How to grow with it and from it?

Everyone asked a 100-year-old man and his 98-year-old wife for their health secrets:

The old man said: "I'll tell you my secret. I've been married for 75 years. When we got married, I promised my wife that when we argue, the loser has to walk for 2 miles. So I've been walking 2 miles every day for the past 75 years!"

Everyone applauded and asked again: "But what is the secret to your wife’s health?"

The man replied, “Ah, for 75 years every single day she has been following me to make sure I really walk the full 2 miles!”

It is the most famous passage in the entire Torah. The very first Jewish words we learn as children. We recite it every night before going to sleep, every morning when we get out of bed. The Shema—recorded in this week’s Torah portion, Vaetchanan—is the supreme testimony of the Jewish faith. Each word is worthy of careful study.

Today, I want to pay close attention to the second verse of the Shema. The first is indeed the supreme testimony of faith: "Hear, O Israel, your G-d is one." But the second is the supreme testimony of love: "And you shall love the Lord, your G-d, with all your heart and with all your soul, and with all your might."

Simply understood, the Torah is telling us to love G-d with every part of ourselves, with every ounce of emotional bandwidth. To leave nothing out of our relationship with G-d. But the sages were never satisfied with simple readings. What does it mean to “love your G-d with all your heart?” What is accomplished by adding the qualification, all? What would we think to exclude from our love of G-d? Is that even love?

Rashi cites, "With all your heart —that your heart should not be divided."

But what does that mean? Should I not disagree or argue with G-d? How do I get into a dispute with G-d?

The key to understanding this teaching of our sages lies in the curious word they use to refer to G-d.

We find by Jacob on his journey to find his wife and save his life from his brother Esau, was alone. Jacob lifted his eyes to his parents, longing for their comfort, but they were not there anymore. They had sent him away. He was exposed, vulnerable, out in the open, en route to a collision with his treacherous uncle Laban. He looked around at where life had brought him, he encountered his place in life, and he wanted to scream with frustration. "This is not the place where I am meant to be."

It was at this moment that Jacob needed to encounter a deeper “place”—he needed to find G-d’s presence in the difficult space of his life.

We encounter a place, we come face to face with a new reality, and we contend with it, we wrestle with it.

As the Midrash explains, why is G-d called the “place”?

Rav Huna says: why do we substitute the name of the Holy Blessed One and use Place? Because God is the Place of the world, and the world is not the place of God.

This is not mere semantics. There are two ways of describing G-d’s relationship with the universe. We can say that the universe exists, it fills its own space. But G-d is also here. This is the meaning of the statement: “The world is the place of G-d.” The world is the place, and G-d resides in that place, as I reside in my home.

Says the Midrash, no! “G-d is the place of the world; the world is not the place of G-d!” This means that G-d is all there is. And the world is nestled within G-d. We all live inside of G-d. G-d is reality, G-d is the space, and the world, and all of us, live in his reality; G-d is the “place” that contains our entire reality. All of reality is contained in the ultimate “Space,” G-d.

When Jacob saw his life with all its ugliness, when he was ready to break down and lose hope, he saw that his life was in the “place of G-d.” This was not a bad place; this was “The Place,” the space of the Divine. G-d was right there with him, in these circumstances.

Look at what happens next. Jacob dreams his famous dream. A ladder is set on the ground and reaches toward Heaven. Angels are ascending and descending, and G-d speaks to Jacob. G-d tells Jacob, “Remember, I am with you: I will protect you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

And so when Jacob wakes up from his sleep, he once again speaks of the place, this time in very clear terms: “Surely G-d is present in this place, and I did not know it!”

Jacob could feel that G-d was present in his place. How? Where exactly was G-d in this mess? “I do not know!” I still can see darkness, but there is one thing I do know. G-d is present in this place. This space is not a curse; it is Divine.

The sages passed down another tradition. When Jacob arrived at the “place” at night, he prayed. That prayer became the maariv, the evening prayer we recite daily.

When you feel that you don’t belong in a certain place in life, when things are not as they are meant to be, do not be in contention with them, do not be divided with your place.

To believe in G-d and to love G-d means to believe that everything you experience is purposeful and that every situation advances you toward your Divine mission in life. G-d is with you in your place; He brought you there, He dwells with you there, and He will journey with you as you grow and leave it behind.

You are not a victim; G-d is the place of the world, not the other way around.

I heard the following insight from Rabbi Hershel Fogelman, a Chabad emissary in Worcester, Massachusetts.

The Rebbe Rayatz escaped Nazi-occupied Warsaw in January 1940. In March, he arrived at the shores of New York. The Rebbe was in a strange new land, much of his family and devoted Chassidim were trapped in Europe, and many would not survive the war. His predicament was not unlike Jacob’s.

Shortly after his arrival, at one of the Fabrengens, the Rebbe spoke about a verse we read in Hallel:

“Please, answer me, G-d, for I am Your servant.” Take care of me, support me, comfort me because I am your servant. But, the Rebbe asked, the spelling of ana is unusual. Normally, the word for please, ana, is spelled alef, nun, alef, אנא. But here it is spelled alef, nun, hei. When spelled like this, anah means “where.”

This, the Rebbe said, is what we are declaring in Halel. “Wherever you take me, G-d, I will go. Because I am your servant.”

If you take me to the new world, I will go with You. Whenever You send me, I will go, because I am your servant, I am your conduit; I am your ambassador; G-d is with me in every place, geographical or emotional.

Do you know the most popular children’s book of all time, Dr. Suess’, “Oh, the Places You Will Go”?

If you aren't familiar with the book, a young boy embarks on a journey, and it begins with lighthearted optimism:

You’ll be on your way up! You’ll be seeing great sights! You’ll join the highfliers, Who soar to great heights.

But then, things take a turn for the worse:

Except when you don’t Because, sometimes, you won’t.

Basically, the narrator describes to the boy how he will be alone, how he will wait, and how he will be stuck behind and frightened. But in the end, with persistence, he will move mountains.

It’s a powerful book, there’s a reason it is the most gifted graduation present. But why wait until the end of the school year to equip our children with this message?

Throughout a school year, especially in the beginning, there is anxiety and nervousness. Kids will attempt to make new friends and navigate new social structures and situations.

There will be times when your child is out of place when she feels that life is unfair and that she would rather stay home.

Imagine if we can model for our children this emotional equanimity expressed in the Shema: Love with all your heart.

We must acknowledge our children’s emotions and experiences. Resilience is given not by delegitimizing their perspective and emotions, or by telling them how they should feel and think. That can be counterproductive. But we can model our own deep power to be aware of our pain, process it, and learn how to find the inner tools to grow with it and from it.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky

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