THE OBSERVANT JEW

The Observant Jew

You’re Stronger Than You Think

 Rabbi Jonathan Gewirtz

A few weeks ago, there was something in the house that I didn’t want to eat.  Let me rephrase that – I wanted to eat it, but I knew that I shouldn’t.  I don’t remember if it was ice cream, macaroni and cheese, or something along those lines that I really didn’t need.  I was fighting my urges, then told myself, “I’m going to eat something fleishig (meat, as opposed to dairy or pareve) so I can’t have it.”  Then it hit me.

What difference would it make if I was fleishig?  Who was stopping me? — ME!  If I could stop myself from eating it because I was fleishig, why couldn’t I stop myself without eating the meat?  I think I passed it up that night, but that’s not the point because I had had a revelation.

What remained with me was the fact that I was able to be in control of myself when I didn’t feel there was an alternative.  Let’s take another, timely example.  On Rosh Hashanah, we know (most of us do, at least) that one may not speak from the time the brachah is said on the shofar until after the 100th blast.  If we speak, we have not fulfilled the proper mitzvah of tekias shofar.

Somehow, tens of thousands of us survive without talking during Rosh Hashanah davening for several long hours.  So why is it that we can’t do that on a regular Shabbos?  Or a weekday Shacharis?  People speak, joke, comment, and kibbitz when they’re supposed to be conversing with Hashem — you know, the One who gives us everything – like the things we’re davening for.

It will be interesting to see how people act this year.  On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, they will not speak, for fear of breaking the connection of the brachah and the blowing of the shofar.  What will they do on the first day when there’s no shofar because it’s Shabbos?  Will they feel, “Whew, I can do what I want because there’s no shofar?”

A friend mentioned to me tonight that the Manchester Rosh Yeshiva z”l used to say, “People don’t talk during shofar because from a young age it was ingrained in them that they could not speak.  Could you imagine if we did the same thing with lashon hara?”  The same way one who inadvertently spoke out before all 100 blasts of the shofar were complete would hit himself in the head and feel like a fool, that’s how it should be if one slips and says something derogatory about another Jew (yes, even if it’s true!).  He should be kicking himself for even thinking that way.

During the Aseres Yemei Teshuvah, the Shulchan Aruch says, people are more stringent about bread baked by a non-Jew.  Why are we stricter during this time period?  Are we trying to fool G-d?

On the contrary – we’re trying to show the truth to Man.  When we maintain higher levels of behavior between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, it does more than just provide the benefit of starting off on a higher level (think of a sled or bicycle going down a hill.  The higher the start, the further the rider will go.)

What it also shows us is how we are capable of doing these things all the time, if we realize that we could do it.  Imagine for a moment that the things we manage to do once in a while could be done all the time.

We’ve already had our first example in the speaking in shul category.  We saw that we are able to refrain from talking to anyone else but Hashem Yisbarach in shul on Rosh Hashanah.  That means we could and should do it all the time.

What about not speaking ill of someone else?  Imagine you were talking to someone’s father or mother and their child had done something bad.  Would you share the “juicy” gossip with them?  Clearly not.  They would not be amused.  Would you still say it?  Ok, let’s make it easier.  That person is your boss, deciding on your raise, or whether you will have a job next month.  Do you still have the urge to smear their child’s reputation, or do you decide to hold your tongue?  I’m guessing you don’t say anything.  So, you obviously have the capacity and ability to refrain from speaking about others. The problem isn’t “I can’t,” it’s “I don’t want to.”

One of my pet peeves (besides the shopping carts, which I continue to remove from parking spaces, especially in the rain) is people taking off their tallis and tefillin early at shul.  Why do you need to take them off before davening is over?  If you were making a bris, you’d find a way to keep them on.

So maybe you have to go to work.  But why are you standing and schmoozing afterward?  And what if you were told you had to keep a cast on a broken arm for six weeks?  Would you take it off after four because you were in a rush?  It’s not different.  One is for your physical health and one is for your spiritual health.  And what’s the excuse of the fellow who’s retired, yet he does it too?  Or the boy in school whose tefillin are wrapped before he says the Shir shel Yom?  It doesn’t have to be this way; you can do it!

Couldn’t control yourself from yelling at the idiot who…?  What about if he was about to give you a hot stock tip or pay you for a job you did?  How many times has a customer dropped something in a retail store and we say, “It’s ok,” because we expect to keep making money on them?  That means we can control ourselves if we recognize the stakes.

Surfing the internet and a certain site pops up on the screen?  What do you do if your wife or child are sitting next to you?  I thought so.  I guess you can control your urges when it counts.  That means you can do it all the time when you realize that it always counts.

So, this Rosh Hashanah, as you start davening, remember that if a shofar was blowing, you’d be able to refrain from talking, and do it even when there isn’t.  When you sit down at the meal, treat your family as if they were prized customers, with whom you’d never get upset or annoyed.  When you wish people a sweet new year, really mean it, as if you were wishing goodness on your own child.  

As you go on through the year and find things difficult, imagine a scenario when you’d be able to overcome your urges, and you’ll soon find yourself overcoming them in all situations.

Then when Rosh Hashanah rolls around next year you will be able to humbly say, “I guess I didn’t know my own strength.”