The Unwanted Teacher- Some final thoughts on my hospitalization and recovery

There’s a part of me that just wants to move on from my experiences of the past two and a half weeks. Yesterday, I went for my follow-up at the doctor and I’ve pretty much recovered. Still, I know that completely moving on would be a mistake.

I need to hold onto this experience. The pain, discomfort, and particularly the dis-ease I had with being somewhat dis-abled, even for such a short period of time, all of it can teach me something. It’s not just that I have to take better care of myself, although that’s certainly true. Between the kidney stone, and the return of my diabetes, there’s no more pretending that my health is fine. I can no longer, kind of, sort of, almost, begin to get back to healthy eating and exercising. As the Piaseczna Rebbe writes, my yetzer hara is trying to kill me, and pretending otherwise is futile, even insane.

There’s more, however. The issues with which I am dealing are not something rare and unexpected. They are fairly common for men my age. What’s affected me more than anything is the confrontation with the fact that I’m getting older. These maladies are in line with the muscle soreness I get after long car rides, and the general krechtzing I produce when picking things up off the floor. There’s a certain phenomenon, prevalent in Western society, of claiming that age is just a number. It comes with slogans like “Sixty is the new forty”. It’s cute as far as it goes, but that’s it. Age can be slowed down a bit, but not escaped.

If I’m honest with myself, I’m almost certainly on the back nine of life’s golf course. I don’t say that that to be maudlin or depressing. It’s important to face the fact that I will not live forever. That I don’t have forever to fix all of the interpersonal and religious flaws and weaknesses which I want to address.

I’m not trying to be melodramatic, or to make more of this than it is. It was pretty humbling to hear from a college student who has had to do deal with something more serious and of a much longer duration of time, who related to what I wrote, after I shared my initial thoughts. He shared his story, and it helped put things in perspective.

I see this experience as a teacher, albeit, an unwanted one. Among the lessons I’ve learned are to address my health, and to try and say Asher Yatzar with kavana, while recognizing that I should not take the ability to stand before God, or even the ability to stand pain free for granted.  Finally, it’s a reminder to not pretend that I have forever to become the person I may yet be. I hope and pray that I’ve learned what I need to, and in doing so, that I pass this test.

To begin Again?- A different approach for Elul based on the Piaseczna Rebbe

As we reach the end of 5758, as the last few days of Elul approach, those of us who are not so young, and who have seen their share of Elul commitments come and go, way too often not successfully, have to ask ourselves, what we are doing here. Is this just another charade where we say the necessary words of penance, and pretend things will be different this time? Can we really approach the Yamim Noraim honestly with a sense that we may yet become something more?

I have been deeply affected, perhaps more than by any other sefer of the Piaseczna Rebbe, by Tzav V’Ziruz. The short statements he wrote in his spiritual diary between 1926 and 1939 almost always speak deeply to me. Sometimes, his words feel like a cup of cold water splashed across my face, forcing me to sit up and take notice. They wake me up and bring to my attention ways that I think of the world, that I might not even consciously be aware of, and how they affect my relationship with HKBH. There is something about the nature of this work which has caused my chavrusa and me to move more slowly than we did with his other sefarim, as we try to make sure that we understand the full implications of his words.

There’s something else about this work that gives it such a hold over me. The Rebbe wrote these words beginning in his late thirties until he was in his early fifties. It is, if I may say so, the Torah of the midlife crisis. Torah written for those who are not so young, and who have faced their share of failures and disappointments. I suspect that a different sefer may have grabbed me, if I learned his Torah when I was in my twenties. Which brings us to a small Torah which my chavrusa and I learned this past Shabbos.

In Torah 24, the Rebbe speaks about the danger of having spiritual desires and aspirations, without having a real plan for implementing them. While one might think that spiritual goals are inherently valuable, he notes that without a way of trying to concretize them, it is likely that they will never happen. Many years of this leads to a sense of despair, that one will never get there. It may even leave one convinced that it’s no longer worth trying to aim for religious greatness.

Here I am just about midway between the age that the Rebbe wrote the first and last words in this sefer. As always, I wonder how someone of his greatness can know so well what lies deep within someone like me. At times, I’ve dreamed big in terms of learning goals, davening goals, middos goals, in a word of teshuva. I’ve wanted to become more than I am, certain, or at least hopeful, that I’m nowhere near where I could be. If I’m honest, most years my Elul plans come to naught. I daven, I plead, I apologize, both to God and to other people, and, much more often than not, little has changed by the end of the year. There are years where I wonder if it’s even worth trying.

In the Rebbe’s words, I received a challenge. Marching orders as it were. I’m never going to get my teenagers years back to redo. Same thing for my time in yeshiva and kollel, or the early years of my marriage or as a father. Still, God willing, I have many more years ahead of me. I can continue as I’ve always done, and foolishly imagine that the results may be different. Or, if I’m brave enough, I can continue to dream big, and this time try more carefully to come up with a plan. To really work on it, so that next Elul, and, BEH, in ten years, twenty years, and for as many years as I’m blessed with, I’m not left wondering what might have been. Thanks to a small piece in Tzav V’Ziruz, I’m once again able to dream, and to begin again

A Different Type of Preparation - How my stay in the hospital got me ready for Rosh Hashanah

What a difference a year makes.

Last year, at this time, as we approached the time for selichos, I was ready. I'd spent time going through Pachad Yitzchak on Rosh Hashanah, Rav Amiel's Yamim Noraim derashos, and some of Rav Kook's Orot HaTeshuva. I. Was. Ready.

This year, I did not prepare. I'd wanted to, but hadn't followed through as the trip to Israel I took with my son approached, and became a major focal point. I kept telling myself that I'd get around to learning and preparing (I sometimes mistakenly see those two as the same), but it didn't happen. The trip came along, went remarkably well, and I figured I'd get back into things during the week leading up to Selichos. I figured it would be a bit jarring to go from the high of trip to the mundane reality of "normal life", but I was ready for it. God had other plans for me.

If I thought that the difference between a trip to Israel and being home would be a bit challenging to navigate , going from my return home to the hospital in less than ten hours, was over the top. I had no time to come down from the high of the trip, or even to see each of our children who were home. Before I knew it, I was being rushed to the hospital by Hatzolah, as I writhed in pain.

When I was told that I had a large kidney stone, which would require me staying over in the hospital, and a medical procedure in the morning, I was rather devastated. I didn't have much time to process what made it so hard, but now that I'm home recovering, I do. 

Beyond sleeping in a noisy hospital room, shared by a stranger on the other side of a thin curtain (with a mouth like a truck driver, and a predilection for fantasy football), and the pain of the procedure, there was something deeply humbling in realizing how little I truly control. Having researched and planned the trip to Israel, I felt good knowing I could put together such a meaningful and fun experience for my son and I. Now, I wasn't even in control of my body, or even where I slept. As I've recovered, simple tasks feel overwhelming. I continue to feel somehow let down by my body. Beyond the physical healing, it will take me time to get past this. 

So here I am a year later, ready for Selichos in a very different way. Without the cerebral experience of opening a sefer, I'm aware of how little I control, and how much I depend on Hashem for everything. It's not the preparation that I would have chosen, but apparently it's the one I needed. 

Leaving Har Sinai- On the challenges of taking Matan Torah Into life

Thanks to a wonderful shiur I listened to on Friday, I headed into Shabbos and Yom Tov with strong expectations. Rav Ami Silver gave over a derasha from Derech HaMelech, which the Piaseczna Rebbe first delivered nearly 90 years ago. I went into Shabbos wanting to learn through the rebbe’s words on my own, as I strongly wanted to internalize the message. It took a few times going over it, but eventually I was able to reconnect with the message of the derasha. I was deeply moved by the idea that Kabbalas HaTorah is something which re-occurs throughout time, and that we need to see ourselves as having something worthy to merge with the Torah, rather than accepting it passively. The part which touched me the most was the idea that we must dig down within ourselves, in our own “dirt” to discover that even there, we connect with the Ribbono Shel Olam.

Over the chag, I continued to learn from the Derech HaMelech, as well as from Rav Kook’s Midbar Shur. Combined with the time I spent with family, and the learning I did with several of our children, Shavuos was a deeply meaningful experience. I truly felt that it was a personal Z’man Matan Toraseinu.

Just as suddenly, as I went from Yom Tov to chol, the experience disappeared. I remember the words, and the ideas they conveyed, but I can no longer access them. Even as today is Iseru Chag, the day when we are to bind the experiences of the yom tov to our lives, the switch from kodesh to chol is too dramatic. While I try and pass it off as being a product of physical and mental exhaustion, it seems to me that something else is going on. As I stood at the base of Har Sinai, I could imagine finding the holy within dirt, even within my own. Now, having traveled on, my imagination fails, and this profound teaching has reverted to just an intellectual concept.

I better understand how 40 days after Kabbalas HaTorah there can be a Cheit HaEigel. To receive the Torah is an avodah, but to bring it with you from Har Sinai is a greater one, and right now I don’t know how to do that.

Mati V'lo Mati- Experiencing chassidus through seforim and the academy

One of the highlights of my week is the 45 minute chavrusa I have before mincha each Shabbos afternoon learning the Torah of the Piaseczna Rebbe. The combination of contemplating his approach to chassidus, along with the timing so close to the end of Shabbos, a time the Rebbe describes  as having the high that comes from having reached the highest stage of Shabbos, along with the sadness that it will soon be over, has a profound effect on me. Temporarily transformed, Mincha following this chavrusa is usually qualitatively different from the rest of my tefillos.

It is not just the chassidus of the Piaseczna Rebbe which draws me. In chassidus in general, I have found a psychologically profound approach, which has become a lens through which I see the world. The focus on interiority, and on finding Hashem in all parts of my life, has transformed the way I understand Judaism. At the same time, I not only do not consider myself a chassid, but I also find myself drawn to various academic approaches to chassidus, works which often pull back the curtain on that which I find so meaningful; analyzing, deconstructing, and, well, in some ways, neutering it. After recently picking up Mendel Piekarz’s book on Polish chassidus, I found myself wondering why I engage in two activities which, although somewhat connected, are in many important ways so diametrically opposed.

It would be easy to say that the academic approach adds to my appreciation of chassidus, helping flesh it out in a way somewhat akin to utilitarian nature of secular knowledge in the Torah Im Derech Eretz approach, but that would be letting myself off the hook. As much as there are times when the academic approach enhances my appreciation of chassidus, there are many others when it detracts. Even as I try to avoid those approaches which are more glaringly hostile, or coming with a strong agenda, it is not always possible to know what I will discover before proceeding. It is not always good to know too much about one’s heroes. In certain respects, less is more.

If I’m to be honest, there’s a part of me that is relieved to have some of the chassidus I learn demystified. I am deeply moved by much of what I learn, but I want it on my terms. I’m not interested in fully diving in, something that at earlier points in my life might have been tempting. While I have written glowingly (if you’ll excuse the pun) of someone who made the jump, I could never do so for all sorts of reasons.The academic literature helps put a bit of a brake, or even a damper, on some of my enthusiasm and passion. This helps create a “yes, however” approach in me, which leaves me somewhere in the middle, simultaneously drawn towards, and pulling away from the chassidus I learn, although not in equal measure.

