If you had a car with dual controls – steering wheels and pedals at both front seats – it could be a very helpful  advantage over single control driving.  If one driver is tired, can’t see, or can’t concentrate so well, he’s got someone to cover.
 
On the other hand, imagine if the second driver forgot about the very existence of the first.  He would likely interfere with or even negate the skilled driving of the first.  What a disaster.

This came to mind as I considered the wisdom inside each of us.

On the one hand, there’s something like the healing of a wound.  It’s basically a single steering wheel job.  I can do things to support or hinder the process, but I’m not directing coagulants, skin cells, blood flow, etc.  I’m not driving.  That’s all God.  It’s mind boggling how myriads of systems are choreographed with wisdom toward tangible healing.  I am SO grateful I don’t have any share in the driving on that task.  Can you imagine?

Then there’s my inner world – my internal experiences of warm and peaceful, idealistic and driven, fearful and tense, jealous and hurt.  To me that’s more dual steering.  God is the source of all thought.  He’s the source of my consciousness, that which allows me to feel my thought.  He’s sourcing everything.  So He’s obviously a driver. 

On the other hand, I’m also a driver.   I feel thoughts, prefer some, focus on, resist and protest others.  I have the ability to intervene. 
So now, what happens if I don’t know there’s another driver?  I am going to interfere with and negate His driving!  Gevalt.

It seems to me we do that all the time.  Yes, God gave us a steering wheel in navigating our inner world.  Our choice to focus and understand, to listen and pause, to act or step back are all essential uses of the gift of our steering.  On the other hand, part of driving includes remembering we’re not the sole driver.

To me, insecure, fearful, and jealous experiences are like times of reduced visibility.  They literally remind of the presence of the other driver.  God is driving me through certain thought terrain where I can’t see so well.  All human beings drive through these thoughts.  There’s something to be had in them, or else He wouldn’t drive us through them.  But trying to drive off the road to get elsewhere doesn’t go well; it messes up the Driver’s work.   When the road loses its visibility, it’s a good reminder there’s another driver; it’s a good cue to ease off the wheel.

This has been such a helpful understanding to me.  Please join me this at this Thursday's teleconference, 10am, to learn more about this metaphor and what it points to.  
 

Not long ago, I was filled with judgment and anger toward a certain person for what I deemed great damage he caused me and my family.  Recently, as I needed help on a new project, his name came to mind.  “He’s uniquely capable of helping,” I thought.  So I reached out. 

The notion that after feeling victimized as I did I would then turn to him for help – and pay him! – astonishes me.  And it also doesn’t.  In a nutshell, here’s my understanding of what allowed me to move from A to B.

Step 1: I began to see what’s true about what causes my feelings and psychological experience.  (Hint: it’s inside out).  Simultaneously, I began to see more clearly what cannot be its cause. (Hint: people, stuff, events).

Step 2: I started paying less attention to what cannot be causes.  Meanwhile, I went about my life as best I could and had a little less judgment when I did have false causes on my mind.

Step 3: The temptation and attraction of the false causes started to soften (sometimes, without my even registering that). 

Step 4: New thoughts (and their attendant feelings) showed up.

In short, he wasn’t cause in my lingering upset.  I didn’t know how to extract myself from the painful, consuming feelings of believing he was cause, but I got interested in what was true about those feelings.  As I did, the wisdom connection God wired into me got less muddled and I began to see and feel differently.

A few caveats. 

One.  I’m not saying there’s no free will or effort involved in such a shift.  It was plenty tempting at times to stay in the judgment and anger loop.  I often did.  To me, my role was to be interested in what was true, to be interested in acknowledging where I was mistaken.  Even still, the shift in my internal experience seems miraculous relative to the part I played.  

Two.  There is such a thing as damaging, inappropriate behavior that one can be a victim of.  I don’t think it wise or “spiritual” not to put an end to or redress damages.   I speak more of the emotional suffering that lingers independent of damages.

Three.  Looking at my words above, I wonder whether someone might feel it lacks empathy, as if a guy’s suffering is his fault and he should just stop blaming.  To that I say:  Suffering is just human.  We don’t go there willfully and if we knew how to end it, we would.  Without respect for a person’s struggle, it’s not helpful to tell someone consumed by pain or anger, “You know, the causes you attribute your pain to are built on falsehood.” 

Four.  I had a fourth thing I wanted to share but forgot it, which just reminds me again of how dependent I am on the gift of Divine thought.

This Friday night I lost it.  Again.  A day later I found it.  Again.

One of my kids is struggling and it shows up in some anti-social and unpleasant habits.  I have struggled with finding compassion toward his behaviors.  My wife has struggled with finding compassion with my lack of compassion.  It can be a potent cocktail.  It kind of reminds me of a variation on the “lightbulb” joke:
Q: How many insecure people does it take to create conflict?
A: One’s enough, but the more the merrier.

In the 24 hours after our run-in (my becoming upset with my son, my wife becoming upset with me, my reacting to her), I went through a few now familiar stages.

1. “These people out there are a real problem.  How dare he speak and act that way?  How dare she undermine me?  How is anything going to improve?” Repeat.
2. Well, anger and recriminations is not such a holy place to be, but still, they shouldn’t provoke me like that.  It’s not fair.
3. Yes, I’m upset.  But they can’t be the cause.  They might have made some mistakes, but that’s only because they’re having their own challenges.  My internal experience, my feelings are just me and God.  Still, it’s hard to avoid reacting.  I’m kind of embarrassed.
4. It’s ok that I fell.  I’m not proud of my angry reaction, but I’m not too ashamed to face it and accept responsibility for my role in what is an exquisite Divine partnership.

As the Rabbis say, “The main children of a person are his good choices.”  God is allowing me to give birth to something precious – a new choice, new understanding, a new self.   Birth involves contractions and dilations and so does the human journey involve insecurity and equilibrium.  I don’t resent, resist, nor take the contractions personally, as if my predilection to insecurity somehow defines me or my competence.  Insecurity is a spiritual phenomenon from God that passes through me and every human.  Be in them; touch the power of the Divine bringing forth new life through you.  In the pain, trust in something good, wise, and greater than you can fathom.
Lastly,
          5. I resolve to express my regret for the role I played in our conflict.  I resolve to do better knowing that God has promised His help to all those who return: “One who comes to purify himself is assisted from above.”Wishing you blessings and success for a Sweet and Good New Year.
Henry Harris
PS: I will be speaking more about this topic and it’s segue to the joy of Sukkot this Thursday, October 20, on the 10am Weekly Emuna Teleconference.

​The Torah this week presents us with an astonishing claim that can greatly simplify our preparation for High Holidays.  
 
"This commandment that I command you today - it is not hidden from you and it is not far.  It is not in Heaven...Nor is it across the sea...Rather, the matter is very near to you..." (Deuteronomy, 30:11-14)
 
"This commandment," according to the commentaries, refers to the entire Torah: to love our fellow, not hold grudges, love and fear the Creator, be honest in our all affairs, and obviously much more.  Is the Torah suggesting that this vast undertaking is not hard - "it's very near"?  How? 
 
Here's the parable the Dubno Maggid (Rabbi Jacob Kranz, 1741-1804) offered to explain this verse.
 
Fishel the beggar is passing the home of the wealthy Zalman.
"Fishel, my dear," says Zalman as he walks up the stairs to his house, "bring my package inside for me and I'll pay you a gold coin." 
 
Fishel eyes the packages at the curb and begins schlepping a large box.  Heaving from exertion, he enters Zalman's foyer and calls out, panting, "Zalman, I’m here.  Where do you want it?"
 
Zalman's responds from an unseen room, "Fishel, I’m afraid you've brought the wrong package."
"What?! How can that be?" cries Fishel.   "And how would you know - you can't even see me."
"I don't need to see you," replies Zalman.  "I can hear you.  I know you've brought the wrong package because mine is light."
 
According to the Maggid, the Torah is not telling us that our job in this world is easy. It's telling us that the job God intended for us is light, not heavy; simple, not confounding; accessible, not despairingly remote.  When our life and our job look heavy, it’s evidence of a mistaken perspective, “a spirit of insanity” as the Talmud calls it.  And part of our job is to gain understanding about the nature of our job.  
 
Let’s say my wife and I don’t see eye to eye about one of our child’s needs.  I might feel stuck.  I’m responsible for my child.  I feel clear that my perspective will bear fruit and hers won’t.  I anticipate resistance from my wife, followed by conflict, followed by the possibility of losing my composure.  Projections about the future multiply in my brain faster than a super computer till I feel and express judgment and resentment.  In that moment my job looks heavy, confounding, and remote.  How in the world am I going to change her and myself (and not my marital status)?
 
According to the Dubno Maggid, the Torah is telling me something about that.  It’s the wrong package; put it down.
 
That story with my wife actually happened recently.  I did lose my cool and spent several days stewing over what looked like an impossible situation.  But I know too much to camp out in the blame and resentment.  Even as I flirted with the upset and critical feelings, I knew they weren’t “true.”  I knew those feelings were not coming from my wife or anything in the world God made; it was a “spirit of insanity.”  To me, that’s the “putting down the wrong package”: not laboring to fix something that’s not real. 
 
I kept my distance, tried to be cordial and helpful without forcing anything, and at some point, unburdened by the heavy job, I reset.  I apologized.  So did she.  We reaffirmed our desire for a warm and compassionate connection.  It was nice.  The conversation about how to best help our child looks different – lighter – now. 
 
I’m not suggesting that in an upset state I magically become exempt from my child’s needs: “Not my job; I’m angry now.”  I’m always responsible.  But responsibility begins with recognizing my inability to attend to my responsibility.  When it looks heavy, my job is to back off.
 
The holy days that are upon us carry great potential for growth and accomplishment.  It’s not uncommon that we feel pressure about the holidays:  so much to do, so many changes to make – where do I begin? 
 
We begin with the reminder that the job God designed for us is light and yet it’s normal to get lost in a job that feels heavy.  Preferring the light job and backing off the heavy is in my mind the most leveraged growth in the coming year.

Let’s say there is a feeling inside of you niggling for change.  It could be the simple dissatisfaction of, “Is this all there is?” or the pain of full blown addiction or marital strife.

​Know:  whatever efforts or strategies you employ to respond to that feeling inside, let truth be your starting point.  Know what must be true about that feeling and all psychological experience.  Know what cannot be true about it.  All effort goes better when built on truth.

So what’s true?  To start with, the feeling inside of you isn’t coming from some situation, person, or event in your past. 
If a wife tells her husband angrily that she feels like an employee in the home (as a husband recently shared with me), and he feels resentful and discouraged about the marriage, he can go a variety of ways:

1. Feel attacked and defend himself by reviewing the ways he’s acted warmly, blame her for filtering EVERYTHING through some kind of victim lens, and tell her so
2. Call someone to talk some sense into his spouse
3. Stew in upset memories and entertain possibilities of divorce
4. Remind himself – on whatever remote level of understanding he grasps it – our emotional experience cannot come from her; it can only come from God through the gift of thought in this moment.  He is not experiencing his wife, her words, her track record, et al.  He is simply experiencing Divine thought through which all is filtered.  Even as he feels crummy, he can know that.  Remembering this even a smidgeon allows the possibility of stopping to work at odds with his own innate wisdom compass. 

Personally, I recommend option D.

Our Sages point to this truth by saying, “All who become angry are likened to idolaters.”  Idolatry at its simplest level is synonymous with falsehood.  More subtly, it’s ascribing power to that which does not have power.  One who angers can know with certainty: my anger results from the wholly unreliable premise that “things and circumstances” can and do have power, including over my emotional state.

This doesn’t mean the “I feel like an employee” comment was appropriate.   Nor does it mean it’s bad to feel yanked around by memories, others’ comments, or circumstances.  Being alive involves making the mistakes of inappropriate comments and believing in false powers.   

Valuing what’s true, being suspicious of what cannot be true – these form the bedrock of emunah, understanding of God.  These form the bedrock of all wise and productive effort.  And this is what we explore every Thursday in the Weekly Emunah Teleforum, live at 10am EST and archived here.

As Maimonides introduced his 14 volume summary of all Jewish wisdom, “The foundation of all foundations and the pillar of all wisdom is to know that there is a Preeminent Power.”

Our Sages say that humility is the mother of all good character. 

Humility allows us to see reality free from the haze of self-absorption; to be connected to and of help to others; to devote ourselves to good, undeterred by self-doubt or public opinion; to be with G-d, the source of all, in this moment. 

It’s worth taking a moment to contemplate Rashi’s definition of humility (in reference to Moshe, Numbers 12:3): shafel v’savlan – “low in spirit and long-enduring.”  I’d like to focus specifically on savlan – “long-enduring.”

Savlan is related to savlanut – in modern Hebrew “patience.”  But our Sages point out that the root of savlan means “to bear,” as in to carry a load.  The image is of one carrying a precious package on a journey.  At some point he wearies.  The package is heavy. 

“Is it really necessary to schlep this thing?” he says to himself.  “It hurts.  I resent it.   I’ll chuck it away.”

This is the test of a savlan. In any relationship – with G-d, with a spouse, with a child, with one’s self – there are aspects of our experience that feel burdensome. 

“Why is G-d, my spouse, my child, myself doing this?  I don’t like it, I want it to change, it won’t, I’m done.”

Being done bearing the burden means chucking the relationship: giving up, blowing up, withdrawing, escaping, acting out.  It’s so human and normal to want to relieve one’s self of what seems like unnecessary burden.  How do we keep carrying the load?

To me, the first step is understanding that “burdens” can’t weigh on us directly.  The heat, the kids’ fighting, the spouse’s disagreeableness, my own shortcomings – they cannot cause burdensomeness by themselves.  They can’t source our experience. 

It’s only G-d who sources our experience through the gift of thought in this moment.  And He tells us in advance that He sources the gift of thought and renews it moment to moment – both expansive and constricted.  Yes, there are inappropriate behaviors.  But those behaviors feel burdensome solely and only inside the flow of Divine thought that He endows us with moment to moment to moment.  To me, this is hopeful.

Not hopeful in that I will be able to now “change” my experience.  Hopeful in that I don’t need to. 

In truth, no “amount of” or “skill with” this understanding can directly change our experience.  Not even our talking about, reading about, or listening to this description of how our experience is shaped can alter how the gift of thought shows up from G-d.  I can know about how the experience of “burdens” work and yet still desire to chuck them.  This understanding, to the best I grasp it, is not a technique or tool.

 To me, it’s simply the truth that all there is is me and G-d.
 
A person might ask, “Well, I’ve been learning about this understanding for months or years, and though I’ve seen some very nice things, I still regularly feel like chucking the burden of me, my child, etc. [author’s note: my hand goes up here].  So how is this helpful?”

Truth is always helpful. 

And when one considers that G-d likens our growth to giving birth (“a righteous person’s primary children are his good deeds” Breishis Rabah, 30:6), we can take comfort.  The “burdens” of our life are temporary, divinely induced contractions. There is nowhere else to be in the burden of a contraction than in the contraction: knowing it’s from G-d, knowing I can’t nor need change it; knowing it’s human; knowing it’s worth it; knowing it’s nothing more nor less than my unique mission of bringing new life to this world.  

And no amount of understanding, skill, or prior births enable one to prevent contractions in bringing forth new babies.  But we know: people give birth all the time.  There’s pain, there’s a new baby, and we move forward with gratitude for the awesome experience, without need to revisit or solve the “trauma.” 
​
One more thought: if this doesn’t feel helpful or hopeful, tune it out.  G-d has so many ways to bring us help and encouragement.  I have no authoritative claim that this message is necessary or right for you.  As King David says, “G-d is close to all those who call Him, to all those who call Him with sincerity.”  Not my teachings, nor my ideas.  Sincere turning to Him because after all, it’s just me and Him.

It is both common sense and Jewish wisdom that we have pleasure in being of help to our loved ones: our spouse, our kids, our friends.  There is tremendous satisfaction and holiness in benefitting others. 
 
The challenge for me is when my liking to help loved ones crosses over into needing to help them.
 
“It’s a problem that you’re not different.  You need to change.”  Even if I don’t say this aloud, the sentiment in my heart speaks for itself. 
 
This can frighten loved ones to the point they withdraw and view my influence and even presence as something to avoid.  This can in turn add to my frustration and thus zeal to influence change.  And the cycle goes on.
 
I have fallen into this many, many times.   I assume I will in the future.  I am seeing more clearly that there is a logic behind this judgment and I am seeing more clearly that it’s false.
 
The logic is that my experience somehow derives from others.  My wife’s happiness holds the key to my wellbeing.  My child’s well-adjusted ways directly influence my equilibrium.  Inside that logic, every person with a self-preservation instinct will feel compelled to change their spouse or kid.   This is understandable, it’s human, and in addition to being false, will generally lead to struggle and upset.
 
The alternative to that logic goes something like this: each of us lives our lives in the state of mind, the emotional experience, and the understanding we are gifted with in this moment.  We do our best with the understanding we have.
 
Seeing this, I have less concern that my experience is at the mercy of those around me.  I become untangled from loved ones.  They’re free to do their best (or struggle) and so am I.  With less concern for or need to manage my experience, I see the illogic of changing theirs.  I can just be with them.  Changes and results in general start to fall away as the focus of my goals and my true job comes sharply into view. 
 
