BEHAALOTCHA 5783

Lama Nigara, Why Should We Miss Out?

(Inspired by Rabbi Efrem Goldberg)

In last week’s Torah portion, all the tribal princes achieved special status by bringing their gifts to the Mishkan portable Temple—that is all, except Aaron, prince of the tribe of Levi. This week’s parsha opens with Gd commanding Aaron to light the Menorah. Whats’ the connection? Rashi, in his commentary, fills us in. He quotes a Midrash (Tanchuma 5) that suggests that Aaron felt sad that he didn’t have the same opportunity as the other princes. Therefore, Gd told him not to worry, that “Your role is greater than theirs, for you will light the Menorah.”  

2 questions: could it be that the holy Aaron was really jealous of the other princes? We know that he wasn’t the jealous type. When Gd was trying to convince Moses at the Burning Bush to lead the Jewish people out of Egypt, Moses, not wanting his brother Aaron to feel sad, implied that since his brother Aaron is older, perhaps he should be the leader. Gd then tells him (Ex. 4:14): v’ra-acha v’samach libo (when he sees you, his heart will rejoice). In other words, “Don’t worry, Aaron’s not the jealous type. He’ll be delighted for you.”   

And secondly, how could Gd reward Aaron’s envy with a greater honor of lighting the Menorah? I spoke on Shavuot how sometimes envy can be a good thing and we see that with Aaron. Just as Aaron was happy for his brother Moses getting all the glory, we can be certain that he was glad in his heart that the other princes got to elevate themselves with their offerings. What saddened Aaron, says Rashi, was that it seemed that Gd was withholding from him the opportunity to contribute. Aaron was someone who always sought spiritual opportunities. Aaron wasn’t jealous, he just wanted to do more. Jealousy is only bad when you want what others have. Aaron wanted to BE more, to reach higher, to be more holy.

We have this notion that a person should be able to be satisfied with little. As it says in Pirke Avot (4:1): Eyzeh hu ashir, hasomeyach b’chelko (Who is rich, one who is satisfied with his lot in life). The question is, do we apply this principle of being satisfied with one’s lot to spiritual things as well? Or, do we say, “Don’t be satisfied with the way you are now. Break through barriers, push further, be ambitious, be driven.” When it comes to the spiritual, we must never be satisfied with where we are.

So, don’t say I’m satisfied with my lot … and that is to come to shul once a month late and leave early—having prayed without much kavana (feeling or intention). Don’t say my lot is not to spend too much time learning Torah and when I learn, it’s superficial. Instead say, “No I’m capable, I’m driven, I want more, I want to get closer to Gd!” This is what we learn from Aaron.

We learn it also from Pesach Sheni—the law of the 2^nd Passover in our parsha. A year after the Exodus, the Jewish people celebrated their 1^st Passover in freedom at Sinai. There were those, however, who could not participate because they were impure. Perhaps they were burying their mother or father and became impure through contact with the dead. Or, perhaps they were away getting supplies and were not able to make it back for the holiday. They asked Moses (Num. 9:7):  Lama nigara (Why should we lose out) and not be able to present the Passover offering? Why should we be deprived of this spiritual opportunity?

So, Gd told Moses, a month later they can bring the Passover offering with a Pesach Sheni—a do-over 2^nd Pesach. We commemorate this every year by adjusting our prayers on that day as if it were a semi-holiday and by eating matzah. Rashi notes that instead of Moses initiating this law, it was done through this group of people. What was their merit?

Rav Zeibl Epstein notes that there’s a big difference between Passover and Pesach Sheni. The original Passover is from Heaven—top down with Gd commanded us. What a night that 1^st Passover was for us—a night of overwhelming light and breakthrough and redemption from above.

 

Pesach Sheni, however, is not top down—from Gd to us. Pesach Sheni is bottom up—from us to Gd. Moses, at 1^st, seemed reluctant to consider their request because, according to the law, they were too late. The time for the Passover offering had passed. But they refused to take “no” for an answer. They persevered; they were tenacious. They asked, Lama nigara (Why should we lose out)?  

It is in their merit that we commemorate Pesach Sheni as the holiday of lama nigara. It’s the Yom Tov of never being satisfied, of not saying it’s good enough, of not just having good, but striving for great. Pesach Sheni represents such a love, such a passion, such a commitment for Gd’s Torah and mitzvot. We need to live and model and instill in our families and those around us to have this attitude of lama nigara—why should we lose out in coming closer to Hashem.

 

Say: “I can’t miss putting on tefillin in the morning or praying Mincha and Maariv in the afternoon and evening.  I can’t miss a tzedaka opportunity to give charity to a good cause or someone in need. Everyone else gave, I want to give too. I can’t miss a chessed chance of providing a shiva meal. I can’t miss a Torah class. I want to go; I want a chance to be spiritually uplifted.” Every one of us needs to say again and again, lama nigara, why should I be denied any opportunity to get closer to Gd?

How did the Children of Israel in the dessert know when to travel? The Torah (Num. 9:17) tells us: “And whenever the cloud of glory lifted from Tent [of Meeting in the Mishkan], afterwards the Children of Israel would journey.”

Today, with all kinds of flight delays, cancellations and challenges, it’s hard to travel. People crowd the gate area of a flight. Silver Medallion members go 1^st, then Zones #1 through #4. And before all of that go families with little children. Then you have all the people in wheelchairs who claim they’re not able to walk. During the flight, a miracle happens 30,000 feet in the sky—they’re healed! As soon as the plane lands, they not only can walk, they run! They don’t get a wheelchair on their return. Transportation is complicated and frustrating today.

So, how did the Jews in the dessert know when their Zone was called to move? The cloud of glory lifted from the Mishkan.  How did they know when to stop? The verse tells us: “In the place that the cloud would come to rest, there the Children of Israel would encamp.”

The next verse reveals the whole point: Al pi Hashem yisu B’ney Yisrael, v’al pi Hashem yachanu (According to the word of Hashem the Children of Israel journeyed, and according to the word of Hashem they would encamp). When Hashem said it was time to go—it was time to go. When Hashem said it was time to stop and rest, it was time to stop and rest.

Isaiah Horowitz (17^th cent.) in his seminal work Shelah HaKadosh, taught that this verse was talking, not only to the generation of the desert, but to us! We also go and come; we’re at home and we’re on the road; we’re in the middle of our routine and we take a break and go on vacation. And the key, says the Shelah, is to always be: Al pi Hashem yisu B’ney Yisrael, v’al pi Hashem yachanu (According to the word of Hashem the Children of Israel journeyed, and according to the word of Hashem they would encamp).

The key is not to leave your Judaism in the shul, but to take it with you on the road. Wherever we are, we must live al pi Hashem (according to Gd). There’s nothing wrong with taking a vacation, a break. There’s nothing wrong with recreation. In fact, it’s our responsibility for a healthy mind, a healthy body and a healthy spirit to do so—just as long as it is al pi Hashem!

Rav Chaim Shmulevitz shares a beautiful parable, and with this I’ll end: Imagine a mother with a baby is traveling—whether it’s for family simcha, a personal vacation, business, whatever. This little baby travels all over the world—Israel, Australia, South Africa, the Far East, America coast to coast. When the mother returns, her passport is stamped by each of those countries. But if you were able to ask the baby where were it was, the baby would answer, “I was in my mother’s arms!”

This mother, literally or figuratively, wore a Baby Bjorn Carrier, or carried the baby in her arms. But from the baby’s perspective, while the baby may have been all over the world, the baby feels like it was always in its mother’s arms! Says Rav Chaim Shmulevitz, when the Jewish people were in the desert—living a life al pi Hashem (according to Gd)—wherever they were, they were in Hashem’s arms, with Gd affectionately holding them.

When a person considers every step they take, every decision they make, every behavior, every turn, asking, “Should I take this job; should I marry this girl; what school should I go to; when is the time to move on; when is the time to settle down; what is the right decision? … it has to be al pi Hashem (according to Gd).  

My friends, if you’re planning to travel this summer, enjoy your time away. But always remember, wherever you go, you’ll be in Gd’s arms as long as you travel al pi Hashem (according to Gd). Amen!

NASO 5783

Raising Up

When Hollywood puts out a movie and wants to show a Jewish wedding, there is one scene that it must have. There must be a scene of wedding guests dancing while lifting the bride and groom up on chairs. To make it even more clear that the wedding is Jewish, the band plays Hava Nagila as they are dancing. A good example is a scene in the classic movie “Wedding Crashers.” In a Jewish wedding, we lift up the bride and groom.

