The Far-Reaching Impact of Self Esteem

Their trepidation stemmed not only from the enormous stature of the Nefilim, but because the spies looked at themselves as miniscule: “We were like grasshoppers in our eyes…”

How could that be?

These were distinguished dignitaries, leaders of their own tribes, each numbering thousands of members. They had spent the past 13 months living miraculously in the midbar, helping construct the Mishkan, and preparing to assume their covenantal roles as stewards of Hashem’s precious Land.

Why did they exhibit such a deflated sense of self?

The answer can be found in the request to spy out the land in the first place. The commentators tell us that those who wanted firsthand proof of what the Land had in store lacked sufficient trust in Hashem that He would take care of them regardless of who or what they would encounter. This request not only distanced them from their Creator and created a cause for concern about being protected, but it also conveyed their flawed sense of self-esteem.

As Yidden, we have no true identity separate and apart from Hashem. We’re His nation, carrying out His will for us through Torah and mitzvos. When we weaken that bond with our Creator, we also compromise our own intrinsic con- nection to self. We may act the part of a typical person, carrying on our daily lives with normal activities, but we lack genuine meaning to life. That can only come from fulfilling the role for which we were created.

What an important message to keep in mind regarding our food choices. When we are disconnected from our Source, we are prone to feel more fear and less regard for ourselves. It’s this lack of self-esteem that has many profound ramifications. In the case of our health, it can lead an otherwise intelligent person to hurt himself by making harmful choices or engaging in behaviors linked to chronic health conditions and fatal illnesses.

If I feel like dirt, I’ll treat myself like dirt, or I’ll eat dirt—wrapped up in the form of candy, soda, or junk food. So what if it’s not good for me? I don’t care. I like the taste, so I’ll go ahead and eat it anyway. These sentiments are expressed when we don’t yet feel our true value, when we’re not fully connected to our exalted status.

“And Rabi Eliezer said: A person should always conduct himself as if Hakadosh Baruch Hu resides in his stomach” (Taanis 11b, Tosafos).

If we genuinely respect our body and see ourselves as the dignified mamleches Kohanim we truly are, we’ll be much less inclined to make self-sabotaging choices, even if they’re sometimes hard to resist.

Rabbi Eli Glaser, CNWC, CWMS, is the founder and director of Soveya and the author of the best-selling book Enough Is Enough—How the Soveya Solution Is Revolutionizing the Diet and Weight-Loss World, available on Amazon and at Barnes & Nobles and Judaica Plaza in Lakewood. He has worked with thousands of clients around the world and has maintained a 130-pound weight loss for the last 19 years. For more information about Soveya’s programs call 732-578-8800, email info@soveya.com, or visit www. soveya.com.

By Rabbi Ezra Friedman

We’re all believers at heart I Turn to You

On the heels of Zeman Matan Toraseinu, we’re still absorbing the great gift Hakadosh Baruch Hu bestowed upon us at the momentous ma’amad Har Sinai. At the cornerstone of the relationship between Klal Yisrael and Hashem is the mitzvah that commences the Aseres Hadibros, the one Hakadosh Baruch Hu uttered in His own voice, so to speak.

All of our neshamos were present at that watershed moment in history when Hashem’s voice thundered, “Anochi Hashem Elokecha…” And the implication of this utterance is the mitzvah that is so precious to us, the bedrock of our Yiddishkeit and the glue that cements our relationship with Hashem: emunah. “I am Hashem your G-d, and it is your obligation to have faith in Me.”

Emunah, we know, implies faith in Hashem as the Creator of this world and the One who keeps main- taining (i.e., recreating) it through every second of its existence. It is the belief that everything He does is for our good, even when we can’t understand how or why. It also includes the belief that Hashem is the One who gave us the Torah at Har Sinai and that its teachings are just as valid and true today as they were then.

But there’s a common question on the topic that plays a critical role in our Yiddishkeit: It is only if a Yid believes in the Torah that he can then observe the mitzvah of Anochi, but if he doesn’t see the Torah as his guide for living, its contents—and thus the commandment of Anochi—won’t hold weight in his eyes. In other words, the commandment is issued in the Torah on the prerequisite that the one learning it already has this kind of faith. In that case, the commandment seems redundant. If a Yid doesn’t believe in Torah, he won’t be turning to it for direction at all. If so, what is the point in issuing this commandment?

The answer offered by the mefarshim lends incredible insight into the greatness of a Yid. True, the commentators respond, only a Yid who already believes in Torah will read this commandment in the first place—but that’s every Yid. Every Yid, the sefarim note, has that kernel of emunah in his heart. There’s no such thing as a Yid who doesn’t harbor this faith, whether he’s aware of it or not. If so, what is the mitzvah of emunah? It is to nurture this kernel into emunah chushis, experiential faith—to believe with such clarity that it impacts our deeds.

Ready to Bet for Your Beliefs?

The commandment of emunah is not about creating a belief that isn’t yet there. Rather, it’s about bringing to the fore what we’ve already been feeling by acting upon this belief. It’s this response to the faith that’s already present that serves as a mani- festation of its existence.

A chassid once came to his Rebbe for a berachah to win the lottery. He later returned to inform the Rebbe of his sorry outcome. When he asked how it could be that the Rebbe’s berachah wasn’t fulfilled, the Rebbe responded, “It’s because you didn’t truly believe that you would win.”

As evidence, the Rebbe proceeded to give the chassid yet another berachah, that this time he would win the million-dollar lottery. With renewed resolve, the chassid purchased yet another ticket, taking happy strides as he headed home. This time, his faith in the Rebbe reestablished, he already felt giddy with excitement, practically anticipating the phone call that would bear the delightful news.

While on the way, this chassid met the Rebbe’s gabbai, who had an offer for him. “You just purchased a lottery ticket, right?” the gabbai asked. “Here’s my offer to you: I’m ready to give you $950,000 cash in exchange for that ticket.”

Now, the chassid was in a bind. On the one hand, his faith in the Rebbe’s word was steadfast; this time, he wholeheartedly believed he would win—or so he thought. On the other hand, here was the gabbai, holding the funds before his eyes, in real time. Back and forth he went, yes, no, yes, no. If he waited just until the winner was announced, he’d probably get the entire million. But then, there was that niggling voice that reminded him that if he took the gabbai up on his offer, he’d certainly procure a sizable sum. Which path to take?

In the end, the man acquiesced to the second line of thinking and accepted the cash in exchange for the ticket. “That’s what I meant when I said you don’t really believe,” the Rebbe later explained to the chassid. If this man would have truly and wholeheartedly had faith in the Rebbe’s word, he wouldn’t have taken the gabbai up on his offer. Instead, he would have held on tight to his ticket, knowing without a smidgen of a doubt that very soon he’d be one million dollars richer.

It’s when we’re ready to bet for a belief that we manifest our true faith. This, the sefarim teach, is the meaning behind the mitzvah of emunah Yes, there’s a place in you that feels this security regarding Hashem’s existence, that has the clarity regarding His timeless Torah, but it’s your obligation to conduct yourself in a way that reflects that. Develop the faith that’s already there.

What Are Our Charms?

Rav Yechiel Yakovson, a renowned mechanech in Eretz Yisrael, was once invited to meet with a group of self-proclaimed hardcore atheists—all of them Yidden, Rachmana litzlan—and open their eyes to the wisdom and beauty of a Torah life. “They don’t believe in anything,” he was cautioned. In preparation for what he assumed would be a hefty philosophical debate, he spent hours combing through sefarim on emunah, arming himself with a well of sources regarding the irrefutable truths that are at the foundation of our faith.

Finally, after days of intensive preparation, Rav Yakovson walked into the conference hall. He immediately sized up the group of men on the other side of the debate team, noting a certain vibe. These men weren’t sitting in tailored suits; most were in gang-like attire, sporting an interesting array of accessories. One was wearing an earring with an icon of an eye, and the chunky necklace dangling from another’s neck sported a sword. “What’s up with all these accessories?” Rav Yakovson asked. “This stuff is our charm for good luck,” the men answered. “We’re often involved in perilous pursuits, and these amulets protect us.”

Rav Yakovson turned to the crowd and announced, “With such temimus’dig believers as you, there’s no need to engage in a philosophical debate at all.”

What an insight this was for those men, and this was the key to Rav Yakovson’s siyata diShmaya at an event that left all the once nonbelievers stumped. “You think you don’t believe in anything, but look at yourselves. Hear what you’re saying. It’s not that you don’t believe; you’re channeling all that faith into these charms…”

All of us human beings are innately programmed with unadulterated faith. We’re born as believers. Our very first behavior upon entering this world is proof of that: crying. When a newborn baby cries, he doesn’t yet have the cognitive capacity to know that his mother will provide him with his needs. Still, he cries. These cries emanate from a deep place in our all-knowing neshamah, from our innate faith in Hakadosh Baruch Hu that Someone out there will help me, will hear my cries and give me what I need. And that’s exactly what happens, but through a shaliach.

