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Rabbi Yossi Bensoussan
You are Human!
Across the world right now, many of the problems facing our Jewish communities have organizations in place to help solve them. And, without question, this is beautiful. But, at the same time, we cannot allow the role of such organizations to cause us to lose out on something else.
The Mishnah (Avos 5:13) states that there are four different types of people:
One who says, “What is mine is mine and what is yours is yours” is of average character. Some say, this is the character of Sodom. One who says, “What is mine is yours and what is yours is mine” is unlearned. One who says, “What is mine is yours and what is yours is yours” is pious. One who says, “What is yours is mine and what is mine is mine” is wicked.
The view which states that the individual who says, “What is mine is mine, and what is yours is yours” is actually a reflection of someone with midat Sodom, aligned with the ways of the corrupt city of Sodom, is most interesting. As we know, the city of Sodom was completely destroyed. It was a city of such wickedness that it was deemed fit to be obliterated. It must have then been filled with people of extremely low and poor character. Yet, what is so bad for a person to think, “What is mine is mine, and what is yours is yours”? “I am not bothering anyone,” you’ll say. “I am not helping, but I am not involved in other people’s business either. You leave me alone, and I will leave you alone.” What is so wrong with that?
Many of us have gotten to a place where we feel that as long as we are not harming anyone, we are doing our job. But to personally get involved and take on something ourselves is not our business.
But that is a mistake.
Rabbi Yitzchak Berkovits is wont to say that when people remark, “I am only human!” they are missing the point. Do we have any idea what a human being is? How can you say, ‘I am only human!’ The Midrash (Bereishis Rabbah) states that when Adam HaRishon was created, the angels sang to G-d, as they thought that there was another Supreme Being who had been created aside from Hashem, G-d forbid. That is how great we as human beings are.
We cannot let passivity take away our passion. When someone calls us describing a difficult and distressing predicament, we mustn’t simply and quickly outsource the problem to others.
How did this happen to begin with?
We stopped believing in ourselves. We stopped taking responsibility because we began thinking that only the Jews of yesteryear were the real, holy Jews. But today, we are not so special! The effect this has had is that we’ve began to downgrade all that we can do.
In my efforts to help teenagers, anytime someone says to me, “I don’t wear Tefillin!” I say to him, “It sounds that you made a decision not to wear Tefillin. But I want to ask you if that was actually a deliberate and conscious decision?” I have found that such decisions of leading less of a religious life are less the byproduct of a logical, thoughtful decision, and more so stemming from a lack of feeling important and believing that it makes any difference. “G-d doesn’t care, so why should I put on Tefillin?” kids often say. Forcing the child at this point only fosters more dissension between the child and yourself and their relationship to Hashem.
Our focus and efforts are not to force our children into Torah observance, but rather impress upon them their own worth to themselves and to Hashem, which will over time lead them to finding a deep sense of connection to G-d and to themselves.
This past Simchat Torah, I had the honor of spending Yom Tov with my brother, Rabbi Ari Bensoussan. We went to a Moroccan shul for davening, which was beautiful, and included exciting dancing and singing.
As the dancing continued, two boys walked in and took a seat in the back. They looked uncomfortable and out of place, yet they had clearly walked in themselves, and not at the coercing of anyone else.
When the time came for everyone to begin receiving aliyot from the Torah, I turned to them and motioned that they too should come up. One of them sheepishly looked down and refused, whereas the other one adamantly said no. But I still encouraged them to do so. One of them finally complied, though the other kept on waving his finger and refusing. As a friendly Moroccan with a dose of humor, I said to him, “You know what your grandfather is thinking back in Morocco?” But he remained with his decision not to stand up and receive an aliyah. “Give me one reason why you won’t?” I prodded him. “Give me one real reason.”
I was ready for the response, “I don’t believe in G-d,” “I’m not here for that,” “I just came for the food.” I was prepared for all such rebuttals. But I wasn’t ready for what he actually said.
He looked me in the eye and said, “I can’t; I’m not allowed.” At this point, I began to nervously wonder, “Wait a minute… for all I know, this boy is not even Jewish, and he just is here...” I then embarrassedly began to back off myself.
“I drove here,” he said.
I stopped pacing backwards. “What?” I asked him to repeat. “I drove here on Yom Tov,” he said. If you were there, you would have seen how heartbroken he looked.
Now it was my turn. “You drove here?” I said. He nodded his head. “You drove to a Beit Knesset on the Chag?” “Yes,” he muttered.
I paused for a moment and then said with building enthusiasm, “Do you not know where the beach is? Do you know how many other places you could have gone today? And you chose to drive here! If I would have known, you would have gotten an aliyah before me and the rest of the rabbis! You wanted to be here so badly; you even drove here…!”
He looked me back in the eyes, and then jumped up and walked straight to the bimah, grabbing a tallit.
I’ve heard some big rabbis recite a blessing when receiving an aliyah. But that blessing this boy made… I will remember it forever. It still echoes in my mind.
This boy felt like nothing, until he was reminded.
We often don’t recognize the power that is inside of us, and what we can do if we would take charge and responsibility. We don’t know what we are able to do for the people next to us until we try. Hashem did not randomly make you neighbors with someone whose child is struggling for no reason. Don’t be afraid to ask someone, even if you run no organization, “Is there anything I can do?” Because, you shouldn’t be surprised, there might very well be everything you can do.
You don’t need to save the world; just connect with the world. You have a lot you can offer. You don’t need to give advice or guide anyone; you can simply listen and support them. So many of the great things which have happened to the Jewish people have started with just one person. It goes further than most people think. Try it.
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