Based on the Hebrew word for “wedding,” the scene of lifting the bride and groom makes sense. The Hebrew word for “wedding” is n’suin. It’s the plural of the word “raising up.” It’s because in a Jewish marriage, the bride and groom raise each other up.

N’suin also echoes the title of this week’s Torah portion Naso. The parsha begins with Gd commanding Moses: Naso et rosh b’ney Gershon gam heym, l’veyt avotam l’mishp’chotam (Take a census of the Gershonites also, by their ancestral house and by their clans). The word for “take a census” is Naso. But the word literally means “lift up.” Moses is to lift up each of the tribes according to their ancestral homes, giving each special consideration.

To the Biblical mind, a census is more than counting numbers. It was a symbol of raising up each tribe—showing how each was special, how each was to be counted—meaning that each was important. This is particularly true later in this portion when Moses counted the tribe of Levi. Each family was given a special role in carrying and setting up the tabernacle—raising up their status in the process.

        

Getting back to lifting the bride and groom up on chairs. It’s message is that in a healthy marriage, the bride and groom lift each other up. It reminds me of the powerful song, “You Raise Me Up,” by Josh Groban:

         You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains.

         You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas.

         I am strong when I am on your shoulders.

         You raise me up to more than I can be.

When you need a lift, I recommend playing this song, which has become Groban’s signature number.

I once spoke with a couple who had been married 65 years—65 years, can you imagine? That’s so amazing! How does a couple get to 65 years of marriage? I suppose it starts with both partners staying healthy well into their senior years. But the other part is for each partner to be aware of the needs of their partner and lift them up by trying to help them with those needs. Sometimes one partner is more in need of a lift and sometimes the other. Often it flips back and forth.

I recently heard the story of a senior couple that was asked at their 50^th anniversary, what is the secret of the longevity of your marriage. The husband said, “It only works when one partner gives in to the other.”

         When asked, which partner are you—the one who gives in or the one who doesn’t? He responded, “We take turns!” Don’t you just love that: “We take turns!”

The Hebrew word for marriage—n’suin—indicates how each partner must take turns to raise up the other.

On the flip side—as a couples’ therapist—I see too many failed marriages. Too often these were bad marriages to begin with. Perhaps the partners were not that compatible, or one partner doesn’t make much of an effort. Too often, there’s an addiction or some catastrophic event that blocks progress. Such a catastrophic event is hinted to in today’s Torah portion—the case of a Sotah. The Torah tells us that when a husband is jealous and suspicious of his wife and nothing she says can allay that suspicion, they should come to a kohen priest in the Mishkan or Temple and he will give her special drink that will prove her innocence or guilt. It’s a way for a couple to restore peace in the relationship.

The rabbi’s, however, were not happy with a husband not trusting his wife. The Talmud records a case where a husband gives his wife money to run the household. He suspects that she is misusing the funds and takes her to a Bet Din Jewish court. The Bet Din, however, refuses to hear the case. Instead it says to the husband, “If you don’t trust her, divorce her. But if you want to remain married to her, you must trust her!” When you trust your partner, you raise him or her up.  

When I talk with couples going through a hard time, too often I hear partners putting each other down. It’s the opposite of raising up. I’m talking about people who feel no pride or joy in the person they once promised to love and cherish forever. Of course they’re in pain. But that’s no excuse to ignore all the good in their partner. It’s the sad shadow of the joy of lifting up one’s partner.

As a rabbi, I’ve attended countless weddings. When the bride and groom were announced at the dinner, I used to rush in to help lift the bride or groom up on chairs. Then, sometime after I turned 60, I decided that I would leave that job to younger people with stronger backs. Besides, as the rabbi, I have my opportunity to lift the couple up. I get to speak to the couple during the ceremony. I tell each one to look into the other’s eyes. Then I ask them, what can each of you do to make this person happier, more successful, more fulfilled? What can each of you do to raise one another up? It’s my role as the officiant.

I know that couples cannot always focus on what I say at that important moment. That’s the joy of having a video of the wedding. The couple can watch it later, and eventually show it to their children. I only hope they don’t edit out my message.

Yes, a successful marriage begins when a couple learns to raise one another up. How do they do that? Here’s Rabbi Kunis’ formula for raising up your partner. 2 things:

         #1: Every single day, say at least 2 things to your partner to show how much you appreciate them. It could be a complement about how they look, or things that they do, or the way they are. For example. You can tell your partner you like their outfit. You can praise your partner telling them how kind and compassionate they are. You can praise them for their astuteness, intelligence, or how well they handles a given situation. So, say at least 2 “appreciations” every day.

         #2: Do at least 2 “caring behaviors” every day. It doesn’t have to be very extravagant—although giving a piece of jewelry usually works pretty well. It can be something very simple that says to your partner, “I’m thinking about you, and I care.” It could be something like buying for your partner their favorite candy, or calling your partner at work just to say, “I was thinking about you.” It could be bringing your partner a coffee or some tea, or making dinner when it’s not your turn. And you know, if it makes your partner happy, you can repeat that caring behavior again tomorrow and the next day.

Each time you do an appreciation or a caring behavior, you bring positivity—positive energy—into the relationship. And you know what? The one who does these things will feel just as good as the one who receives it. Because in raising up your partner, you raise up yourself as well.

Today’s Torah reading presents the priestly blessings telling the kohanim priests how to bless the Jewish people. The last of the 3 blessings is Yisa Hashem panav eylecha, v’yaseym l’cha shalom (May Hashem raise up his countenance upon you and grant you peace). When Hashem raises up His countenance upon us, He raises us up and peace is a result. When you make the effort to raise up your partner, the result is Shalom Bayit—a real loving peace at home as you raise up yourself as well. Let me end by blessing you: Yisa Hashem panav eylecha, v’yaseym l’cha shalom (May Hashem raise up his countenance upon you and grant you peace). Amen!

SHAVUOT II  (YIZKOR 5783/5775)
Memorial Day and Yizkor

 
Today is a special day in the Jewish calendar and a special weekend in the American calendar and they both have the same theme—remembering those who are no longer with us. For Americans, this is Memorial Day weekend, and for Jews, today is Yizkor. Today we Jews pause to remember those taken from our midst as Americans pause to remember those who fell in battle. 
 
I never served in the Armed Forces, but I’m really grateful for all those who did, especially those who have given their lives in service to this country and have allowed me and you to live in this greatest country on Gd’s green earth.
  
For most Americans Memorial Day will be just another vacation day—sleeping late in the morning, going to the mall to see what’s on sale, and BBQs in the backyard. I don’t know if there are many Americans who even know why May 30th was chosen as Memorial Day. May 30th was the day that the American Civil War came to an end—and so it became a day to remember those who died in wars defending this country. Eventually, the day got moved to the last Monday in May. 
 
TV commercials and this weekend’s Atlanta Journal Constitution will be filled with ads for “Special Memorial Day Sales.” But you won’t see a single ad mentioning the Civil War or show the face of a single fallen American soldier—not one! 
 
Memorial Day in Israel—Yom Hazikaron, the day before Yom Ha-Atzmaut (Israel Independence Day) is personal. Every family has either suffered a loss or knows someone close to them who was killed defending the Jewish state. Naomi Ragen beautifully describes it:
         Remembrance Day in Israel is like nothing else, I dare say, anywhere in the world. The country simply shuts down all distractions. Restaurants, bars, discos, close down. Radio and television channels spend the day telling the stories of the fallen, showing old pictures and new videos of soldiers who died…
         And the programs all emphasize the same thing: the man’s childhood, his home, his parents, his wife or girlfriend. The silly pictures from his high school parties. The smiling face of the little boy dressed up for Purim. The words of friends, who never stop mourning, who never forget. And for one day, every single person in Israel who identifies with the Jewish State, and the lives of the people who live here, feel these men and women are part of their own past, their own family.
They all live in the next room or the next house, or at the very most, an hour’s bus ride away from the central bus station…there is not a man, woman or child in Israel who has more than 1 or 2 degrees of separation between themselves and every precious boy or girl in uniform who falls defending our lives from real bombs, real bullets, real slaughter. 
 
The United States, on the other hand, is a large country, spread apart from sea to shining sea. When soldiers fall in battle, they become statistics—not real people. Only for their families is their loss felt. The rest of us remain untouched. I can prove it to you! I bet there are not many here who know anyone who died in Iraq or Afghanistan. But every single Israeli knows lots of people who died in the wars of ’67, ’73, Lebanon or Gaza. 
 
Now I love the American military and how its volunteer army selflessly fights to keep us safe. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but I don’t understand why one of the 1st things they give you when you enter the U.S. Army is a “dog tag” which has your serial number on it. People are NOT dogs! Do you know 1st thing they give you when you enter the Israeli army? A Tanach—a Bible that has your name inscribed in it, signed by your commanding officer so that you may know and never forget that you are a person and not just a number. 
 
And that brings us to one last difference between Memorial Day and Yom Hazikaron—numbers! We see it every time Israel exchanges hundreds of Palestinian prisoners for 1 or 2 Israeli soldiers. You see, in Jewish spiritual arithmetic, every person is of infinite value. As the Talmud (Sanhedrin 4:5) teaches: “Whoever saves one life, it is as if he has saved the world.”
 
Do you know why we sit shiva for 7 days? Because the world was created in 7 days. For us, every human being is a world—a world the likes of which has never been before and never will be again. That’s why Jews don’t talk about body counts. We talk about fathers and brothers and sons and daughters, husbands and wives—and each person counts.
 
With this in mind, let me point out to you a nuance in the Yizkor service. We don’t say, “May Gd remember the souls of my parents and my siblings and all my relatives?” Instead, we say the Yizkor prayer over and over again—once for a mother with her name and then once again for a father with his name, and then once again for a husband and wife with their name, and so on. Each one gets an individual Yizkor. Why? Because each one was a person and deserves to be treated as such in life and in death. 
 
Let me end with the amazing true story from the 1980s about Maurice Schechter (as told by Rabbi Joseph Mizrachi): Maurice, a secular Jew from London, was sitting on an airplane on his way to Israel. Next to him was Mr. Goldstein, a religious Jew. All through the flight Goldstein tried to convince Maurice to be more observant—to put on tefillin and eat kosher. “No, no,” he said, “leave me alone. I’m a survivor of the Holocaust and I’m done with Gd.” 
         After they left the airport Goldstein thought, “We were talking for 5 hours and I can’t believe I didn’t even get Maurice’s phone number. Perhaps, if I was able to keep up with him I might eventually convince him to be more religious.” The whole way to Jerusalem and the week that followed he ate his heart out about it.
         It was just before Rosh Hashanah and Goldstein was scheduled to spend the holidays at the King David Hotel in Jerusalem. They had hired a fabulous new cantor—a rising star—and he couldn’t wait to hear him.
         Rosh Hashanah passed with beautiful services and then came Yom Kippur. The Shacharit morning service on Yom Kippur is the longest of the year and it was their custom to take a break on Yom Kippur before Yizkor. Mr. Goldstein went out for a walk in the street to get some fresh air. Who did he bump into? Maurice Schechter, sitting on a bench eating a sandwich! You have to be a real secular Jew to go as far as to eat a sandwich in public on Yom Kippur in Jerusalem. Goldstein saw him and said, “Maurice, I can’t believe I found you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” And when he saw the sandwich he added, “How could you be eating a sandwich on Yom Kippur?”
         Maurice responded, “I told you I’m done with Gd. I’m not a hypocrite. I’ll do what I want. ” 
         “OK Maurice, let’s not get into this again. You told me about your son Pinchas and that the Nazis had killed him and since then you’re finished with Gd. In a few minutes they will continue the service at the King David Hotel with Yizkor. You’re done with Gd but you’re not done with your son. Why don’t you come in and say Yizkor for your son and give the cantor his name to make a special Moley Rachamim memorial prayer for him.”
         Maurice hesitated. He thought about it and in the end he threw away the sandwich and went with Goldstein inside the King David Hotel. Towards the end of Yizkor he walked up to the cantor and asked him to make a special Moley Rachamim memorial prayer for his son. The Cantor asked for his son’s name and he replied, “Pinchas ben Moshe.” The cantor asked him for his son’s last name because it was his custom to include last names in this prayer. Maurice then told him, “Pinchas ben Moshe Schechter.”
         The cantor starred down at him and his face turned white. He screamed, “Abba, father, for 35 years I’ve been looking for you. I can’t believe you came all the way to me in the middle of Yom Kippur.”
         Can you imagine the shock that descended upon the congregation? Hugs and tears…for an hour no one could stop crying. 
 
What is the probability that Maurice Schechter would go to Israel and sit on a bench in the streets of Jerusalem rebelling against Gd by eating a sandwich on Yom Kippur because he was angry with Gd for losing his son … and a religious Jew would take a break from his davening and find him and bring him into shul? Just imagine if he had NOT agreed to go with him. The Talmud (Avodah Zarah 10b) teaches: Yeysh adam shekoneh olamo b’rega achat, “There are times when a person can completely turn his life around in one moment.” With one decision he can change everything.
 
My friends, such is the power of Yizkor—to unite lost souls and, in the process, for lost souls to rediscover their true selves. At Yizkor we are reunited for a few moments with our lost loved ones. They might not have been the rich and famous. All they were was mommy and daddy, Bubbie and Zeidi … and all they did was make our world a better place in which to live and help make each of us a mentch. And they did it one by one by one. 
 
And so on this Memorial weekend Yizkor service, let us pray on behalf of the American soldiers who died protecting our freedom, and pray for our own departed who loved us. T’hi nishmatam tz’ruror b’tzror hachaim, “May their souls be bound up in the bonds of eternal life.” Hashem hu nachalatam, v’yanuchu b’shalom al mishkvotam, “Gd is their portion, may they rest in peace and may we so live to honor their lives by how we live. And to that let us say, “Amen!” 
 
                                     Rabbi Mark Hillel Kunis
                                     5/27/23; 5/28/12

SHAVUOT 1 5783

Has Coveting Gotten a Bad Rap?

Shavuot commemorates the giving of the 10 Commandments on Mt. Sinai with 2-3 million Jews surrounding the mountain as Gd—amidst a sound and light show the world has never seen before—reveals Himself and His 10 principles. That’s why we read the narrative of Mt. Sinai from the Torah this morning. I’d like to discuss with you this morning the last of these 10—“Thou Shalt not Covet”—which is foundational to the rest—if not the whole Torah.

I think it’s possible that jealousy—coveting—has gotten a bad rap. Let me illustrate with the example of the gym. I go to the gym at LA Fitness 2 or 3 times a week to swim laps. It’s good exercise without having to use all that gym equipment that sometimes is hard on the legs. But while walking to the pool I often pass Muscle Mike. Muscle Mike has very very large muscles and he routinely regales me and people around him with his exercise regimen. The guy is a walking advertisement for LA Fitness. He’s got a posse that follows him, and they’re all ripped.

I have to say it. Muscle Mike has got me feeling a little envious. He seems to always be bursting with strength and vitality. Everyone thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread—which I’m sure he doesn’t eat much of.

A curious thing happened when I started hanging out with Muscle Mike a bit on my way to the pool. I started doing some fitnessy things I hadn’t done before. I did stretches before swimming. I swam more laps. I came to the gym more often. I walked to shul once in a while even when it wasn’t Shabbos! The question that this brought up for me is: Is envy a bad thing?

I know that’s what we’ve been told. Can’t Envy serve an important function pushing us forward to do the things we know we should do? Why is Envy bad?

Well, it’s one of the big 10^th Commandments (Ex.20:14): Lo tachmod beyt reyecha…lo tachmod eyshet reyecha…v’avdo v’amato vachamoro, v’chol asher l’reyecha (You shall not covet your fellow’s house…you shall not covet your fellow’s wife …his manservant his maidservant, his ox, his donkey, or anything that belongs to your fellow). In fact, this is the last of the 10 Commandments—which means it’s foundational.

Now no one really uses the word “coveting” these days. It’s essentially a bad type of envy. On the surface, Envy seems like a bad thing, but I’ve come across some pretty mixed messages when it comes to the idea of Envy in Jewish tradition. Here’s a classic example. There’s a really famous passage in the Talmud (Bava Batra 21a) that teaches: Kinat sofrim tarbeh chochma (The Envy of Scholars stimulates wisdom). Being jealous in an intellectual setting can be a really good thing, for it makes people do better, learn harder, reach higher.

So, is Envy bad or good? There’s a really subtle distinction that gets to the heart of the matter—one that can help us utilize the good part of envy and discard the rest. That distinction is encapsulated beautifully in a famous story in Midrash. The creation story, tells us (Gen. 2:7): Vayitzer Hashem Elokim et ha-adam afar min ha-adama…vayipach b’apav nishmat Chayim…va-y’hi ha-adam l’nefesh chaya (And Hashem Gd formed the human from the dust of the ground… and He breathed into his nostrils the soul of life…and the human became a living soul).

