One Yom Kippur, in the middle of Musaf, the rabbi suddenly fell to the floor beside the bimah and cried:
“O G-d! Before You, I am nothing!”
The chazzan was so inspired that he immediately threw himself to the ground and cried:
“O G-d! Before You, I am nothing!”
A moment later, Saul Blumenthal jumped from the back row, prostrated himself in the aisle, and shouted:
“O G-d! Before You, I am nothing!”
The chazzan nudged the rabbi and whispered:
“Look who thinks he's nothing.”
The joke is funny because it exposes a painful truth: sometimes even humility can become a source of pride.
A man was promoted to Vice President of his company. The title went straight to his head. He bragged about it everywhere he went.
Finally, his wife said, “Relax. Nowadays, everyone is a vice president. They even have a Vice President of Peas at the supermarket.”
Determined to prove her wrong, he called.
“May I speak to the Vice President of Peas?”
The answer came back:
“Fresh or frozen?”
Human beings love titles, recognition, and honor.
Yet in this week's Parshah, Bwhaalotecha, the Torah gives the greatest compliment ever bestowed upon a human being:
"The man Moses was exceedingly humble, more than any person on the face of the earth."
Not the wisest. Not the holiest. Not the greatest leader. The humblest. And that raises a question.
How could Moses, who confronted Pharaoh, split the sea, ascended Sinai, and spoke with G-d face to face, be humble?
The answer lies in understanding what humility really is.
Humility Is Not Self-Negation
Rabbi Rafael of Barshad once said:
"When I get to Heaven, they may ask me, 'Why didn't you learn more Torah?'
I'll answer, 'I lacked the ability.'
'Why didn't you do more kindness?' 'I lacked the strength.'
'Why didn't you give more charity?' 'I lacked the money.'
But then they'll ask:
'If you were so poor, weak, and limited, why were you so arrogant?'
And for that I will have no answer."
Humility does not mean denying your gifts.
If you're smart, pretending you're foolish is not humility.
If you're talented, pretending you're talentless is not humility.
Humility means recognizing that every gift ultimately comes from G-d.
"I'm Under Oath"
The famous Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky once testified in a British court.
The judge asked:
"Are you the leading authority on Jewish law in the British Empire?" "Yes."
"The leading spokesman?" "Yes."
"The senior rabbi?" "Yes."
The judge was stunned. "What happened to humility?"
Rabbi Abramsky smiled. "What should I do, Your Honor? I'm under oath."
Humility is not pretending greatness doesn't exist.
Humility is remembering who gave it to you.
Holding Others High
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks described watching Queen Elizabeth meet Holocaust survivors.
Royal schedules are precise. Yet on that day she lingered.
One survivor after another approached her.
She listened patiently to every story.
People who had once been treated as less than human suddenly felt like royalty.
Rabbi Sacks said, "That is humility." Not holding yourself low and holding others high.
Moses knew exactly who he was.
But he never confused gifts with ownership.
Everything he possessed was a trust from Heaven.
The greatest leader in history never asked:
"Why aren't others like me?" He asked:
"Have I done enough with what I was given?" That is humility.
The Talmud tells us that Rav Yosef compared himself to an ox that plows a field. Why?
Because the ox doesn't create the grain. It only prepares the ground.
The rain, sunlight, seed, and growth come from elsewhere.
Rav Yosef understood that all his greatness was a gift.
His job was simply to use it.
Come See What a Human Being Is
Rabbi Yaakov Yosef suffered a stroke late in life.
Once a brilliant scholar, he struggled to remember his own thoughts.
On Shabbat Shuvah, he insisted on delivering a sermon.
He rose to speak. Forgot. Tried again. Forgot. Again. Forgot.
Finally, he looked at the congregation and said:
"Come see what a human being is." That was the entire sermon.
People later said it was the most powerful sermon they ever heard.
Because they suddenly understood. Everything can disappear.
Only our relationship with G-d endures.
In the Rebbe's Office
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks described his first meeting with the Rebbe.
He expected charisma. Instead, he encountered listening.
Complete listening. Years later, Rabbi Sacks wrote:
"When I left the room, I realized the room had been filled with my presence and the Rebbe's absence."
The Rebbe had made a young, unknown student feel like the most important person in the world.
That is greatness. Not filling a room with yourself. Making room for someone else.
The Sermon I Never Gave
Years ago, I stood up to give a sermon. The talking in shul was overwhelming.
Frustrated, I sat down and refused to continue. A few days later, a father approached me.
His son suffered from severe cerebral palsy. The boy loved watching my sermons.
Not because he understood the words.
He loved the movement, the expressions, and the excitement.
That morning, it had taken forty-five minutes to bring him to shul.
His face lit up when he saw me standing. Then I sat down.
The father looked at me and said:
"You thought you were speaking to the people who were talking.
You weren't. You were speaking to my son." Then he added:
"You thought the sermon was about your honor.
My son thought it was about joy." That lesson changed me forever.
Sometimes our ego prevents us from seeing the very soul we were sent to help.
The Greatest Person in the Room
The arrogant person walks into a room and asks:
"Who appreciates me?"
The humble person walks into a room and asks, "Who needs me?"
The arrogant person seeks honor. The humble person seeks purpose.
The arrogant person wants attention. The humble person gives attention.
The arrogant person fills the room with himself.
The humble person fills the room with kindness, dignity, and G-dliness.
That is why Moses became the greatest leader who ever lived.
Because he was never focused on being great.
He was focused on serving something greater than himself.
And perhaps that is the deepest definition of humility:
Knowing your gifts.
Knowing their Source.
And using them to lift others.
For in the end, the greatest person in the room is not the one who receives the most honor.
It is the one who leaves everyone else feeling more honored.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky