Rabbi Shaya's Thoughts

Dr. Russell Herman Conwell traveled throughout the U.S. over one hundred years ago, telling the story of a man who sold his farm in order to look for diamonds. After a few years, his former farm was found to contain a large deposit of diamonds. The lesson is commonly interpreted as this: If you want to find the good in life, just dig in your own backyard. Perhaps Dr. Conwell didn’t know, but there is a similar, much older Chasidic tale from the shtetl, which adds much more depth to the story.

To appreciate the Chasidic version, we should go back to the original story, which is found in this week’s Torah portion, Vayeishev.

We must note, however, that there are times when we try to find the good in our lives, but for some reason or another, we feel like we’re just muddying ourselves up. Instead of finding the “diamonds” in our lives, all we find are the “rocks” and “sand” of life.

So how do we find the diamonds?

This week’s Torah portion continues the narrative of the children of Isaac. Last week we finished with Esau and this week we start with Jacob. Why does the portion need to spell out all of Esau’s descendants before getting to Jacob’s children, which is really the topic that interests us? The Midrash says that in order to find a diamond, you first must go through the sand and the rocks. 

The Midrash teaches us that digging through the rocks and sand is part of the process to reveal the diamonds.

The same is true in life: There are times when we have to muddy ourselves in order to find the blessings in life. 

We must remember, however, that not every pile of dirt is a place to look for our blessings.  We need to discern the differences in the earth around us. Where to look is just as, or even more, important.

This is why the Chasidic tale is so powerful. The story is told about a Jew who was looking for riches. He turns to his Rabbi for advice. The Rabbi sends him to a certain bridge and tells him to dig near the foot of the bridge. The man goes, and starts to dig when a passerby sees him and asks what he is doing. He responds that he is looking for treasure. The passerby tells him that he is being foolish. He goes on to explain that he once had a dream and in the dream, he was told that if he looked under the stove in a certain house, he would find treasure. The passerby asks, “Do you think I am running to that house? Of course not!” The Jew, hearing the location of the home, drops his shovel, and runs to his own house to claim his treasure.

In this story we see how important it is to be able to find the treasure not only in the holy words of the rabbi, but in the dirt at the foot of the bridge.

You see, there is more than one kind of dirt. Some dirt is meant to be thrown out (as the dirt under the bridge) and some dirt is meant to look within and find the diamonds (as the dirt in his home).

In our own lives we as well have to know that there are challenges and distractions that have to be avoided, and that there are those that have to be sifted through until we find the good. 

Let the Chanukah candles guide us in our search! 

A young man once volunteered several hours preparing a book for publication. When the book was published, he asked the supervisor if he could get a free copy. The supervisor responded, “If one works in a mint, the person who runs the coin press cannot take home a ’few samples‘ of his handiwork. You get paid for your work with no further payment.” This young man didn’t understand because in his case, he worked for free. Isn’t he entitled to a free copy?

What do you think? Is this young man entitled to a free copy, or is the concept of entitlement repugnant to you, and therefore even if the young man had some standing, should he even be asking?

We can argue that since he gave time and effort to the project, he was justified to cash in on a book and therefore was entitled. This kind of entitlement is not so much egocentric as a justifiable attitude. Yet, the answer was “no.” 

However, if you think about it, he could have asked for a free book in another way. He could have said, “I know that I don’t ‘deserve’ a free copy, but I would like to learn about this topic more in depth and I cannot afford to buy it on my own. Please accept my volunteerism as a sign that I really am interested in the subject matter, and that this book will not just sit on a shelf. It will go to good use.” 

This alternative approach is how Jacob speaks with G-d in our Torah portion of the week, Vayishlach.

Jacob says, “I am small,” meaning I am not deserving. Of course, we all know that Jacob was a righteous man, yet he insisted on taking the humbler route.

Instead of saying, “G-d, it’s owed to me; I have worked hard all these years, I have been committed to you etc., and now this. … Please save me!” He said, “I have no merits of my own. … There is no reason You should save me, but still do so anyway so that I can serve G-d in the future.”

This is a lesson we can use in our own lives as well. If we take the attitude that everything is owed to us (even if we really do deserve it all) we will be disappointed. If, however, we are always grateful for everything that we do have and approach life with a dash of humility, we will see many more blessings in our lives.

As we near the Chanukah season, we should take a moment and ask what are we doing for others, not what others should be doing for us.

   Edited by geminiwordsmiths.com

Many societies hold scholars in high esteem, while very few hold "people of action" in the same high regard. Why is that? Can it be because we place great value on knowledge? Perhaps people who get things done, however, provide us with even more value. How do we measure success and influence?  

Let’s shed some light on this question by comparing the life of Jacob as it is described in this week’s Torah portion, Vayeitzei, to the description of his life offered in last week’s portion, Toldot.

Last week, Jacob was described as a homely, goody-goody student, a young man who sits and studies all day long. Contrast that with this week’s Torah portion and a very different personality emerges. Jacob comes across as a very smart businessman, busy herding sheep, trading them for higher-priced cattle, and breeding sheep with stripes and with dots. He acquires many servants, and to top it all off, he gets married to four women! This personality doesn’t look like the studious type of person at all.

The truth is, Jacob was both. He never stopped studying in the house of Laban, albeit he did so after hours. We see that he – and the Jews in general – can be both students of Torah and businessmen. Jews are referred to by seemingly opposite titles, as “children” and as “sheep.” We can explain the two titles as such: When we act like G-d’s children, we are called children, and when we act like animals, we are referred to as sheep. However, we find that at times our primary designation is sheep, and our secondary designation is children. Therefore, we can conclude that there must also be an advantage to being called sheep.

The term “children” relates to us when we are obedient, like when we sit and study, when we act like goody-goodies. However, that is also the easier state of being; it feels good to do what is right. Hence, there is some ego involved. On the other hand, when we leave the comfort of our homes and study halls, and go out to help others, when we engage in commerce, wheeling and dealing in all kinds of distractions, it is less about feeding the ego, and more about making a difference in the world. So although the scholar and the activist derive satisfaction from what they are doing, the activist requires less ego than the scholar, and therefore the activist (i.e., the sheep), deserves more credit than what is usually given.    

That is why, at the end of the day, we should not only hold scholars in high esteem, we should also hold activists in high esteem. And on a more refined level, perhaps we should appreciate activists even more.

Another way to state this is that less glamour allows us to be truer to ourselves and truer to our cause.