Over time, as this baby develops, he starts to process the connection, but from a very juvenile perspective. My mother is the one who approaches my crib, so she’s the one I need to turn to to express my needs. She’s the one I can rely on. He doesn’t grasp that she’s just the shaliach, and she becomes the object of his relentless faith.

Later, when each of us once-children are adolescents, and then adults, we may keep coming to those conclusions again and again, each time attributing our faith to this professional, that status, the other position. And all this time, we’re channeling what is meant to connect us to Hakadosh Baruch Hu, to enable us to feel unconditional security, toward what we perceive as omnipotent. These become our “good luck charms.” But as Yidden who want to channel our faith toward the only direction that is real, effective, and comforting, we need to take note of this flawed perception and change it. This is precisely the first mitzvah that Hakadosh Baruch Hu introduced us to at Matan Torah: “Anochi Hashem Elokecha,” I want you to direct your faith toward Me, the One who took you out of Mitzrayim and the only One who can and will ever hold the reins of control in this world.

Say It Like It Is

The mitzvah of emunah is to tap into this innate faith and to constantly redirect it toward our relationship with Hashem: I thought this person could help me with my issue, but now I’m internalizing that he’s only the shaliach. I was under the impression that when we move to this community, I take up that position, I keep this kind of company, I’ll feel secure and protected, but I’m realizing that all these are just covers. That’s what exercising emunah means.

How do we start this process?

As with all core improvement, the work begins with first noticing toward what or whom we’re currently channeling our faith. The faith is there—that’s a given—but what are the counterfeit forms of security we’ve been latching on to? Hamakir es mekomo, to know our place—to conduct an honest self-assessment— is at the cornerstone of acquiring Torah, which includes middos, as well as emunah. While it feels better in the moment to convince ourselves that our emunah is where it should be, it is only when we look inward with eyes of emes that true growth can happen.

An adam gadol once shared a powerful explanation of the words “He’emanti ki adaber” that provides insight into the importance of this step. “He’emanti,” I will come to believe, “ki adaber,” because I admit to the place I’m at. It is specifically when I take the courage to acknowl- edge my current fallacy—when I talk to Hashem about how I feel about my state of emunah right now—that I will be’ezras Hashem facilitate the development of a deeper, more authentic emunah

Sage Advice

Once we talk to Hashem about our current place with emes, we’ve already done the monumental first step. This ushers in so much siyata diShmaya in deepening our faith and enabling us to feel truly secure. It’s the “pischu li pesach” that allows for a wider opening, a greater shefa.

And then there’s something else we can do to open the channels for deepened faith. The Ramban advises a powerful tool for directing our faith toward Hashem in real time. He writes that if we take a look at Klal Yisrael’s exodus from Mitzrayim, we’ll notice time and again the incredible miracles Hashem performed for them, but it was only at krias Yam Suf that the Torah relates, “They believed in Hashem and in Moshe His servant.” Where was their faith until then, he asks. Weren’t the breathtaking miracles until then—the ten makkos, leaving the fortress of Mitzrayim in broad daylight—enough to confirm their belief?

No, the Ramban teaches. There was one unique attribute about krias Yam Suf that unleashed their emunah then and only then: They davened for Hashem’s intervention. Of course, the other miracles were spectacular, but it was at the sea that the Yidden raised their hands upward in complete and total surrender. It was there that they were caught between a roaring sea and their angry captors, that they turned to Him with complete faith that only He could help them, and that they finally experienced the “Vayaminu baHashem ubeMoshe avdo.”

The Ramban is telling us that here- in lies a powerful tool for all of us Yidden, throughout all the ages, that we can implement in our own relationship with Hashem. You want to experience this kind of emunah? Be like the Yidden at the sea, he advises. Turn to Hashem for something you need, talk to Him with sincerity, and see what happens. And if that thing you’re asking for is emunah itself, your tefillah won’t go unanswered. This is because “hakol biyedei Shamayim chutz miyiras Shamayim.” You will start to notice a deepened faith, a calmer existence, and a connection you haven’t felt before. That you turned to Hashem for His help unleashed more of what you tapped into in the first place.

As long as we keep acknowledging the place that we’re at, and turning to Hashem to lift us upward, we’re doing our work to observe the mitzvah of emunah. It is then that we can enjoy the most tranquil, pleasant, and joy-inducing state a Yid reach.

By Esther Retek