Admitting Flaws Can Give You More Credibility?

The rule in Israel was that a new immigrant could bring ordinary household items duty-free. But anything that looked like it was for resale in Israel was supposed to be subject to import taxes. 

Jack Levine, a new oleh, goes to the Haifa port to claim his household goods that have arrived by ship. The officer notices on the manifest that Jack is bringing in seven refrigerators. 

"Mr. Levine," says the officer, "one refrigerator is allowed duty-free, not seven."  

"But I'm very religious (frum) and I need one refrigerator just for meat, one just for dairy, and one just for parve," says Jack. 

"All right," says the officer with a sigh, "that makes three.  But seven?" 

 "Well, of course," says Jack, "I need three for most of the year and another three, meat, dairy, and parve, for Pesach." 

"OK," says the officer, losing patience. "That makes six. What's the seventh one for?" 

"Nu, so what if I like to eat a little (treif) not kosher meat once in a while?" 

Few things are as necessary to a life of serenity as integrity. In October 1985, the famous racquetball player Reuben Gonzales was in the final match of his first professional racquetball tournament. He was playing the perennial champion for his first shot at a victory on the pro circuit. At match point in the fifth and final game, Gonzolas made a super "kill shot" into the front corner to win the tournament. The referee called it good, and one of the linemen confirmed the shot was a winner. 

But after a moment's hesitation, Gonzolas turned and declared that his shot had skipped into the wall, hitting the floor first. As a result, the serve went to his opponent, who went on to win the match. 

Reuben Gonzolas walked off the court; everyone was stunned. The next issue of National Racquetball Magazine featured Gonzolas on its cover. The lead editorial searched and questioned for an explanation for this first-ever occurrence on the professional racquetball circuit. Who could ever imagine this in any sport or endeavor? Here was a player with everything in his favor, with victory in his grasp, who disqualifies himself at match point and loses. 

When asked why he did it, Gonzolas replied simply, "It was the only thing I could do to maintain my integrity." 

Gonzolas can teach us a lesson: you will never be a winner if you haven’t won. 

It is a lesson the Torah conveys in this week’s portion in a very powerful way. 

In this week’s portion Shmini, we learn of the identifying signs of a kosher land animal: it must chew its cud, and it must have split-hooves. Hence, the cow, sheep, goat, deer, gazelle, and even giraffe are kosher. The donkey and the horse, on the other hand, lack both of these features and are not kosher. 

The Torah then lists four animals that possess only one of these signs and are deemed not kosher. They are the camel, the hyrax, the hare, and the pig. The camel, hyrax, and hare, while chewing their cud, do not have split feet, and the pig, while having split feet, does not chew its cud. These animals are classified as non-kosher. 

But these animals you shall not eat… the camel, because it brings up its cud, and does not have a [completely] cloven hoof; it is unclean for you. And the hyrax, because it brings up its cud, and does not have a [completely] split hoof; it is unclean for you. And the hare, because it brings up its cud, but does not have a [completely] cloven hoof; it is unclean for you; And the pig, because it has a hoof that is completely split, and does not regurgitate its cud; it is unclean for you. 

There are two important questions here. 

First, why does the Torah single out these four one-signed animals as non-kosher? Why does the Torah not say that any animal that lacks any or both signs is not kosher? Just as it does not specify the animals which lack both signs (nor does it specify the animals which possess both signs) it need not specify the names of the four animals that have one sign. 

Second, when the Torah presents the reason for these animals not being kosher, it does so in a very strange fashion, mentioning its kosher factor as the primary cause for its non-kosher status: "But these animals you shall not eat… the camel, because it brings up its cud, and does not have a cloven hoof… And the pig, because it has a hoof that is completely split, and does not regurgitate its cud." 

We would expect the Torah to state it differently: "The camel because it does not have a cloven hoof, even though it chews its cud…  the pig because it doesn’t chew its cud, even though it has split hooves. 

If you wanted to explain to someone why he is not an American citizen, you would not say: "You are not a citizen of this country because your parents were born here, but you were not." The proper way of saying it would be: "You’re not a citizen because you were not born here, even though your parents were born here." 

Yet in our case, the Torah does the exact opposite, stating that the camel or pig is not kosher because they possess one kosher sign, and are devoid of the second kosher sign. 

It was Keli Yakar who deduced an astonishing message. It is not only what these animals lack that deems them un-kosher, but also that which they do have, the one kosher sign, that makes them non-kosher. The camel is treif because it chews its cud (and lacks split hooves); the pig is treif because it has split hooves (and does not chew its cud). 

Why? Because possessing one kosher sign allows these animals, symbolically speaking, to deceive themselves and others that they are kosher by "showing off" the single kosher sign. So the Torah is telling us: Don’t eat "the camel, because it brings up its cud, and does not have a cloven hoof… And the pig, because it has a hoof that is completely split, and does not regurgitate its cud." It is also—and primarily—the single deceptive kosher sign that deems these animals unsuitable for Jewish consumption. 

And that is why the Torah specifies these four animals, not including them with all other animals who lack both of the kosher signs: All animals lacking both signs are not kosher because of what they lack; with these four animals, it is not only what they lack, but also what they have which deems them un-kosher. 

Of course, these animals are not hypocritical and dishonest by nature. Animals are usually honest. Rather, their physical characteristics are symbolic of moral qualities, and when we eat them, these qualities affect our psyches, like all food, which has a deep impact on the consumer. 

Each of us must struggle against various unhealthy and immoral, non-kosher instincts, appetites, habits, addictions, and cravings. But there is something that can sometimes be more lethal for our well-being: dishonesty about who we are. 

What causes me to become un-kosher is not so much that I am not kosher, as much as it is me deceiving myself and making believe that I am kosher. The greatest enemy of true religion, of any authentic relationship with G-d, is to be dishonest about my identity. 

In many communities and schools, people feel the pressure to always say and feel the "right things;" they are frightened to be vulnerable about their genuine emotions and struggles. They feel the need to live the lie that they are perfectly "kosher," even if that means that they need to cover up a part of themselves. 

Nothing can be further from the truth: the foundation of a moral and meaningful life is that I can be real and "naked" with G-d, with myself, and with my close friends; that I can expose myself without facades. When religion is based on lies, it loses its purpose. In the world of the Torah, the ugly truth is superior to the beautiful lie. 

This does not mean that I must fall prey to every struggle and surrender to every appetite. Often, I must subdue my cravings to live up to my true calling and essence. I need to confront and battle my addictions and bad habits. But I must never deny who I am and what I am dealing with. I must show up to G-d with my entire self, not with a psychologically mutilated sense of existence. 

Forcing yourself to be someone else to gain popularity and not having the integrity to be brutally honest with yourself leaves you drained, empty, and spiritually dead. There is no spirituality without full honesty. 

In the mid-1980s, researchers at Cleveland State University made a startling discovery. They experimented by creating two fictitious job candidates, David and John. The candidates had identical resumes and letters of reference. The only difference was that John's letter included the sentence "Sometimes, John can be difficult to get along with." They showed the resumes to several personnel directors. Which candidate did the personnel directors overwhelmingly prefer? 

The one who was difficult to get along with, John. 

The researchers concluded that the criticism of John made praise of John more believable. Admitting John's wart helped sell him. 

It is this lesson that the Torah communicates in Shmini. Admitting flaws gives you more credibility, even in your own eyes. Psychological vulnerability is the key to a meaningful life. 

Let me tell you a story. 

Once there was a beloved emperor in a small country who was growing old and knew it was time to choose his successor. Instead of choosing one of his assistants or one of his children, he decided to do something different. 

He called all the young people in the kingdom together one day. He said, "It has come time for me to step down and to choose the next emperor. I have decided to choose one of you." The kids were shocked! But the emperor continued: "I am going to give each one of you a seed today. One seed. It is a very special seed. I want you to go home, plant the seed, water it, and come back here one year from today with what you have grown from this one seed. I will then judge the plants that you bring to me, and the one I choose will be the next emperor of the kingdom!" 

There was one boy named Ling who was there that day, and he, like the others, received a seed. He went home and excitedly told his mother the whole story. She helped him get a pot and some planting soil, and he planted the seed and watered it carefully. Every day, he would water it and watch to see if it had grown. 

After about three weeks, some of the other youths began to talk about their seeds and the plants that were beginning to grow. Ling kept going home and checking his seed, but nothing ever grew. Three months and four months went by. Still nothing. 

By now, others were talking about their plants, but Ling didn't have a plant, and he felt like a failure. Six months went by, and still nothing was in Ling's pot. He just knew he had killed his seed. Everyone else had tall plants, but he had nothing. Ling didn't say anything to his friends; he just kept waiting for his seed to grow. 

A year finally went by, and all the youths of the kingdom brought their plants to the emperor for inspection. Ling told his mother that he wasn't going to take an empty pot. But she encouraged him to go, to take his pot, and to be honest about what happened. Ling felt sick to his stomach, but he knew his mother was right. He took his empty pot to the palace. 

When Ling arrived, he was amazed at the variety of plants grown by all the other youths. They were beautiful, in all shapes and sizes. Ling put his empty pot on the floor, and many of the other kids laughed at him. A few felt sorry for him and just said, "Hey, nice try." 

When the emperor arrived, he surveyed the room and greeted the young people. Ling just tried to hide in the back. "My, what great plants, trees, and flowers you have grown," said the emperor. "Today, one of you will be appointed the next emperor!" 

All of a sudden, the emperor spotted Ling at the back of the room with his empty pot. He ordered him to come to the front. Ling was terrified. "The emperor knows I'm a failure! Maybe he will have me penalized!" 

When Ling got to the front, the emperor asked his name. "My name is Ling," he replied. All the kids were laughing and making fun of him. The emperor asked everyone to quiet down. He looked at Ling and then announced to the crowd, "Behold your new emperor! His name is Ling!" Ling couldn't believe it. Ling couldn't even grow his seed. How could he be the new emperor? 

Then the emperor said, "One year ago today, I gave everyone here a seed. I told you to take the seed, plant it, water it, and bring it back to me today. But I gave you all boiled seeds, which would not grow. All of you, except Ling, have brought me trees and plants, and flowers. When you found that the seed would not grow, you substituted another seed for the one I gave you. Ling was the only one with the courage and honesty to bring me a pot with my seed in it. Therefore, he is the one who will be the new leader!" 

This is a metaphor for life. Each of us was given his or her "seed," his or her body, psyche, and soul. The saddest thing you can do is try to mimic other people because you dislike your seed; to live your life based on other people’s expectations, so that you gain their approval and feel successful, even if that means repressing your seed and using the seed of another. Only when you become completely honest with your condition and reality, confessing that your seed has grown nothing, can you truly make something of yourself and become a genuine source of leadership and inspiration to yourself and others. Only when you can embrace the truth of your soul, can you discover the infinite light of G-d that radiates through you.  
 

Shabbat Shalom and Rosh Chodesh Tov, 

Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky