Feature Reprint

Reprint

Unwrapping The Gifts

Every element of Yiddishkeit is essentially a precious gift from Hashem, presented to us from His great love. So what may be the underlying cause for apparent disenchantment to Yiddishkeit? How can I connect to Torah observance from the heart?

By Rabbi Ezra Friedman

Dear readers,

The following article, which was originally published in Elul 5779, garnered copious feedback. In honor of Shavuos, the time when we were granted the Gift, we are reprinting it in this space.

May all of us merit to not only understand, but also deeply feel, the value of Torah and connect to its beauty and sweetness.

Gut Yom Tov, The Editors

The best thing that could have happened to all of us is that we are Yidden.

Simply being a member of Hashem’s am segulah is our greatest, most beautiful gift; one that Hashem presented to us from His sheer love. We recognize and thank for this every morning in the brachah of shelo asani goy, as well as in various others brachos, such as “Asher bachar banu mikol ha’amim,” “Asher kedishanu bemitzvosav,” “hagomeil chasadim tovim le’amo Yisrael,” and so on.

We also know that the Torah — both learning it and its mitzvos that we’re commanded to observe — is an incredible gift for all of mankind. Even the nations of the world benefit tremendously, through us, from the level of morality and dignity that it espouses.

All of the above is common knowledge. We keep hearing about these concepts in lectures, reading about them in seforim and articles, and they may be very clear to us in our minds. However, many of us are not connected to this at the heart level. In my mind, I might know that Yiddishkeit is a gift, but in my heart, it’s possible that I don’t feel an incredible excitement to fulfill a mitzvah, to stay away from transgressions, to be a part of the am hanivchar. This is a very distressing reality — not only can it be difficult to feel the infinite pleasure that’s inherent in Yiddishkeit, but there are times when what should be the greatest pleasure even turns painful, and fulfilling the mitzvos becomes an arduous burden.

While this is often superficially attributed to a disenchantment or a feeling of discontent toward Yiddishkeit per se, it is not the truth. In this article, we will explore how it is actually an emotional blockage that does not enable an individual to tap into the beauty of Yiddishkeit, and which steps one can take to unveil the true pleasure of its splendor. Emotions can’t be changed through reading one article, but a crucial first step in the process is analyzing the underlying roots that lead to the emotional disconnect that deprives us from feeling the greatest pleasure in life.

The Fundamental Underlying Root

At the root of most, if not all, of an individual’s perception of everything in life is a concept that is known as associations. To understand this on a basic level, here’s a short exercise: When you hear the word “airplane,” what do you feel? What comes up for you when you think of the word “party?” Now, what happens when you hear the word “school?” Do you feel the positive sensations of success or camaraderie; or do you tense up and feel afraid, bored, or like a failure? For each of us, every word we hear, every thought we think of, generates emotions that are unique to us. If, let’s say, an airplane or a party is the reason that makes one person feel excitement and a rush of other positive emotions, how can it be that for another individual, even a spouse or sibling, this same concept could bring up a feeling of tension, fear, and apprehension?

Because this is so, we understand that it’s not the actual concept — object, event, environment, scene, etc. — that generates the feeling, but rather how our individual emotional world relates to it. The way we feel about things directly influences how we perceive them. We each possess an inner emotional world that is unique to us, and based on our associations, it will affect the way we feel about everything in our lives.

And how do these associations play out in reality?

In the times of the Alter of Novardok, a new kind of entertainment emerged, in which people gathered in stadiums to watch a bear dance to music. Commenting on this practice, the Alter remarked: Do you think that the bear is dancing because the entertainers were skilled enough to figure out a way to bring up happy feelings in the bear to the extent that it just wants to break out into a dance? On the contrary, so much evil lies behind this. When these bears were younger, they were made to stand on burning coals, which caused them to jump in pain. At the same time, the experts made sure that music was playing in the background. See what happened as a result. Now that these bears are older, every time they hear music, they start dancing. To them, music is not something that makes them happy, only that it leads them to physically start feeling pain in their feet.

Even when the coals — the true cause of their pain — weren’t present any longer, such as in the stadium, the bears were still jumping in agony because to them, music

was directly associated with feeling pain in their feet. Lehavdil, in his famous experiment of the salivating dog, the Russian physiologist Ivan Pavlov arrived at the same conclusion.

So it’s clear that every individual has an internal mechanism that associates every object, scene, thought, or situation to another concept that brings up certain emotions for him. Going back to the example with the airplane, this is why for one person, an airplane may evoke positive emotions while for another it may do the opposite. Perhaps when the first individual flew, it was for a vacation, where he was surrounded by loving family members and en route to a panoramic resort. It’s not the airplane in itself that causes the emotion, only the association he now has with this travel medium. The same is true on the contrary. If the latter individual travelled under pressure to make it on time for a sad event, r”l, and all he wanted was to leave the constricting space of the airplane, this same object may bring up in him unpleasant emotions that are not inherent to the aircraft at all.

It’s clear that there are two distinct entities here: there’s the actual object, event, or occurrence, etc. and then there’s our emotional world, which is not related to reality at all. Part of how we operate is that we keep subconsciously connecting the two, forming associations between them that are uniquely individual to us and our experiences. While we continue forming associations throughout life, the younger we are when we do so — since our emotions are more open and cognition is less developed — the associations are more deeply embedded and powerful. They feel more real to the child, and continue to feel this way even as the child matures into adulthood.

Since our perception of entire lives is based on how we feel — about ourselves and others — associations play a tremendous role in our lives. Thus, the more concepts we have negative associations with, when in reality there’s nothing negative about them, the more restricted and less pleasurable our life will be. As in the above example, if an individual harbors negative associations toward an airplane, the outcome will be that he may avoid traveling through this medium, which could impact his life in a very undesirable way. This is just one simple example, but the concept plays out in all areas of life.

How does all this apply to Yiddishkeit? As the examples above illustrate, the power of associations is so strong that even something that in reality should engender positive feelings could evoke unpleasant emotions, because we relate it to something from our personal experience.

The same holds true for the ultimate gift, which is that we are the Chosen Nation and that we have the rare opportunity to enjoy a relationship with the Creator of this world, to learn His words and serve Him. It’s when this happens that observing the mitzvos may change from being a joy to not being a joy at all, or even becoming a burden, r”l.

How Did This Happen?

Let’s understand where the negative associations may emanate from in order to eventually succeed in differentiating between them and the reality.

Every human being grows up with a need to feel loved and valued. This is what we all feel naturally at birth — that we’re good as we are. This is the joy you see on a child’s face. It’s what opens your heart to want to hug him — the feeling of love he has within that flows outward. A child possesses these feelings naturally and the role of his caregivers is not to take it away from him, to do what it takes to leave the feelings intact by showering him with love and respecting him.

The Brisker Rav, zt”l, once entered the beis midrash with his gabbai to find a group of little children frolicking around, laughing freely. The gabbai turned to the Rav and said, “You know why these kids are so happy? It’s because they don’t have any worries yet— no mortgage, no family to feed, no pressure whatsoever.” Said the Brisker Rav, “No, no. The reason these children are happy is because the Creation Hashem created is a happy Creation, as the entire Sefer Tehillim and our tefillos portray. The clouds, the trees, even the rocks—they’re all dancing and singing. Since our root is happy, the closer we are to that shoresh, the happier we are. As we distance ourselves from our essence, we distance ourselves from that pure joy.”

A child naturally feels good about himself — loved and respected. But, if he perceives that the feelings he’s experiencing are not true, he’s in deep pain because these vital feelings are being taken from him. If he’s ridiculed or given criticism in a way that it shouldn’t be given (by having others criticize him, rather than his deed), he starts to lose respect of his own self, doubting whether he’s the good person he had felt himself to be. In regards to the feeling of love, which he at first feels naturally toward himself, if he doesn’t feel that this emotion is being mirrored by those around him, he starts absorbing the opposite — that he as an individual is not worthy of love. In a sense, such a child is experiencing trauma. Instead of feeling loved and valued, he starts feeling rejected and worthless. Because he doesn’t like the way this feels, he’ll attempt to circumvent the feelings as much as possible, which is a natural method of defense.

Here’s where associations enter the picture, and this highlights the extent to which this concept goes. If while the child experiences these unpleasant emotions, another factor comes into play, the child will now associate this factor to the emotion he’s feeling. Any time he later encounters this factor, no matter how illogical it appears, he will associate it once again with those emotions. Thus, this factor in itself will later bring up the emotion and, in his effort to distance himself from the emotion, the individual will distance himself from the factor when, often, in reality, the factor may be neutral or even positive.

Take a child who ate a banana on the long-awaited day of his Chumash seudah, in which he was supposed to play a prominent role. When he finishes the banana, he starts feeling queasy (which may or may not have been related to the banana). He gets onto stage, feels incapable of performing, and throws up in front of the entire audience. The emotions that come up at such a time are a cocktail of negative feelings like worthlessness, embarrassment, and disappointment. For this child, these emotions now become inherently connected not only to the Chumash seudah, but also to the banana.

The reality of Yiddishkeit is that all our positive emotions are derived from it.

Now, what are the chances that this child will never eat a banana again? Even if he will, what emotions will come up for him? He may feel an intense fear of feeling the emotions he felt then, despite the banana’s complete lack of relation to them. It’s not that he thinks that he’ll throw up on stage again, but because the feelings that he now associates with that food are embedded within him. He himself may not recall why a banana brings up in him such a negative feeling; he just knows that it’s not good for him and he will thus distance himself from it.

This very same chain of events plays out even with concepts that are inherently good, which brings us to the Yiddishkeit connection. If we felt loved and respected, which are feelings we vitally needed, at the time that we were introduced to, or doing an action in relation to, Yiddishkeit, and especially if Yiddishkeit was the element that helped us feel this way, we end up perceiving Yiddishkeit as the gift that it really is. We have no negative emotions connected to it, only the contrary. If, however, we sadly felt a lack of love and/or respect at the same time that Yiddishkeit was presented and inculcated into us, the opposite happens — as will be explained below.

Where’s Your Siddur?

To illustrate with examples that highlight the integral role associations play in our perspective of Yiddishkeit, let’s start with one of the most significant, beautiful, moving aspects: tefillah.

When you hear the word “daven,” what do you feel? If you feel a heartwarming feeling of connection, of openness, of relationship, of expression and cathartic release, a deep feeling of self-value that you have the opportunity to speak to the Creator of the Universe, then you’re feeling the essence of tefillah. This is what it is, in reality. Of tefillah, Hashem says, “Ki mi goy gadol asher lo Elokim kerovim eilav...?” Which other nation in the world has this incredible benefit of being able to call to Me and be answered at any time? (Devarim 4:7) Of course, in order to attain these feelings, one must invest himself, and when he’s willing to do so, there’s no limit to how much more intense and genuine these feelings could become.

However, how can it be that there are individuals who don’t feel this way? Furthermore, how is it that some actually feel opposite emotions in regards to prayer? Instead of relationship, they feel rejection. Instead of release, they feel pressure. Instead of feeling valued, they feel worthless. The concept of tefillah is so heavy for them that it’s hard for them to open a siddur or to concentrate while davening.

The answer is very individual, but the way we feel about tefillah in adulthood may very well be related to what else took place at the time when we were introduced, and

trained into, putting this incredible gift into practice. Was there pressure? Was there ridiculing? Was tefillah used as a yardstick of value? If difficult emotions came up during that time, even if the cause is no longer present, the association the individual has until this day to the gift of tefillah may be tarnished. As ironic as it may sound, even something as precious as tefillah may bring up difficult emotions, sadly depriving the individual of feeling the great sense of comfort and connection that’s inherent in it.

Sweet Like Honey

The same is true with Torah. “Tov li toras picha me’alfei zahav vachessef,” the Torah is better for me than an abundance of gold and silver (Tehillim 119:72). When a Yid learns Torah, he’s connected. It’s like reading a letter, kavyachol, from a close friend, as Hashem says, “ana nafshi ksivas yehavus,” (Shabbos 12). With every word we read we feel more loved, more valued, more cherished that we’ve merited to receive this gift. Even just the wisdom of Torah brings a geshmak.

So why is it that individuals find Torah learning so arduous? Again, it’s wise to look into it and identify our associations, which are very individual. When we were introduced to Torah, was the need for power exercised through it? Did we feel rejected? Was our feeling of failure manifested through learning? The real point of Torah learning is not to test our IQ, only to connect us to Hashem, but if it was introduced to us in such a way, then even after the rigorous testing or pressure is no longer present, the association may still remain, depriving us of feeling the great pleasure inherent in a blatt Gemara or other sefer. Instead of embracing a sefer with joy, we can sadly feel the opposite.

The Queen Has Arrived

Come to think of it, Shabbos is a very unique gift, even on a gashmiyus level. “Matanah tovah yeish li b’veis ginazi

“Tov Li Toras Picha!” Creating Positive Associations for Our Children

As parents, when we start to realize the profound influence our environment has on us, especially when we were growing up, we grasp what kochos lie in our hands in regards to chinuch. If, for example, when a child does a mitzvah or when a father learns with his children, the child is treated with a candy, no matter how illogical it seems that the child will connect the sweet taste he feels on his taste buds with the Gemara or with any other mitzvah he’s engaging in, this is what happens.

So many of our deeds or words, which may seem so inconsequential that we don’t pay attention to them, do have a profound impact because associations are not related to logic. Despite not “making sense,” they actually are monumental, molding the way our children will feel about these concepts, often for the rest of their lives.

It’s important to note, however, that this is not related to the concept of giving rewards, which could have a counter-effect, in which the child makes the connection that Gemara is only worth a candy. Here, we’re referring to making the mitzvah geshmak. When we do so, we’re providing our children with the positive associations that will accompany them through life. For example, when we work on fostering a happy, pleasant atmosphere in the home on Shabbos and Yom Tov, even by putting out special treats and singing songs the children like, we’re creating the associations that will remain with them.

While the more positive the environment is, obviously it will be more positive for the child, even the seemingly simple things, like putting out a bottle of their favorite soda, make a profound difference.

veShabbos shemah,” I have a special gift in my storehouse and Shabbos is her name, says Hashem (Shabbos 10b). When someone who is not affiliated with Torah hears of the concept of Shabbos, he is usually in awe. To be able to disconnect, to focus on what’s really important, to spend time with our loved ones while feasting on our favorite foods and taking a well-deserved break for an entire day? Even before delving into the spiritual potential inherent in the day, what can be a greater privilege than that?

But what happens if an individual harbors negative associations regarding this special day? This may occur if, in his childhood, Shabbos was a day when he was most exposed to tension and/or turmoil; or when his feelings of inferiority, helplessness, or of feeling unsafe may have most been evoked.

Rav Moshe Feinstien zt”l was once asked how it happened that so many children of those Yidden in America who were moser nefesh, losing their jobs week after week in order to observe the Shabbos, ended up leaving the fold. He answered that while these Yidden’s mesiras nefesh was admirable, when they used to come home with the pink slip and make kiddush on Friday night, they cried tears of despair. To their children, sacrificing for Shabbos became subconsciously associated with pain, sadness, and unpleasant emotions.

If the Shabbos and Yom Tov a child came to know was presented with a side serving of uncomfortable emotions, he subconsciously views this day as such. It sadly becomes a day he dreads, one he can’t wait to get over with so he can hurry back into his safe space where he can more easily distract himself from the feelings he doesn’t want to face. And all this time, he may erroneously believe that it’s the Shabbos in itself that’s burdensome, when this could not be further from the truth. His day of rest sadly turns into a day of unrest.

Return to Me

In the same vein, the privilege of teshuvah — that we have the ability to repent, no matter in which way we erred — should fill us with a feeling of gratitude and joy. It’s our chance to finally be freed of the sins that weigh us down. We have this incredible opportunity to wipe our slates clean.

If this is so, how is it that teshuvah may bring up unpleasant emotions such as guilt or rejection? Why do some try their best to avoid this territory because it feels heavy and sounds so hard to them? Again, it’s wise to explore what happened in our youth when we erred. Sometimes, it may be related to how we felt when we made even a minor mistake. How forgiving were the adults in our lives? Was repenting a simple process or did we suffer long-term consequences, with multiple rejected apologies, that left us feeling irrelevant and inherently bad?

The associations we have with forgiveness, in general, not necessarily vis-à-vis Hashem, play a significant role in the way we later perceive teshuvah. While begging forgiveness of others may have been a long and drawn-out process, the reality of teshuvah to Hashem is otherwise. The Gemara tells us that teshuvah could happen in an instant. Even if the thought of doing sincere repentance flits through the mind of a rasha for one second, during that time he is already considered a righteous individual, as if he never sinned (Kidushin 49b). Teshuvah is not only instantly relieving, but also incredibly accessible to all. Contrary to how we may have perceived forgiveness from others we have wronged in our past, in relation to Hashem, it’s not as if He does us a favor and forgives us half-heartedly. He actually awaits our return. He not only rejoices when we repent, but He actually takes the initiative to make it happen, as we will be reciting in our Yom Kippur tefillah, “Atah nosein yad laposhim,” You stretch out Your hand to the sinners. He yearns for us to come back to Him. As we reiterate in our every Shemoneh Esreh “Ki Keil tov vesaloch atah,” Hashem embraces our every effort at repentance, waiting with open arms for our return. It is thus so painful when this tremendous gift becomes a burden and, as a result, we may lose out on the many opportunities we have to come closer to Hashem.

I Believe

Yet another aspect of Yiddishkeit that may be fraught with negative associations is emunah. In reality, living with the knowledge that everything that happens is for a purpose, that every single circumstance or occurrence that affects us even in the most minuscule way is directly sent to us for our good — even if it doesn’t appear this way — is one that can fill us with an unparalleled sense of comfort and inner peace. It’s the key to living a life of tranquility.

But what happens if, when we first start to learn about the concept of emunah, we don’t absorb it in this way? What happens if, let’s say, when we’re in pain — whether someone caused hurt or an unfortunate incident occurred, we’re instructed to numb the pain, under the guise of “strengthening our emunah,” and having more belief? If a child feels that his pain is not given the space it deserves, he may harbor resentment toward the concept.

As the Chazon Ish notes, when Hashem sends us pain it’s not so that we shouldn’t feel it. On the contrary, it’s that we should feel it and recognize that it was sent for a purpose, comparable to when a doctor carries out a painful procedure for the purpose of our healing. This doesn’t mean that is doesn’t hurt.

Emunah is also not about believing that things will turn out the way we want them to work out, but rather believing that yes, what we’re going through may be excruciatingly difficult but we know that it’s for our good. There are tzaddikim who are on the caliber that they can believe with such sincerity that the pain they’re experiencing is good for them, and therefore it doesn’t feel so painful for them. But really, emunah is about calming the pain, not numbing it, and if we didn’t absorb it in this way, a natural outcome may be a lack of connection to the concept.

Fearing the Big Stick

As Yidden, we spend our days constantly immersed in fulfilling mitzvos, as well as distancing ourselves from aveiros. The true purpose of the 613 commandments, in addition to making us feel closer to our Father, is because Hashem, in His love for us, wants to be mashpia good. In order for us to feel deserving of our great reward, which makes the good complete — as opposed to eating nahama dechisufa, bread that we didn’t earn — Hashem gifted us with the mitzvos. In the same vein, He commanded us to distance ourselves from transgressions for our benefit — so that we shouldn’t get carried away in this life and instead remain focused on our purpose.

If this is so, why is it that we may feel no joy at best, and pressured at worst, to observe the mitzvos, as well as an intense fear of aveiros, as if Hashem, kavyachol, is waiting from Up High with a big stick, anticipating His next opportunity to punish us and banish us to Gehinnom forever and ever? All of these negative emotions we may feel toward mitzvah observance may be directly rooted in the way we perceived the concept earlier in life: How were these gifts portrayed to us? Did we absorb that they are solely for our good or did we feel that our needs were suppressed? Was our own desire kindled to want to perform the mitzvos because they’re the best thing for us?

Of course, we’re obligated to fulfill the mitzvos regardless of how we feel, because the Creator of the Universe obviously knows what’s good for us even when we can’t see it, but if we don’t feel the joy and privilege of doing the mitzvos, if it’s a matter of “just get over it” or worse, something is clearly tainted in our perception of one of the most central parts of our lives. We are sadly depriving ourselves from what could be one of the greatest sources of pleasure.

The same is true for minhagim or mesorah like levush and language. They are our connection to the previous generations, another way for us to hold on to that which was precious to those who came before us. While minhag and mesorah are considered Torah and thus must be followed whether we feel connected to them or not, how much of a value they have in our eyes is directly related to how we feel about them. For example, if we were taught about these concepts with pressure — you have no choice but to do it this way, don’t you dare not follow in our footsteps, etc. — even just thinking about them may bring up feelings of insecurity and worthlessness. On the contrary, if the concepts were transmitted in the way it is in reality — with a sense of pride and in a way that left us feeling like the special and unique beings that we really are, we’re happy to look or conduct ourselves in that way. We wouldn’t even want to do otherwise, just as a princess feels pride in wearing her royal garb amongst the peasants.

Complete and Utter Trust

A prominent component in authentic avodas Hashem is temimus, as the Torah instructs us, “tamim tihiyeh im Hashem Elokecha” (Devarim 18:13). When Dovid Hamelech cites the qualities of an individual who merits to stand in Hashem’s shadow, the very first attribute he lists is “holeich tamim,” one who walks with temimus (Tehillim 15:2). Temimus could be understood as complete and total subservience to Hashem’s will. “B’emes uvesamim nishanenu,” we say in Shemoneh Esrei, we serve You with integrity and wholeness. Of all attributes that are key to serving Hashem and observing His Torah, this is perhaps one of the most crucial, yet one of the most fraught with negative associations. For starters, especially in the modern era, where assertion and self-determination have become celebrated on a new level, many associate the idea of following the direction of authority with complete and utter wholeness as being simple-minded or naive.

In addition, temimus and trust are interrelated. If, for whatever reason, we grew up feeling wary of others, finding it difficult to put our trust in others and receiving messages that no one is to be trusted, we may have a hard time with this concept. In that case, if we do something with temimus, the emotions that come up may not be pleasant, while this is in essence an integral key in avodas Hashem. It’s essentially one of the greatest pleasures one can experience — to walk in the ways of Hashem on a straight

and clear path. There’s a world of a difference when we do a mitzvah with temimus — because this is what Hashem wants from me right now — and when we feel we have to first understand and discern the hows and whys. We may make logical conclusions as to why it’s not worth it for us to conduct ourselves with temimus, but it’s important to notice the underlying fear that’s inhibiting us from feeling this great pleasure.

Who is Hashem?

Every day, we reiterate multiple times what a kind and merciful G-d Hashem is: “Avinu Av harachaman hameracheim,” and that we are the privileged individuals to be a part of His nation: “Ashrei ha’am sheHashem Elokav.” What Hashem wants of us is to serve Him with joy, as we say, “Ivdu es Hashem besimcha.” Hashem is a Being of pure good, and it’s through His service and by being part of His nation that we’re able to access the greatest amount of positive emotion that is available in this world. Merely thinking of Hashem and knowing that He’s our Father who takes care of us, can generate a rush of warm, loving emotions within — a feeling of security and purpose, as Dovid Hamelech says in Tehillim, “Shuvi nafshi limnuchochi ki Hashem gamal alochi. Return, my nefesh, to your rest, for Hashem has dealt bountifully with you” (116:7).

Why is it that for some, thinking of Hashem does not only not evoke these positive feelings, but even brings up feelings of fear, tension, rejection, or failure? If we were introduced to the concept of a Creator in our childhood, most probably, we associated Him with the adults in our lives, because, for a child, the closest analogy to power and might is limited to those that he perceives that way. Since his life is in the hands of these adults, they are the greatest extent that he knows of power. Of course, while Hashem is our Heavenly Father, He can in no way be compared to a being of flesh and blood. When an individual only learns about the Infinite Power in adulthood, he can understand that He can’t be compared to any other being under the sun. Even the most powerful person isn’t infinite.

If a child felt loved and respected in the presence of the adults in his life and he felt that they were there for him to fulfill his needs and to ensure that he’s happy and safe — which is what Hashem wants for us — he will eventually learn that all of this is true of Hashem, only on an exponentially greater scale. He will feel positively toward Hashem and reap the pleasure of being an eved Hashem.

However, if the child feels any kind of unpleasant emotions in the presence of the adults in his life, he will sub-

I Want to Feel Good

It often happens that a child grows up with a feeling of “I’m not good enough.” Because it may be too painful for him to face that this is how he feels, he tries to make sense of it. Why don’t I feel good? he asks himself. If he’s able to answer that, he feels a sense of fleeting calm. It’s his way of telling himself, “This feeling is not me. It’s because of xyz that I feel this way.” Thus, he constantly seeks a “culprit” to temporarily soothe the unease.

One way in which the child, and later adult, may make sense of this unpleasant emotion is to attribute everything that was part of his childhood to the feeling, which may sadly include Yiddishkeit, the derech of avodas Hashem of his parents, the community in which he was raised, etc.

Even as an adult, this child may continue to make logic as to why he’s rejecting the path that he was raised on — and he may very well find substantial evidence — but at the core of his rejection is not the list of pros and cons. Rather, to him, everything that represents his childhood forces him to face the unpleasant emotions that he experienced all those years and in order not to face it, in his desperation to finally feel good, he chooses another path.

This, of course, does not address the feeling at the core and will not necessarily result in him feeling better. It only comes to show the extent a human being will go to feel the positive emotions he yearns for, the ones that are not only most accessible, but essentially only accessible, through Torah and mitzvos.

consciously associate these emotions with Hashem, as well. This may explain why a Yid may sadly give up on fostering a deeper relationship with Hashem and why he may seek to distance himself from a connection that could bring him all the positive emotions he wishes for in his life.

The Beauty of Bechirah

From the various aspects we touched upon in this article, we cull just a glimpse of how profoundly intertwined our perspective of Yiddishkeit is with our emotional world — how our spiritual growth is directly influenced by how much work we invest in our emotional selves, our avodas hanefesh. What we may have thought was a logical aversion or disconnection from an aspect of frum life may very well be, and probably is, due to a negative association we’ve been harboring for a long, long time. Even an apikorus, says Rav Elchonon Wasserman, did not arrive to his place because of logical reasoning, even if he may say that it’s so. Rather, it’s his way of dealing — or not dealing — with the emotional issues involved. What happens once we come to this realization?

When opening our eyes to the concept of associations and its far-reaching impact, we may erroneously deduce that if so many things in our life are contingent on our associations, we’re doomed. There is no way to help ourselves since whatever happened in the past wasn’t up to us, and the way we feel about Yiddishkeit, and/or other significant areas of our life such as relationships and our level of happiness, is what it is. If this is so, we may conclude, we have no bechirah at all. The purpose of this piece, however, is not to bring us to despair. On the contrary, its intention is to provide us with chizuk. Through seeing that the reality could be positive even if it brings up negative emotions for me and that it’s not really the reality that evokes the negative emotion, only my association, I’m filled with a sense of hope and clarity that by taking responsibility and investing the right work, I will get to experience the true reality, which is beautiful.

If this is so — that what I may have thought was the reality is really not and there is a way to deal with negative associations so we can see the reality for what it really is — we deduce another crucial point regarding emotional work. If we feel a certain way toward Yiddishkeit due to past occurrences, where does bechirah come into the picture? How can we be expected to make choices when these associations are so deeply ingrained in our hearts, by circumstances that were not in our control? In the world of psychology, we do find a concept, which has unfortunately infiltrated into our society, that an individual is exempt from taking responsibility because of past or present circumstances beyond his control. We Yidden, however, know that this approach is in direct contrast to Torah and emunah. While we may harbor difficult emotions, and being cognizant of them is key, acting upon them is our choice.

The seforim tell us that nothing in this world— no association, no unfavorable circumstance, even no trauma — can take away the ability for a person to make a choice (with the exception of a rasha like Pharaoh who committed so many sins that his bechirah was taken from him). In this vein, the Rambam teaches that “reshus beyad kol adam

lihiyos keMoshe Rabeinu,” every individual has the full capacity to reach the heights of Moshe Rabeinu, the Rebbe of klal Yisrael. The Rambam makes no exception—no matter what an individual went through in his life. Furthermore, expounding on the Rambam’s words, commentators note that Moshe Rabeinu was actually born with the most objectionable traits. Circumstantially, as well, growing up in the home of the great apikorus Pharaoh, surrounded by avodah zarah, in an environment most spiteful of Yidden and Yiddishkeit, his chances for reaching the heights that he ended up attaining seemed close to null. Still, it was this individual who became the unparalleled leader of klal Yisrael, the one through whom we received the Torah.

Why is it that negative associations don’t diminish even an iota from our responsibility to make the right choice at all times? It’s because as Yidden ma’aminim bnei ma’aminim, we believe that nothing in this world happens by coincidence; nothing happens on its own. Everything that comes our way was sent directly from Hashem for our good — to ultimately bring us closer to Him. It wasn’t our fathers, mothers, teachers, siblings, or spouses that were in control here. It was Hashem behind them who orchestrated the events for our benefit, whether we’re cognizant of it or not. Perpetrators of unjust behavior will certainly

When you hear the word “daven,” what do you feel?

need to give din vecheshbon, but from my point of view, everything that I experienced did not happen because of them, only through them. While we can’t see the good in everything with our human eyes, we believe that it is all from Him, for our good. If Hashem wants that everything that happens should be for our good, the last thing He would do is send us a circumstance that would have such a negative effect that it takes away our ability to choose.

If we want to start enjoying the true pleasures in life, to unwrap the gift of Yiddishkeit and finally see it for what it really is and be connected to it with happiness, it will only happen with the awareness that everything we’ve gone through is not a reason to be exempt from the work, only the opposite. Every time we notice that it’s an association that’s hampering our ability to be connected to the reality, it’s incumbent upon us to recognize that Hashem sent it especially for our good and find a way to work with it so that it should end up bringing us closer to Him.

This is not to say that this work is easy. To tear ourselves away from associations that we’ve been harboring for years, perhaps decades, is not a simple feat. It involves first noticing the association, as described above, as well as intense inner work and copious tefillah in order to eventually overcome it. As Yidden, we draw comfort from the phenomenon of lefum tzara agra (Avos 5:23), according to the pain is the gain. At times, Hashem sends us a situation that makes choosing the right option arduous. It is when we surmount these challenges that we are rewarded accordingly and we reap an unparalleled feeling of satisfaction.

Dovid Hamelech says in Tehillim (73:82), “v’ani kirvas Elokim li tov.” He was the king, at the height of wealth and glory and respect, and still, he said, closeness to Hashem is what makes me feel good. The reality of Yiddishkeit is that all our positive emotions are derived from it. Through fulfillment of the Torah and mitzvos a Yid is meant to experience the ultimate pleasure, to the extent that the entire tochacha, where Hashem cautions us with the most frightening curses, is not because the Yidden didn’t observe the Torah, but only because they didn’t do so with a happy heart, b’simcha uvetuv leivov (Devarim 28:47). Hashem tells us, I want you to be happy with My Torah. This is the whole purpose of it. With the right perspective on Yiddishkeit, which happens when we learn to differentiate between the reality and our emotions, may we be zocheh to experience this joy that Hashem has in store for us. May we, and our descendants, merit unwrapping His incredible gifts.

She’s your everything.

Planting the Seeds, Nurturing the Self.

When we cultivate a garden, we grow too. Here’s how to do it—and why you should give planting a try this season.

By Libby Kasten

Trees are budding tiny flowers, green foliage peeks out of black soil. I inhale the scent of spring, the breeze carrying its promise of rebirth.

My hands press the moist soil firmly around the budding lily plant in its flowerpot. Next up are the small tomato and pepper seedlings. A hint of red is visible between the green lily leaves, and I can’t help remembering The Story. It’s a family legend, oft repeated.

Two houses down the block from my grandparents’ house in Brooklyn lived a sweet, elderly woman whose brick house lay amid a lovely, well-tended garden.

One Friday afternoon, quite a few decades ago, my aunt—then a young girl—and her friend, who also lived on the block, thought of just the thing to cheer up their elderly neighbor. Equipped with a pair of scissors, they got to work. A short while later, the girls climbed the steps of the tidy brick house, and knocked on the door, trembling with anticipation. When the door swung open, they presented the woman with an attractive bunch of freshly cut roses. From her very own garden. The look on the older woman’s face, however, was enough to send them racing down the stairs and around the corner.

I smile as I reminisce about the guilt-free adventures of youth yet wince at the thought of this woman’s loss. It wasn’t just the loss of a pretty object; it was the life of her flowers, with which she had formed a relationship of nurture and hope, that was cut short.

The first spring I decided to plant, it was just an inner voice urging me to try my hand at it. To do something, to make something happen. It had been an eventful winter, with two little boys and a family of not-as-lovable-mice keeping us busy. My daily schedule, including a job out of the house, was quite overwhelming, and I tried to reserve my energy for my family by doing the bare minimum aside from that.

To my surprise, I derived immense fulfillment and positive energy from gardening. Instead of it being a physically draining and a messy activity, it was a source of chiyus for me and our entire family throughout the season. Every morning, even before eating breakfast, my children and I were out on the porch, looking at our seedlings, checking for signs of growth, pressing the soil to test the moisture. The same little boy who couldn’t wait long enough for me to walk from the bedroom to the kitchen to give him an ice pop from the freezer, the same toddler who threw a tantrum when he realized his favorite cereal was finished, now waited patiently for the tiny green buds to grow into large round tomatoes, then turn red. When I began finding the porch door open when I woke up in the morning, I knew that my skeptical husband had joined the club, too.

When we finally plucked the first tomato off the vine, the satisfaction was immense, aglow with the reality of our work in this world. We plant, we water, we watch, we daven; He makes it grow.

In years gone by, women’s chores were physically draining. They scrubbed the laundry until it gleamed, nurtured the yeast starter until they watched the dough rise, and planted the seeds, davening until the harvest was finally picked. Yet, today, with technological advancements enabling us to forego so much physical exertion, we struggle with so much depression, anxiety, and lack of fulfillment.

Positive feelings, we know, are not generated only by eating right and tending to our emotions, but also from engaging in fulfilling activity. One incredible way to do so is giving ourselves the opportunity to plant tiny seeds, bulbs, or seedlings with our human hands, and watch them bud and blossom into something so much bigger than what seems possible—joining Hashem in the constant cycle of recreating His wondrous briah. The satisfaction derived from toiling to create something and reaping the harvest, b’siyata d’Shmaya, makes the work all worth it.

Gardening in Pots

The great thing about pots is that they can be used to grow a variety of flowers, vegetables, and even fruit trees just about anywhere. Outdoors, that is. So, even if you don’t have garden space, these can be placed on porches, driveways, and decks, and can be moved around to find the optimal growing conditions like exposure to rain and sunshine.

DIY—Vegetable Planting:

Popular container-growing vegetables include sweet and hot pepper, eggplant, cucumbers, squash, tomatoes, and cucumbers.

• Use a Large Pot. Ensuring the pot or container is large enough is a biggie. For each plant, fill a container that is at least 1 square foot—2 square feet is even better—with high-quality soil. Some use a 5-gallon spring water container, after cutting the spout off its top, of course.

Tomato plants should be caged to support the vegetables when they appear, and cucumber plants require caging for the vines to climb around and support the weight of the vegetables. • Dig Deep. Vegetable seedlings are usually planted at the depth of the purchased size, yet, with tomatoes, it’s best to cut off the lower few leaves in order to plant it at a lower depth in the container. This allows the sapling to develop stronger roots and grow to be a sturdier plant. • Sufficient Watering. Container plants will dry up faster, and they are completely dependent on you for water. It is best to water plants each morning, and check for moist soil later in the day on scorching summer days. When watering, pour water on the soil, leaving the foliage dry to protect them from blight and fungus. • Proper Drainage. Check your pot to ensure it has multiple drainage holes, so the roots don’t turn soggy. If there is only one drainage hole, you can add some more on your own. • Feed Them Right. If the potting soil you used doesn’t include fertilizer, feed your plants with a slow-release fertilizer or a vegetable-specific fertilizer. • Sun Time. Most vegetable plants need at least 6–8 daytime hours in full sunshine. Check the ticket in your seedling to confirm. Relocate your plant if its spot doesn’t allow for enough sunlight exposure, which is crucial for the sapling’s development, and later the vegetable’s growth.

Gardening Panel

Five individuals speak of their planting experiences

What do you plant?

A bonsai plant.

I’ve also planted other flower varieties during COVID-19, as did many families in the neighborhood.

Why do you plant?

I purchased a bonsai plant in the mall as it looked small enough to not get in my way and is supposed to require little care. When I have outdoor plants, I tend to forget about them. This, placed on my kitchen windowsill, is always visible. The only challenge with its spot is that I only get to see one side of it at a time, and the back becomes dead. Every so often, the blossoms will grow and later fall off.

When I tend to this little tree, I feel like I’m out in the fields. When I water the plant, I inhale the smell of an outdoor garden. Interestingly, it seems to me that even as I keep turning the plant, it’s always growing toward me. I guess I’m just connecting to my mini, living plant on my sill.

Miriam, 33 What do you plant?

Corn

Why do you plant?

They say that one is either a hunter or a gardener. I believe I am both. Yet, I often develop the hunting side of my personality, pursuing hobbies and goals, and I haven’t taken the time to nurture the gardener in me. Planting affords me the opportunity to work really hard to begin the process of something in which the outcome is entirely out of my control. I do my hishtadlus, to the greatest extent possible, planting the seeds, putting the best quality soil and fertilizer, and watering the seeds. Then, I must wait and daven and hope that they grow. All of this exercises my physical grit, my patience, as well as my bitachon. It also affords me greater admiration for the farmers who repeat this process annually in order to bring us the selection of vegetables available in the supermarket.

Mordechai, 25

What do you plant?

Multi-colored tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, eggplant, and grapes in the backyard greenhouse we constructed.

Why do you plant?

For me, planting is a very spiritual activity. It’s about putting so much effort into something, which makes you become very attached to it, and at the same time realizing and trusting that Hashem is the One who is actually orchestrating the results.

Also, there is so much room for healthy creativity in a garden. For example, we constructed woven baskets for the children to collect the vegetables, and there is nothing as satisfying as eating the vegetables you helped plant, water, and prayed for.

Another aspect is the health of home-grown vegetables, which are not sprayed with any pesticides. The beauty and taste of the produce is also way better than in stores, and it’s proven to be quite cost-effective, too.

Suri, 31

What do you plant? A variety of flowers

Why do you plant?

When I water my plants, I think of the concept of ki ha’adam eitz hasadeh, and it reminds me that I need to nurture myself, both physically and spiritually, in very much the same way.

Chaya, 27 What do you plant?

Eggplants, tomatoes, and herbs like sage and thyme.

Why do you plant?

My father used to plant, so it’s first and foremost a form of connecting to the little child within me. Although planting is an enjoyable activity, the greatest gain and reason I keep planting is its singular, powerful lesson in bitachon. There is nothing I do that drives home the lesson that we must do our hishtadlus and only Hashem can actually make results happen like gardening.

Ruchie, 49

Keeping the Pests Out

At least in Monsey, where I live, a big struggle surrounding both container and outdoor gardens are the squirrels, and sometimes deer, consuming the crop.

Last summer, my tomatoes had brown blotches, lacking the deep red color we were used to. A friend advised me to move them to my front porch, in the hope of better sun exposure. Yet, after just one night in the new location, the plants were bare, save for some tomato rinds dropped on the soil. The squirrels had done their thing. Sometimes, it’s just the location of the containers that can do the trick.

Simple Solutions

• Many gardeners still rely on scarecrows to scare pests away. Especially if you have an outdoor garden, have fun creating these with the kids. • Squirrels are known to dislike sharp tastes such as hot pepper and chili. To make your own pepper spray solution, add soap liquid and water to two teaspoons of chili or pepper powder. Pour the solution into a spray bottle and apply this all around your plants. Sprinkling hot red pepper flakes or powder directly around the plants is also known to keep squirrels away. • Another, less appetizing idea is to get a human scent around the plants. This can be achieved by placing a few strands of hair on the soil, so squirrels and deer are repelled by the smell of a human nearby.

Bonsai Trees

Miniature trees planted in containers, bonsai trees are a great choice for anyone wishing to grow a tree within limited space. Depending on its variety, some bonsais are outdoor and some are indoor plants. It is recommended to ask the gardener you are purchasing the plant from whether the tree should be kept in your house or outdoors, as well as the best spot to place it. Available in a range of prices and sizes, bonsais require regular maintenance like watering, pruning, and later re-potting.

Bonsai Tips:

• Keep the tree away from direct heat or draft • Plenty of sunlight is important for the tree • Humidity will keep the soil moist • As with other container plants, bonsais require water any time the top layer of soil is dry. This may be as often as every day.