How to Respect the People We Love?

A traveling salesman once knocked on the door of a home. Before anyone answered, he heard shouting inside. Furniture scraped across the floor. Voices were raised. Doors slammed. Chaos.

Finally, the door swung open.

A disheveled man stood there, breathing heavily.

The salesman straightened himself and asked politely:

“Sir, may I speak to the master of the house?”

The man wiped his brow and replied:

“You’ll have to wait a few minutes… we’re deciding that right now.”

Some homes are run by one person.
Some by two people.
And some by whoever wins the latest argument.

But behind the humor lies a serious truth:

Many people live under the same roof, yet do not know how to truly honor one another.

And that may explain one of the greatest tragedies in Jewish history.

The Talmud tells us that Rabbi Akiva had 24,000 students, spiritual giants, future leaders of Israel. Yet all of them died in a devastating plague because they “did not show proper respect for one another.”

This is why the days between Pesach and Shavuot are observed as a period of mourning. During these weeks, they died. On Lag BaOmer, the plague stopped, and therefore the day became one of celebration.

But this is astonishing.

Rabbi Akiva’s most famous teaching is:

“Love your fellow as yourself—this is a great principle of Torah.”

If anyone should have excelled in relationships, it should have been his students.

How could the disciples of the man who preached love fail in respect?

Unless love and respect are not the same thing.

There are people you love deeply, but do not always like.

There are people you like very much, but do not love.

There are people you both love and like.

And then there are some people whom you avoid at Kiddush.

You love your parents.
You love your children.
You love your siblings.

But do you always like them?

Not necessarily.

Sometimes a husband loves his wife deeply, and still cannot understand how towels are folded “wrong.”

Sometimes a wife loves her husband profoundly and still wonders why he cannot close a cabinet door.

Love exists. Liking may need work.

On the other hand, you may like a colleague, admire a neighbor, enjoy a business partner, yet not love them at all.

So what is the difference?

Love comes from connection.

Respect comes from recognition.

I love you because in some deep place, we are one.

We share blood.
We share memory.
We share destiny.
We share a soul.

That is why family love often survives even when relationships become strained.

But respect is different.

Respect means I appreciate who you are, even where you are not like me.

I honor your individuality.
I value your perspective.
I make room for your uniqueness.

Love says:

You belong to me.

Respect says:

You do not belong to me, and still matter infinitely.

Many relationships have love but lack respect.
Others have respect but lack love.

Great relationships require both.

Someone once asked:

“What is the difference between an anti-Semite and a Jew? Sometimes both complain about Jews.”

The answer?

Ask the anti-Semite about Jews as a people:

“They control everything. They ruin everything. They are the source of every problem.”

Then ask him:

Why is your doctor Goldberg?
Why is your lawyer Klein?
Why is your accountant Berkowitz?

He answers: Those Jews are different.

He may like individual Jews.
But he has no love for the Jewish people.

Now ask a Jew about the Jewish people.

His eyes fill with tears.

“There is no people like my people. I love every Jew.”

Then ask him about the Jew sitting next to him in shul.

“Him? A thief.”

And the fellow on the left?

“A nudnik.”

And the brother-in-law?

“Let’s discuss something else.”

Because a Jew often loves Klal Yisrael, the Jewish people.

But struggles to appreciate Reb Yisrael, the Jew next door.

We are one family.

We argue like family.
We interfere like family.
We judge like family.
We forgive like family.
And we love like family.

But love alone is not enough.

A Tale of Two Carpets

Dr. Ze’ev Maghen tells a remarkable story from Persian Jewish history.

In 19th-century Kashan, a Jewish merchant allegedly overcharged a Muslim cleric. The insulted man became enraged and stirred the region’s religious leaders into a frenzy.

Soon, the governor issued a terrifying decree:

Every Jew must convert to Islam or face death.

The Jewish community was paralyzed with fear.

The elders gathered in the rabbi’s home. They prayed. They cried. They debated. But no one had a solution.

Then the rabbi’s wife, who had silently been serving tea the whole time, spoke up:

“Leave this to my sisters and me.”

By next week, the thunder of the looms will be heard throughout the neighborhood day and night.

When the elders returned, two carpets lay rolled on the floor.

“Take these to the governor,” she said. “And do exactly as I tell you.”

The delegation stood trembling before the ruler.

They presented the gifts.

The first carpet was magnificent, overflowing with intricate colors, flowers, designs, dazzling artistry, and breathtaking detail.

The second carpet was completely plain.

Solid red. Nothing more.

The governor exploded.

“Do you mock me? What fool would choose the plain rug over the masterpiece?”

The oldest Jew stepped forward and bowed.

“Your Excellency, the first carpet is in your province today.

It contains many people, many colors, many faiths, many tribes, many languages.

The second carpet is what your land will become if you destroy its diversity.

Now tell us honestly:

Would you exchange the first carpet for the second?”

The governor was silent.

Then he rescinded the decree.

Because wisdom understands:

Uniformity is simple. Diversity is beautiful.

There are many counts in Torah performed by courts and leaders.

But one count belongs to every individual: Sefirat Haomer

The Torah says: You shall count for yourselves.

Each person must count personally.

No one can count for you. Why?

Because these weeks teach us that every soul matters.

Month of Nissan — Love

Pesach is the birth of the Jewish nation.

In Nissan, we became one people.

Nissan teaches us to love each other.

Month of Iyar — Respect

During Iyar, we count each day separately.

Day 1.
Day 2.
Day 3.

Every day is distinct. Every day is precious.

Iyar teaches us to honor individuality.

Month of Sivan — Harmony

Then comes Sivan, the month of Torah.

At Sinai we stood:  “Like one person with one heart.”

Yet the Midrash says that had even one Jew been missing, Torah could not have been given.

Unity without individuality is not Torah.

Individuality without unity is not Torah.

Torah is both.

Rabbi Akiva’s students surely loved the Jewish people.

But they did not sufficiently honor the uniqueness of one another.

They loved the whole.  They diminished the individual.

They valued truth, but not enough tenderness.

They defended principles, but not enough people.

So their failing surfaced precisely during the Omer, the season when we count every day because we must count every person.

Why Lag BaOmer Is Joy

On Lag BaOmer, the plague stopped.

Something changed.  They finally understood:

Love is not enough.  You must also respect.

You must not only embrace those who are like you.

You must make room for those who are not like you.

That is why children parade on Lag BaOmer.

A parade is one people moving in one direction.

Yet every child walks differently.

Different stride.
Different smile.
Different beat.
Different soul.

And all march together.  That is holiness.

The Message for Every Home

Many families have love.

Not every family has respect.

Many communities have loyalty.

Not every community has dignity.

Many marriages are committed.

Not every marriage has listening.

Many schools have standards.

Not every school has sensitivity.

Love says: Stay close to me.

Respect says: I will make space for you.

And where both exist, the Divine Presence enters.

Final Thought

Rabbi Akiva taught: Love your fellow as yourself.

His students had to learn the next lesson:

Respect your fellow for being himself.

Love the people.
Honor the person.
Cherish the nation.
Value the neighbor.

Because when we learn to do both,  to love deeply

and respect differences.

We become ready, once again, to receive the Torah.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky