To be saved from the plague of the first born, the Jews are commanded to place the blood of a sheep on their doorpost the night before the Exodus. Implication: if they don’t make that act of distinction, they are worthy of death like the Egyptians. Why?

This question is compounded by the issue of the first born of captives being held in Egypt at the time of the plague. Rashi explains that they, too, are killed because the captives rejoiced in the Jews’ hardship. Had they not rejoiced, they would have been saved. But why? Wouldn’t they need a positive act to save them, just as the Jews needed the heroic act of placing the blood?

The difference: whereas the captives just want to survive, the Jews desire that judgment be brought upon Egypt. Once they desire and benefit from the judgment, they themselves become scrutinized and in need of greater merit.

This applies to us. In our relationships, interactions, and partnerships, we can scrutinize and decry as “intolerable” behavior of others. At the point that our assessment moves from understanding (he’s trying/he means well/how can I help) to judgment (he’s intolerable), watch out. We invite ourselves into the same arena of harsh scrutiny that we have created.

It is truly amazing the blessings we enable when we remind ourselves that seeking others’ good leverages, magnifies, and enables my own.

Shabbat Shalom,
Henry Harris

G-d tells Moses to make a morning meeting with Pharoah at the Nile to tell him about the plague of blood.  Why then and there? Why not the palace at normal visiting hours?

Pharoah pretended he was a deity.  One of his charades was going to the bathroom secretly before the day began, as if he wasn’t subject to a human need like relieving.  Moses caught him with his pants down.

In truth, we all have a bit of old Pharoah in us when it comes to our shortcomings – it’s quite normal to pretend we’re someone we’re not, or to conceal aspects of ourselves in ways that demand of us bizarre perspectives.

Adam and Eve “hide” from G-d after they eat from the tree.

“Where are you,” says G-d.

“We’re hiding,” they say.

Huh?  Do they really think they can hide from G-d?  Does Pharoah really think he can pretend he is a god?

The key to facing the parts of ourselves we’d rather hide from, say the Sages, is twofold:

1) Realize that our tendency to recoil from our own weaknesses comes from the belief that those weaknesses define us, they are who we are.  “Yuk!”  In truth, it’s nothing personal – G-d gave each of us a lower self and a higher self.  Self-love, like all love, comes from seeing and associating ourselves with our virtues.

2) Take responsibility to choose the desires of the higher self over and over – irrespective of feeling an immediate change.

Real kings don’t hide.  They confront themselves with small choices – over and over again.

Shabbat Shalom,

Henry Harris

My toddler has a very runny winter nose right now, of which the combined effect of his shmearing and our wiping has led to very chapped cheeks and upper lip.

But he won’t allow any moisturizer; I have to lather it on while he’s sleeping.  And lo and behold, it helps.

What struck me was the notion that I have and must be doing the same thing in my life.    Here’s the metaphor (in all its glory):

Some yukky habit/attitude comes out of me (runny nose).

I “solve” the problem ineffectively (shmearing it around).

The “solution” not only doesn’t solve the problem, but brings others (more runny nose plus chapped cheeks).

When someone or G-d suggests a new approach (cream), I resist.

Where is someone/G-d suggesting a new approach to a sticky situation in our life?  Are we open?

Shabbat Shalom,

Henry Harris

PS: Speaking of new perspectives, we are pleased to welcome Dov Ber Cohen as our guest next Wed. and Fri. nights as part of “East Meets Jewish.”  Dov Ber became a disciple and master practicioner of the wisdom of the Far East for six years before discovering Jewish insights on mindfulness and inner peace.  His openness to a multiplicity of perspectives makes him a real treat.

The Hebrew word for spiritual test is nisayon.  Commentators wonder why its root contains the Hebrew word “nes,” or miracle.  Typically a test is something that stretches a person to his limits, yet is within his ability to pass.  A miracle suggests something supernatural, beyond a human’s reach.  If passing a test involves a miracle, how is that a fair test?

The holy books resolve the contradiction.  In truth, a test is beyond a person’s limitations.  But the essence of the test is to question those limitations: is my vision of reality all there is, or is there a Divine vision even more compelling than my own?

The Maccabbees had no worldy evidence to suggest they could stop the mighty Greek empire from crushing Judaism 2300 years ago.  But they were more attuned to a higher vision: G-d doesn’t want Greek human worship to triumph over Jewish values.  It’s not our job to know precisely how.  Our job is strategize as best we can and undertake without end knowing that G-d will bless our efforts in unmistakeable ways.  Our test is to be loyal midwives to Divine intervention.

