what I did. Not long afterwards, the investment fell through and I lost everything I had put into the venture.”

Waiting for a miraculous punchline, the others were surprised that with these words, Reb Shmuel concluded his tale and fell silent.

“Well... What was the miracle?” they asked.

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