#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.

(For those who are now wondering about my own childhood, I should note that my own family, growing up, was always deeply connected to Yiddishkeit. Strict observance, however, was far more negotiable; as was the case for many South African Jews.)

This problem is not limited to the “classic BT” alone. With the exceptional growth of the Yeshiva Day School system, summer camps, years in yeshivos and seminaries in Israel etc... most of us grew up with access to Yiddishkeit that our parents simply did not have. And thus the quandary of how to raise our religiously privileged children is shared by almost everyone, to one degree or another.

When we search for solutions, it is instructive to understand that this is not a new problem. Indeed, it is the oldest problem in Jewish history. The Ohr HaChaim Hakadosh explains: Avraham was a Baal Teshuva. Yitzchak was Frum From Birth. Both of them had kids who went off the Derech!

We are the progeny of Yaakov – the son who remained faithful to his parents' tradition. How do we emulate his journey?

When Reb Yitzchak Meir, the Chidushei HaRim, died in 1866, his grandson, Reb Yehuda Aryeh Leib, the Sfas Emes, was only 19 years old. Due his youth and reluctance to accept the position of Rebbe, the Chassidim flocked to Reb Chanoch Henoch of Aleksander. But when the Aleksander Rebbe died four years later, the chassidim pressured the now 23 year old prodigy to be their leader; indeed, the leader of the largest Chassidus in Europe at the time.

Thus it was in 1870 that the Sfas Emes assumed the mantle of Rebbe. Chassidim would ask him how he managed to provide leadership, wisdom and insight to those much older than himself.

The Sfas Emes would respond with a story:

The was once a mountain climber who dreamed of climbing the highest peaks in the world. He would train and practice, spending months climbing to ever higher and higher heights. Until the day arrived when he would begin his accent of the highest mountain known to him.

Weeks and weeks of climbing ensued, inching slowly and carefully towards the summit. As he arrived at the peak, taking in the magnificent scenery, he notices that he is not alone. A few feet away was a young child.

Bewildered, he turns to the child and asks: “How could it be that a child was able to climb this mountain? It's taken me weeks and weeks to get here!”

Says the child back to the climber: “I didn't climb this mountain; my parents did many years ago. I was born here.”

So too, explained the Sfas Emes “I was born here.”

Our children might not be born at the tops of our mountains, but they are certainly far closer than we were. All of this means one thing: Raising mountain climbers is an exercise in futility. Our kids don't need to climb our mountains.

This begs the question: What should they do instead?

The Talmud (Pesachim 88a) explains that each of the Avos had a different relationship with the place that would later become the Makom HaMikdash:

Avraham called it הר – a mountain. Yitzchak called it שדה – a field. Yaakov called it a בית – a home.

Avraham is the first Jew. He is the one who climbs the mountain. Avraham prevails through ten tests, and a life of hardship, arriving at the summit with a wealth of experience and achievement behind him.

Yizchak is born at the summit. The mountain has been conquered already. Yitzchak transforms it into a field. His life's work is to till the soil, plant the seeds and nurture that which his father began.

Yaakov takes this mission one step further: He establishes a home for Yiddishkeit; building upon the field of his father Yitzchak. The בית of Yaakov is the coalescence of all the work that came before him. Finally it is grounded and permanent. It would be Yaakov's children who would inspire humanity from a place of strength and permanence.

Esav, on the other hand, is quite content to imitate his father, and this is his downfall.

וַיְהִי עֵשָׂו אִישׁ יֹדֵעַ צַיִד אִישׁ שָׂדֶה וְיַעֲקֹב אִישׁ תָּם יֹשֵׁב אֹהָלִים Esav was a cunning hunter, a man of the field; and Yaakov was a quiet man, dwelling in tents.

Esav is the man of the field. Whose field? Yitzchak's field.

Rashi alludes to this when explaining אִישׁ שָׂדֶה:

איש שדה – אדם בטל וצודה בקשתו חיות ועופות. A man who did nothing, who hunts beasts and birds with his bow.

That doesn't sound like a person who does nothing?! But perhaps the comment of אדם בטל is implying that Esav was not interested in further developing the tradition of Avraham and Yitzchak. His lived, contently in the field at the top of the mountain – a lifelong איש שדה.

Yaakov, of course, is the opposite. While he hasn't yet built a home for Hashem in the world, he is a יֹשֵׁב אֹהָלִים – he is living in a tent. Yaakov builds upon the field of his father, Esav stagnates.

We wonder how our children will fair without having to climb the same mountain a us. Some people, as a result of this concern, will willingly place their children at the bottom of the mountain; arguing that a child cannot achieve a relationship with Hashem, Torah, or the Jewish people without fighting the same battles for themselves. People will claim that “this is how I learned – this is how you should learn.”

But the lives of the Avos teaches us something different; that each subsequent generation has a unique task, one that builds upon the lives of our parents. Not one that attempts to imitate it.

The truth is that our children could, should and must be greater than us. We need to ask ourselves how we can inspire their growth, in areas that we ourselves have not conquered. How can we assist our children in planting fields, when we are mountain climbers? How can we instruct our children to build homes, when we have only ever planted fields?

Shlomo HaMelech tells us:

חֲנֹךְ לַנַּעַר עַל־פִּי דַרְכּוֹ גַּם כִּי־יַזְקִין לֹא־יָסוּר מִמֶּנָּה Educate a child according to his way, he will not swerve from it even in old age.

The Kotzker would explain: The point of education is that a child will continue to teach themselves long into old age. It's not about the lesson. It's about the love of learning.

In the words of Antoine de Saint—Exupery, author of The Little Prince:

If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up the men to gather wood, divide the work and give orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea.

Hashem should help us all to teach our children to dream. With the hope and promise that they will achieve heights we could never imagine.

#Toldos #תשפא

I was speaking with a friend about a week ago, who was complaining about the challenges of working from home. Children banging on the door, work spaces constantly violated, and the ever looming temptation of the kitchen...

But more than all of that, he related, he was spending far more time with his family than ever before. “You know,” he says, “I always made sure to spend quality time with my family. But quantity time is much more difficult.”

We know the struggle: It frustrating to have a kid barging in on zoom calls as we frantically reach for the mute button so that our colleagues don't have to hear “Wipe me!”.

It's tough to wrestle our kids to bed and then settle in to start the work day.

But while we are only just becoming accustomed to the Avoda of constant family time, many of our Gedolim understood that family is not only not a distraction from “what we need to get done.” Family is the bedrock of all other Avoda.

At his wife’s funeral, R’ Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, Rosh Yeshivat Kol Torah, who was known for his pleasant ways and good heart, stood at the grave and said softly, “You know that I have no need to ask your forgiveness. We always lived in mutual respect and harmony and I never insulted you whatsoever.”

The above is well known, but not so what followed, as told by one of his talmidim, today a Rav in Los Angeles:

“The funeral was over and I was privileged to drive the Rosh Yeshivah home. I couldn’t hold myself back and asked him, ‘Excuse me for asking the Rosh Yeshivah a personal question on this difficult day, but I am a young student and I have a desire to learn. How can it be that the Rosh Yeshivah never said an insulting word to the Rebbetzin in all of his married life, for over fifty years? Did the Rosh Yeshivah always want what she wanted? Did everything she did always find favor in your eyes?”

“He replied, ‘Of course not! Even twins who grew up in the same house have different opinions. Nevertheless, I never offended her. Whenever I felt an urge to remark about something that disturbed me, I would sit and think: With what compliment can I preface my words? How can I make my comment without hurting her? With what good word can I end off and leave a pleasant atmosphere between us?’

He was silent for a moment, then added, ‘If I couldn’t find the proper formula, I would simply remain silent. But never did I utter an offensive word to my wife!’

The care and concern of Reb Shlomo Zalman for his wife was the training for his sensitivity to Klal Yisrael. From that relationship, he became the posek hador. Not in spite of it, because of it.

Where Are You, You?

The Torah tells us this Shabbos about twins with divergent approaches to life. We have all grown up to believe Yaakov and Esav were completely different. But a closer look at the Chumash reveals that they were most likely quite similar. At the very least, Yitzchak Avinu did not see Esav as completely evil or different. If there was such a stark contrast, Yitzchak would never have confused Yaakov for Esav in giving the Brachos!