The elusive balance which I’d love to achieve is best conveyed in a delightful story told by Rav Menachem Frohman about Professor Yehuda Liebes, which I encountered in a post by Rabbi Josh Rosenfeld on the Seforim blog. Rav Frohman writes:

         

I will conclude with a story 'in praise of Liebes' (Yehuda explained to me that he assumes the meaning of his family name is: one who is related to a woman named Liba or, in the changing of a name, one who is related to anAhuva/loved one). As is well known, in the past few years, Yehuda has the custom of ascending ( ='aliya le-regel)^[21] on La"g b'Omer to the celebration ( =hilula) of RaShb"I^[22] in Meron. Is there anyone who can comprehend - including Yehuda himself - how a university professor, whose entire study of Zohar is permeated with the notion that the Zohar is a book from the thirteenth- century (and himself composed an entire monograph: "How the Zohar Was Written?"^[23]), can be emotionally invested along with the masses of the Jewish people from all walks of life, in the celebration of RaShb"I, the author of the Holy Zohar?

Four years ago, Yehuda asked me to join him on this pilgrimage to Meron, and I responded to him with the following point: when I stay put, I deliver a long lecture on the Zohar to many students on La"g b'Omer, and perhaps this is more than going to the grave of RaShb"I.^[24] Yehuda bested me, and roared like a lion: "All year long - Zohar, but on La"g b'Omer - RaShb"I!"

(emphasis added).

I’d like to believe that somehow I can simultaneously be deeply immersed in chassidus, letting it mold and shape me, while at the same time imagining myself to be sophisticated enough to know the difference between what nourishes me, and what I can experience with a knowing wink, or even some skepticism or doubt. I don’t think I’m there yet, but increasingly I believe I can almost make out my destination from here.

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With A Lot of Help From My Friends- NYC Half-Marathon Race Report

After nearly three months of training, and raising nearly $6200 to help purchase an ambulance for Magen David Adom in Memory of Daniella Moffson z”l, it’s race day!

I’m nervous. While I’ve gone as far as 9.1 miles on one of my training run/walks, I haven’t run more than 4 miles straight. I know I’ll finish even if I have to walk the whole thing, but there’s a three hour time limit. Who knows? If I don’t finish by then, maybe race sponsor United Airlines will pick me up on the course, and stick me in the overhead bin on the bus.

Before the race

We get to the starting line at the Prospect Park Zoo and it’s freezing. How cold is it? The polar bears at the zoo are shivering. The penguins have started to waddle south. I’m wearing three shirts. A long sleeve running shirt, the flaming pink team shirt, and an NCSY sweatshirt from Vancouver which I’m planning on ditching if it ever warms up.

A random guy comes over and says “Shalom”. How does he know I’m Jewish? Could it be the beard? It’s only later on when I see a picture my wife took after dropping us off, that I realize my sweatshirt, which I haven't worn in ages, has a giant Jewish star on the back.

As I’m waiting to start the race, I find myself wondering whether I’ll see anyone I know. Suddenly, a Facebook friend dressed up as Ironman walks by. Little do I know that he is not the last friend I’m going to see today.

Mile 1

We’re off! They say failing to plan is planning to fail. I don’t know who they are, but I hope they’re wrong. I’ve been so busy with so many things that I haven’t really thought about what my approach should be out on the course, other than a friend’s advice to walk the water stops. All I know is that the first mile is downhill and ignoring everything I know about starting slowly, I let the excitement of the race get to me, and I’m going too fast.

I see someone in an old Camp Simcha sweatshirt. Deciding to do some bageling of my own, I say “Go Camp Simcha!”. Only when the lady wearing it, who’s old enough to be my mother, turns around and makes clear she doesn’t speak English, do I realize she probably got the shirt without working in camp.

Mile 2

It’s starting to warm up a bit. I ditch the sweatshirt. As I take it off, I notice my bib is torn by several of the pin-holes. I don’t want to lose the bib, which contains the timing chip. Let me tell you that re-pinning on a bib while running is not as easy as it looks. Ouch!

We pass BAM, the Brooklyn Academy of Music. I think back to a night, probably thirty years ago when my mom ob”m dragged us to see South Pacific, in an attempt to culture us. I'm not uncultured but all I remember from that night was a bunch of singing sailors/

We approach the Manhattan Bridge. Having barely trained on any hills, I decide to walk. As I do, I start cheering fellow runners who are running with Jewish teams, wearing shirts for the always inspiring Team Achilles, or wearing shirts marking them as survivors. As I get to the top, there are a couple of NYPD officers standing near their motorcycles. I ask them for a ride.

On the downhill part of the bridge, I push it. I’m going pretty fast. Well, sort of. Somewhere out there, not too far away, Rochie and some of the kids are waiting for me. I’m really looking forward to seeing them.

Mile 3

We get to the Lower East Side and start to see Hebrew and Yiddish signs on the wall marking many of the old buildings. Naturally, I ask every frum guy I see “Which way to the nearest minyan?”. 

Someone random calls out “Go Pesach!”.

Mile 4

I see Rochie and the kids, along with a sister-in-law and niece who live in the area. I’m really excited to see and hear them. After some hugs and kisses, I’m off. I’m sorry to leave. I’m having a hard time with the running, and am pretty sure I’m going too slow.

I look down at my shirt, and see the picture of Daniella and remind myself why I’m doing this.

Mile 5

We get to the FDR Drive. As usual, it’s crowded and I’m barely moving.

Random drivers going the opposite direction honk to cheer us on. It really helps.

Mile 6

I look at my watch. Surprisingly my pace looks good, even though I’ve been walking quite a bit. I might beat the three hour limit.

I see the UN. I’m really tired and trying to conserve my energy, but I still manage to thumb my nose as I go past. I can almost swear I hear them voting to condemn Israel.

Mile 7

We get off at 42nd St. It is really cold. We pass Grand Central Station, and the thought occurs to me how much faster I could get to the park by train.

Lost in my thoughts, I look up to see one of my favorite buildings, the New York Public Library, which besides being a beautiful building, was one of my dad’s childhood haunts.

I have to admit, running through Times Square is pretty cool. The cheering really helps.

Mile 8

I’m starting to think I might finish in the 2:40s. I find myself sprinting.

Mile 9

We get to Central Park, which is one of my favorite places to run. At this point, I’m past the longest training run I did. Incredibly, I’m still feeling great. Somewhere in the back of my mind I start to wonder if a finish in the 2:30s is possible.

I look up and see the Met on my right, and the Obelisk on my left and I start to cry. I’m thinking of the times earlier in the year when I’d walk nearby, desperate to get any exercise, watching the runners zip past, and wondering whether I’d ever run again. Incredibly, here I am.

I feel my Ramaz wristband dangling on my arm and think of all the incredible support I’ve received from so many people in the building which is just a few blocks to the east. From my colleagues who donated way beyond what I could have imagined, to my students who cheered for me as I ran laps in the gym, to the guards and secretaries who frequently encouraged me and asked about my training, they made me feel like they were all on my team.

Mile 10

The Reservoir, which is my favorite running spot in NY is on my left. I can almost swear I hear Szell asking “Is it safe?”.

I’m cheering on my fellow runners, and I realize I’ve become one of the most annoying people to meet at this point in a race; the late-race peppy guy.

Mile 11

Oh my gosh! I’m going to finish in the 2:30s, unless...I try to banish the disaster scenarios from my head.

Late in the mile I’m walking a hill, and I hear someone call my name. There’s my friend Joe who I’ve been wanting to run with for a while. He’s a really good guy, with a huge heart, who’s been dealing with his share of challenges. “I’m running you to the top of the hill” he tells me. It really helps. “Don’t go”, I want to say as we reach the top of the hill.

Mile 12

Suddenly I again hear someone call my name and there’s Ehud, a friend of mine who’s a great runner, and an even better person. He’s been following my race on an App and came to the park to cheer me on. Thanks to my flaming pink shirt, he spotted me and decided to run me in. He encourages me to give it all I’ve got. Despite his being capable of running twice as fast as my current pace, he tells me I look great.