Have you or a loved one ever been really challenged before?  Out of work for many many months?  Facing an illness beyond your control?  Uncertain as to how to bring a positive resolution to a persistent dilemma?  We need to know that miracles are real.  We need to know that we won’t be able to live our lives without accepting our respoonsibility to be a catalyst for the miraculous.

Please join us the third night of Chanukah, Monday, Dec. 10 for The Miracles Panel:  First-Hand Accounts on Believing, Seeing & Jumpstarting the Miraculous – http://www.aishcenter.com/miracles-panel (Free w/ rsvp)

Shabbat Shalom,
Henry Harris

Esau is both Isaac’s oldest son and Jacob’s twin.  He’s also a murderer, idolator, and adulterer (the trifecta!).

The Torah bestows upon Esau the nickname “Red” (see Genesis 25:30).  Why “Red”?  Because when he’s really hungry one day, he agrees to trade his first-born status to Jacob for a bowl of red lentil soup.   Who needs the challenge and distinction of leadership?  Lunch!

But if Esau is a dark guy, and his nickname is meant to capture that, why not call him “Murderer,” or “Adulterer,” etc?  Impulsive desire for red soup seems not to capture the fullness of his depravity.

The answer, say our sages, is that “red” IS the key to his darkness.  “Red” points to the root issue: his lack of self control.  As our sages say, “Who is the powerful person?  The one who masters his own drives.”   Without that mastery, destructive stuff is on the way.

Even Presidents, Hall of Fame Golfers, and American CIA directors could tell you that.

Shabbat Shalom!

HH

“Here,” I said as I offered one of my older kids a brownie.  The two of us were left in the kitchen and he had helped out in an extraordinary way.

“It’s my pleasure to give you more privileges when you take extra responsibility. But let it be our secret; I don’t want the others to feel bad.”

The next morning I heard slightly edgy banter between the kids as they bounded down the stairs.

“Tatty, can I tell them?  Can I tell them what you gave me? Huh? Huh?” said the brownie recipient.

Later on I asked, “What happened?  Why did you reveal the secret?”  I was frustrated.

“They were bothering me and I wanted to distract them so I knew that if I could bother them, they would stop,” he explained.

I paused to consider the right spiritual/psychological lesson to apply to his flawed behavior.

“Sweetie, I gave you that brownie because you acted like an adult.  And one of the things adults do,” I intoned, ”is they don’t get upset just because the kids say something.”

He paused for a split second and said, “But Tatty, you do.”

Ouch.  How can I expect the people nearest me to act and be more than what I do?

I was reminded of several significant Jewish teachings:

1) Good character is transmitted like a virus: not through words but from what’s inside you.

2) Be careful what you complain about: it’s often G-d shining a mirror in your face.

Shabbat Shalom,

Henry Harris

PS: This Tuesday night is the Aish Center Gala, featuring wonderful honorees, the comedy of Modi, and music by Peter Himmelman.  Please contact me about available tickets!

Last Monday night, as the wind howled and my family slept inside our blacked-out home, I wanted a closer glimpse of the storm.   Stepping out on to the deck, I was overwhelmed: the wind fully roared; massive trees whipped to and fro.  I shot back inside unsettled.

Though it’s been a full week now without power, we know we are the lucky ones.  We’re all healthy.  There was minimal property damage.  The kids are having fun  shining flashlights and spooking each other.  Extraordinary individuals in our community raised money to purchase and import scarce generators from Baltimore.  They sought out those most in need (our newborn put us toward the top).  They connected the generator to our heating system, gave us gas (more precious than gold), and got us going.

Our Sages say that one way to learn lessons from world events is to notice our response to them.  When a response to the event is shared by many, it points to an intention, as if G-d programmed the event with a result in mind.  I noticed a couple of recurring responses.

I had dozens of conversations that went like this:

“So, do you have power?”

“No. Do you have power?”

“No.”

Over and over, my words were forcing me to absorb a message I was loathe to admit: I’m not in control.

Then I noticed another response: offers for help.  We’ve been offered lodging by at least 8 people.  Families with and without power have done carpool for our kids, have cooked meals for us, or have brought us gas for the generator.

To reiterate, we are fully provided for, Thank G-d.  And we are grateful for the glimpse we’ve had in to the power and effect of Hurricane Sandy.

Sincere regards,

Henry Harris

PS: Aish is open for business this Monday night.  And, tix are available for next Tuesday’s Gala event!

My father, obm, was my first employer.  How he became so sheds light on some of the gifts he gave me.

He owned and operated a small Kinkos-like store at which my two older sisters worked on weekends.  For a few hours in the morning, they took customer orders, made copies, and processed payments.  And they got a paycheck.

“I want to work, too!” I complained.

There was only one problem: Xerox machines 30 years ago were mammoth.  At age nine, I couldn’t even reach the “start” button.

But my father believed in the value of earning things (as our Sages say, Hasoneh matanos yichyeh: the one who hates gifts will live).  He wanted me to have the opportunity to work, create value, and earn reward.  So he went out and bought me a stepping stool and showed me the ropes.

When a customer would give his order, I’d shlep the stool over to the copier and do my job.  And I made more than a few mistakes.  But I got the hang of it.

Part of the weekend shift meant coming a half hour early to vacuum the front stairs and clean the two bathrooms.  I’m pretty sure most of my nine year-old friends weren’t similarly occupied at that age.  I’m certain they didn’t experience the pleasure and satisfaction that comes from working hard, providing something of value, and getting a paycheck.

My father wasn’t afraid to work hard or to fail at an undertaking and he invested in my appreciation for the same gifts.  May his memory be a blessing.

Shabbat Shalom,

Henry Harris

The main job of a child mourning a parent is to be moved to good actions by the memory of the parent.  In this way, the parent is a catalyst for good through the choices of the child and the parent’s soul is elevated even though he no longer possesses the gift of free choice.

This is why a child says kaddish, a prayer that publicly affirms our belief in G-d and our commitment to living with G-d awareness.

Another job of a mourner is to be the chazzan for the daily services at shul.   As I’ve shouldered this thrice daily task, I wondered why?

In traditional Judaism, a mourner (or anyone else) prays the entire service, whether he leads or not.  A mourner says most of the kaddish prayers, whether he leads or not.  What additional merit does the mourner accomplish by being the one in front?

These thoughts came to me in the sometimes uncomfortable moments of stepping up to the chazzan’s table.

Though everyone around me knows how to pray, I am forced into a role of leading.

I make sure we start at the time the community agreed on.  I initiate the words that jumpstart the service.  I keep the pace.  My voice is the one that is audible at the moments that the community experiences itself as one voice united in prayer.

Frankly, standing as I often am in huge shuls with several hundred congregants many of whom know to pray more fluidly than I do, I find it uncomfortable.

But the soul of the deceased was remarkable for its ability to lead in some way.  So the child steps up.

Shabbat Shalom,

Henry Harris

Join me for an evening of learning/inspiration in memory of my father, Wed. Oct. 24: http://www.aishcenter.com/honoring-parents

This week we’re in the midst of Sukkot, the holiday where the Jewish people leave their homes to dwell under the equivalent of non-functioning roofs.   This national rite is called “Zman Simchaseinu,” “The Time of Our Joy.”  What’s the connection?

A Story

Years ago my dear colleague Rabbi Yitz Greenman and family spent a few weeks living in the most modest bungalow you can imagine in the Catskills. A virtual tenement. They loved it.  He asked the senior rabbi, Rabbi Reuven Feinstein, “How can it be that we love the bungalow, but we find so many faults with our house that is 100 times nicer?”

“It’s simple,” he said. “If it weren’t for the neighbors, everyone would be happy with what they have. Here in the mountains, everyone is living in run-down shacks and there’s nothing better to compare it to — yet it’s enough, because in reality it is enough.”

Along these lines, I recently shared with a friend that my daughter started elementary school.

“Does she have a uniform?” he asked.  I affirmed.

“What a blessing.  My daughter’s school doesn’t.  Every day is a disaster.”  Comparisons can be tough.

This is the freedom and joy of Sukkot.  As you sit under the non-functional roof, realize that what makes everyone truly wealthy is not their handiwork/assets (as nice as they are).  It’s our equalizers: the opportunity to grow, choose, learn, love, and live.

Chag Sameach!

Henry Harris 

PS: Reminder – join me for a memorial event on behalf of my father, obm, Wed. Oct. 24 at 7:30pm: ttp://www.aishcenter.com/register-now?id=8228