Indeed, the Kotzker explained regarding Esav: > Don’t think that Esav was a lowly pig farmer... Esav had a long beard and payos. He had Chasidim who came to hear his brilliance at Shaloshudis. How did he go so wrong? Because his brother Yaakov was truly the Tzadik Hador, and Esav refused to accept it.

Of course, the Torah itself never specifically delineates what it is that makes Yaakov better than Esav, and the Navi (מלאכי א ב) indicates the closeness and similarity of these brothers: > אָהַבְתִּי אֶתְכֶם אָמַר י״י וַאֲמַרְתֶּם בַּמָּה אֲהַבְתָּנוּ הֲלוֹא אָח עֵשָׂו לְיַעֲקֹב נְאֻם י״י וָאֹהַב אֶת יַעֲקֹב > I have loved you, says Hashem. Yet you say: 'How have you loved us?' Was Esav not Yaakov's brother? Says Hashem; Yet I loved Yaakov...

And yet, Chazal explain that Esav became and developed into tyranny of Rome, the nemesis of all that Yerushalayim represents.

So it is encumbered upon us to understand the essential difference between Yaakov and Esav. Why did they turn out as they did? The Torah (כה כז) gives us a single clue to their childhood: > וַיִּגְדְּלוּ הַנְּעָרִים וַיְהִי עֵשָׂו אִישׁ יֹדֵעַ צַיִד אִישׁ שָׂדֶה וְיַעֲקֹב אִישׁ תָּם יֹשֵׁב אֹהָלִים > The boys grew. Esav was a skillful hunter, a man of the field. Yaakov was a wholesome man, living in tents.

Rebbe Nosson (הל׳ ספר תורה ה״ד כ״ב) explains that this pasuk indicates the fundamental difference between Yaakov and Esav was how they defined themselves. Esav was an איש שדה – a working man. Yaakov was a יושב אהלים – he dwelled at home.

What Defines Us?

This question – where are we most ourselves – is a daily challenge in our generation. And it has been amplified in recent months. In this crazy year, when the difference between work life and home life has all but disappeared.

*A man was once introduced to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, who asked him “what do you do”. The man replied “I am a lawyer.” The Rebbe continued” “I didn't ask you how you earn a living. I asked you what you do.”*

That's not a simple question. What do we do?

After vacations, parents like to joke that going back to work is the real vacation. That's where we feel successful, in control, in charge. That's where we feel as if we are fulfilling our mission and purpose in the world. But Yaakov Avinu disagrees. The primary Avoda of a Jew is when we are at home.

*A number of years ago, a few of us in YU Semicha were talking to a Community Rabbi who had a number of challenges raising his children. We asked him how to balance his community who were calling on him, and his family that needed him. He responded; “It's pretty clear to me. Our professions are the obligations that we choose to do. But the family we have are the obligations that Hashem has given us.”*

A Jewish Home

Rabbi Aharon Levine, the Rav of Reisha in Poland, would explain the Pasuk: כי ביתי בית תפילה יקרא לכל העמים – “For My House is a Home of Prayer for all the nations”.

If one enters a non Jewish home, one will find furniture, food and decorations. But in a Jewish home, one finds more: Siddurim, Sefarim, a shtender, pictures of Gedolim. Our homes are filled with tefillah, kiddush, zemiros, benching and brachos. Such things are not found in non-Jewish homes, they're in places of worship. When a non Jew sees a Jewish home, it's the same as a church for them. A Jewish home would readily be called a house of prayer by the standards of any other nation.

But the profundity of this idea is far more than a cute thought. Because Yaakov Avinu's primary chiddush, indeed, the entire institution of the Avos, is that a single family can change the world. For this reason, Rav Hirsch notes that throughout the Torah, a Jew is only ever counted למשפחותם לבית אבותם – for their families according to the house of their ancestors.

Our most cherished, important and meaningful occupation is at home. Hashem should help us to be יושבי אוהל – holy homebodies who cherish the opportunity to become greater people and greater Jews through our lives at home.