People are cheering. “Go Pesach!” I hear. I also hear “Go Pee-such!”. Whatever. I'll take it.

Mile 13

800 meters to go , then 400. Ehud points out the Israeli flag at the side of the course.

There’s the finish line! I’m fighting back tears, as I high five the spectators.

I cross the line without pushing button on my watch hoping for a good picture by the course photographer (PS they missed me).

2:35!!!

Ehud and I walk for a while chatting and continuing to catch up.

As we leave the park, I spot the Moffsons and some of the rest of the DMF team. I’m so happy to see them, and so honored to have been part of this incredible team which has raise over $130K.

What’s next?

This is what I’ve started asking myself. A generous friend offered to pay for my entry to do another half-marathon at the end of April, but with regrets, I passed. Another friend told me that he’s glad the Running Rabbi is back. Truth is, I’m not. I’m not really a runner yet. I can’t run hills, and I still struggle to run for too long outside. I think I’ll do a 10K at the end of May, as I continue to train and try to lose weight. After that, I might consider another half.

For now I’m so thankful for this experience for Rochie, the kids, and all the other family members, friends, and colleagues who have helped me along the way. While I’ve been the one doing the training, they’ve been the one to keep me going.

Hugging the Divine- Finding Hashem in the Torah we learn

The rosh yeshiva who I heard speak this past Friday night, was as brilliant as I’d been led to believe. Listening to him speak, one could believe the possibly apocryphal story which I’d heard about him, that a Soloveichik once said that they’d never met anyone else who who could think like that who didn’t share their last name. Still, as I tried to follow his brilliant analysis of a difficult Rambam, I felt like something was missing.

Thinking about it afterwards, I tried to reflect on how the shiur which I’d witnessed was any different than what I would have experienced had I listened to a lecture from a world-class physicist. While I imagine that in the latter case I would have been less familiar with the content of the lecture, I can still imagine that I could be mesmerized by their brilliance. I found myself thinking of ‘“What” has Brisk Wrought?’, an article Rav Moshe Lichtenstein wrote in the Torah U’Madda Journal nearly 20 years ago. In the Article, he spoke about the limitations of the Brisker Derech of learning, noting that they often stopped at the “what” of categorization, without moving on to the why. It is for this reason that while I’m often impressed by the analysis that comes from those well-versed in the Brisker Derech, I’ve rarely found it religiously edifying. In thinking about the rosh yeshiva’s shiur, I realized that for me, it felt like the Ribbono Shel Olam was missing, or that if he was there, it was with a separation of more than six degrees of separation with which we are all said to be connected. It was as if I was discussing the method by which a beloved friend’s favorite shoes are stitched, rather than talking about something more directly connected to my friend.

The next day, given the opportunity to attend another of the rosh yeshiva’s shiurim, I instead decided to learn with my regular chavrusa.It wasn’t a difficult choice. While I can’t say when I will again get the opportunity to hear a shiur of that caliber, it is during my weekly chavrusa in the Torah of the Piaseczna Rebbe’s Torah that I often experience the Divine.

As we sat learning Mevo Hashearim, the rebbe quoted a beautiful mashal from the Ba’al HaTanya used to explain why learning the non-esoteric parts of Torah also has value. When one learns Torah of any kind, one was is hugging Hakadosh baruch Hu who is found within the garments of Torah. Even if a particular approach involves hugging Hashem through more garments, one merely needs to keep in mind who it is who is wearing those garments. Ironically, it was here, in a chassidic rebbe’s defense of learning nigleh and not just nistar, that I found a way to frame the Brisker Torah which I had learned on Friday night. Even within analyzing the categories of the Rambam and focusing on a halacha which lacks practical application, one can, with the right focus, hug HaKadosh Baruch Hu.