The Midrash makes a seemingly random point that the human was infused with both Earthly Manner and Heavenly matter. It goes on to tell a quirky little story about why that came to be. Stick with me here: On the 1^st day the Midrash explains Gd created heaven and earth. 1 point for heaven 1 point for Earth—tie game. On the 2^nd day, Gd created the firmament, which is a Heavenly thing—Heaven 2 Earth 1. On the 3^rd day, dry land—super earthy: Heaven 2 Earth 2. On the 4^th day, Gd created luminaries: Heaven 3 Earth 2. On the 5^th day, Gd created the animals of the water: Heaven 3, Earth 3.

         Now we’re at day 6. Who will pull into the lead? Well, Gd didn’t want anyone to pull into the lead because then, in the words of the Midrash, there would be Kina b’maaseh V’reyshit (Envy in the act of creation). Therefore, the human being was created on day 6 with equal parts Heaven and Earth. Final score: a draw—Heaven 4, Earth 4!

I love this Midrash because to me it’s such a powerful metaphor for showing what Envy looks like when it goes bad. All that math and counting, that one-on-one comparison happening between Heaven and Earth to see who has more. It seems so silly and childish.

         And, it’s also exactly how many of us experience our lives as a series of meticulously calculated comparisons to the people around us. How do I literally, mathematically measure up to the people around me? They have X amount of style, I need X amount of style. They drive Lexus or a Tesla, I need to drive Lexus or a Tesla. They have X number of accomplishments, I need X number of accomplishments. In other words, I’ve got to be at least on equal footing with the people around me or else I’m less than them.

This kind of Envy is really dangerous. Why? because it’s an impossible standard—a fool’s errand in the extreme. If we’re playing the mathematical game of making sure that what we have is equal measure to everyone else, the math will always break down. There’s no way to sustain that equation. And more importantly, we won’t like the people that we become in the process.

Aristotle spoke of Envy as “more than just wanting what someone else has, but as the pain caused by the good fortune of others.” That image might hit too close to home for many of us—scrolling on Instagram, annoyed and resentful of everyone else’s adventurous life, furiously keeping score in the background. But what if we would remove ourselves from that game? If we fundamentally understand that our life can NEVER be a carbon copy of someone else’s life. Then we can use the excellence that other people display to motivate us to get inspired by others—not threatened by them.

The 19^th century Danish Theologian Soren Kierkegaard said something so spot-on: “Envy is secret admiration. Envy can point us to what others are doing well and tempt us in the best and healthiest possible way to lean into what’s possible in our own life.”

I think this nuanced view of Envy is hinted at in this last of the 10 Commandments: “Do not covet.” It ends with: “whatever is your neighbor’s.” And that’s the point. If it’s your neighbor’s and it works for him, think twice about wanting it for yourself. You see, Gd gives everyone what they need. So, if you got what your neighbor has, there’s a good chance it’s not going to fit you.

So, I go back to Muscle Mike. If it ever becomes a one-on-one competition with muscle Mike, I’m in real trouble—and not just because he’s a karate black belt and will have me on my back in 1.7 seconds. It’s because if my own sense of personal value is tied up in whether I’m scoring competitively with muscle Mike, I’ll never catch up. But if I can get inspired by what’s possible in the domain of fitness, I think that’s a healthy way to be envious.

The Vilna Gaon said something fascinating and kind of surprising about this commandment. He said: lo tachmod (not coveting) is the most important of all the 10 Commandments, the single most foundational principle in the entire Torah—#1! This really resonates with me because I think it’s impossible to make any headway in this spiritual journey we’re on—this process of bettering ourselves and making this world a better place—if we’re too busy trying to be someone else.

This commandment—“Do not Covet”—is foundational because makes us aware that Gd gives us what we need, and that’s why we have what we have. Just imagine, if we were secure in the idea that each of us is “one of a kind”—not to be compared—we’d seek out excellence in the world and get inspired by it—not from a place of insecurity—but from a place of security—a healthy and passionate desire to do the best we possibly can in this one unique life that we get to live. Amen!