Dear friends,
Imagine waiting for what you knew would be the greatest event in all of history. You would be simultaneously on edge and in rapt anticipation. If you didn’t know exactly what would happen and when, both feelings would only be more extreme. Last night we began the second week of counting the Omer (the days between Pesach and Shavuos). Each day took you a step closer to Mount Sinai, the place where Hashem told Moshe that he and his people would come to serve Him. Each day was its own world. The way we count is by saying, “this is day one,” and then, “this is day two.” We don’t say, “this is the first day” or “this is the second day.” The reason is that each day had its own individual role in making it possible to really be there at Har Sinai in every way.
In ordinary language, you’ll often hear people using the phrase, “He isn’t there yet.” What that means is that the steps that he has to take to reach whatever goal was set haven’t yet been taken.
Are you “there” yet?
You have a mission and an address that only you will reach, but you also are part of a group of people who are compared to one man with one heart. You are on your own journey (what a cliché), but you aren’t alone. Your journey converges with the journeys made by Jews since the first Pesach. If you can get in touch with this idea, you will discover that each episode of your life can take you further. Ideally, each day moves you a square forward, but there will inevitably be days that don’t. You can still learn from those days and let them take you where you have to go by default. Each chapter has a beginning, middle, and end. However, because one day leads to the next, it’s hard to notice the steps that move you forward as they happen. So, I will tell you about…
THE WHITE KETTER CHAIR
Those of you who have spent time in Israel know what Ketter chairs are. They are the ubiquitous hard plastic stackable chairs that you see everywhere people gather in numbers. Needless to say, the Kotel has huge pillars of them, and the ushers have the job of putting them out and taking them back more or less all of the time. One exception is Birkat Kohanim. No chairs. When a mini-crowd of 15,000 (which is what we had this year) to a maximum of around 25,000 people squeeze into the Kotel plaza, there is standing room only.
One exception was the Early Bird. My friend Mimi arrived in time for the earliest shacharis and discovered that the Lady with the White Chair had already arrived. She had located her Ketter at the extreme right wall of the Ezrat Nashim where there is always some shade. When it was time for her to go, she rose. Mimi had her eye on the chair, carefully surveying the turf as she inched her way to its plastic promise of comfort. It was not to be. The Lady with the Chair motioned to a heavily pregnant woman and stood her ground until the Expectant One was safely ensconced. Not for long. Within a few minutes, the pregnant woman noticed a woman using a walker nearby. She motioned to her and gave her the seat. Not for long. The elderly woman who was barely managing to keep herself steady was the next on line. Not for long. When she eyed the woman with a spinal condition that left her almost completely bent over, the chair was transferred still again. By that time the brachah was over, and the crowd began to slowly move towards the exits. The chair was soon removed by the ushers, having done its job four times.
Each time the chair was given away, a particle of time in someone’s life was used to its fullest and most beautiful fulfillment. I don’t know any of the people, but for each one Hashem’s gift of life was moved from oblivion to meaning.
Even when you aren’t doing much, you are either consciously alive or not. Even when relaxing, you can feel some appreciation and calm. When you go to sleep and get up the next morning, you often will notice that not only are you more physically energized, but things look better, and you feel more ready to go. One reason is that your soul gains strength during these hours. Hashem comforts it after its day’s work and lets it move back to your body for the next day’s trip.
GVURAH
The weeks of Sefira are ones in which, according to Kabbalah, each of the traits that you have in common with Hashem will challenge you in its own way. You will face challenges to your kindness, your inner strength, your desire for truth and harmony, your awareness of how goodness ultimately prevails, and your thankfulness to be running the race. The last week is finally the one in which you are ready to respond to Hashem with absolute humility, having faced the blockage to your most genuine self, confronted the challenges, and at least for now, moved beyond their grasp.
Let’s say you didn’t always succeed.
Then you keep on going. That itself is a brand of success.
The second week is the week of gevurah, strength. In his marvelous book on Sefira, “Usfartem Lachem” (available in a condensed version that isn’t overwhelmingly difficult), Rav Frisch tells you what being strong is about. It’s being able to defeat enemies. When applied to Hashem, it is about the ultimate defeat of evil, and the enemies of the Jewish people who have made evil their theme song. For us, it means finding the evil that lurks inside, and facing it without denial and without apology. It means never giving up the fight, even if you lose on occasion. It means learning to be humble when it is easier to be arrogant; to be there for others when you want to save everything you are and everything you have for more Me time/money/emotional space. It means caring enough to sometimes help a friend out by saying what needs to be said, but doing it with love and with care.
WHAT GETTING THERE LOOKS LIKE FROM HERE
You and I barely know the ups and downs along our own paths. Certainly, pretending to know the route someone else traveled is at best illusory, and at worst dishonest. Nonetheless, the sages tell us to reflect on the lives of those who pass.
Rebbetzin David’s passing took place on Pesach. For those who haven’t heard of her (or haven’t heard much about her), she was one of the most remarkable women in our times, by any measure. Her father was Rav Yitzchak Hutner, one of the premier Roshei Yeshiva in the States and author of Pachad Yitzchak, a set of sefarim dedicated to giving deep insight into the profound messages of the Yamim Tovim, and through that into every area of life. She absorbed both his personality and the depth of his teaching. In fact, the early editions of the, not yet published, Pachad Yitzchak were literally written by her hand.
I was not a member of her inner circle. I didn’t study in BJJ (which she founded); my relationship to her was that of a seeker who found a teacher whose erudition had no equal. She shared with amazing generosity. Her friendliness, willingness to give time generously and with almost unbelievable humility defies description. Her basic message of finding inspiration as you learn and letting it touch the person you are as you live was one that found expression in her honesty, love of Hashem that flowed through her approach to learning, and wisdom that went far beyond intellectual sharing.
I was at one of the maamarim (public talks) given by her renowned husband, the Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Yonason David shlita. Between the segments of the talk, there were pauses for the hundreds of men who were there to sing. At one point I used the time to translate what I heard to a friend whose Hebrew wasn’t up to it. She turned towards me and told me to stop. “This is also part of the limud, part of the experience.” It was a lesson that I never forgot.
Living is part of the learning.
Much love,
Tziporah
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