My job starts with the simple task of seeing what's true - that the source of my emotional experience arises from one place and one place only - the gift of thought that the Al-mighty makes available to me now.  This is clarity. 
 
This is also emunah (“belief” in Hebrew).  It's not for naught that our Sages say that one who lives with this understanding "resides in the City of Refuge," free from the confusion and inner chaos that accompanies the falseness of an ego-guided perspective.
 
Emunah clarity is not defined by an emotional state per se - not calm, nor loving warmth, nor any other positive emotion.  It's knowing that whatever emotional experience I find myself in comes from within me through the gift of Divine thought in this moment.  Aside from this being a mitzvah and a wonderful accomplishment, I find this allows me greater choice. 
 
Choice to remember what is true about my and others’ psychological experience and avoid codependence.
 
Choice to ask God for a heart and mind that are clear, for help to see that I am free of dependency on loved ones’ actions or feelings, that I can be a safe space and resource for them on their journey unconditionally.
 
Choice to say thank you to God and stand in mind-boggling gratitude when I experience that help. 
 
Choice to see when my vision is impaired, when my mind feels flooded with anger and blame and other trappings of the logic of ego-based thought (which, by the way, also comes from God in this moment) and thereby step away. 
 
Or perhaps choice after failing to step away – to appreciate how human it is to become confused, to accept responsibility and express regret for hurtful words or actions, and to affirm my commitment to be helpful and loving.
 
As best as I can tell in this moment, this is the journey God has placed us on.  It’s a journey of standing in His presence – loving, all-encompassing, always, at all times, no matter what unfolds around or within us. 
 
How fortunate are we to know even a little bit about it.  I have no words to adequately convey my gratitude for the gift of this opportunity.

One of the simplest and most impactful ways to deal with stress is simply to understand that though we have stress, it doesn’t define us.  Consider the story of the Red Sea.  

With the Egyptians hot on their trail, the Jewish people run up against a body of water with nowhere to go.  They despair.

“Moshe, were there no graves in Egypt that you took us to die in the desert?” It’s black, there’s no hope, the whole Exodus was pointless!

Four verses later, Moshe is praying desperately when God says, “Enough, Moshe.  All they have to do is jump in.”  According to the Medrash, God was saying, “You don’t need to pray, Moshe.  These Jews are big believers.  They trust in Me, they left Egypt to follow Me.  In the merit of their trust, the sea will split.”  

Huh?  Literally a few moments beforehand, they’re sunk in despair, regretting their whole relationship with God.  Now God testifies, “Ah!  My children – such believers, worthy of miracles!”  Are they believers or not?  Is their temper tantrum really nothing?

Yes, says the Talmud.  “Ain adam nitfas b’shaas tzaaro” – “a person isn’t defined by his times of personal emergency.”  Normal people fall into temporary bouts of crisis-thinking and insanity.  God knows we aren’t our emergency thinking.  

Do we?

The more a person understands this –  that we have emergency thinking but we aren’t defined by it –  the less sticky it is, the more it cycles through.  Our personal thought quiets down.  By not overreacting to our crisis state we cling to it less and our natural, default connection to G-d remains more accessible.  

Perhaps this is what King Solomon meant when he said, “God made people straight; they sought calculations.”

And perhaps this is what we refer to when high level athletes, performers, and business people are “in the zone.”  It’s an understanding that allows them to encounter breakdowns without becoming derailed.  Rather than panic, they persist with humility and trusting resolve, knowing their connection to God’s wisdom will lead to a righting of the ship.   

I don’t know how to turn my emergency thinking off like a switch, but I have seen there is an understanding that helps me to be more permeable to wisdom.  God’s advice would seem to run something like this:  See your tendency to lose perspective not as something personal but as part of the human experience.  I provide everyone with both constricted  and expansive thoughts at times. When worry and fearful thoughts buffet you, don’t run after them; stay put.   In moments of calm, stay grateful.  Whatever it looks like, stay in this moment, the only place connection to Me ever happens.

The Talmud states that when God wanted to make a name for Himself in His world, the story of Purim was His answer (Megillah, 10b).  Question: how can the Book of Esther be the place God makes a name for Himself – it’s the one book in the Torah in which God’s name never appears?  

Rabbi Akiva Tatz points out another question.  Purim is a celebration of miracles.  The Hebrew word for miracle, nes, actually forms part of the word for test: nisayon; it would seem they’re inextricably linked.  Asks Rabbi Tatz:  if a test requires a miracle, that’s not a fair test.  If passing a test assumes a miracle, in what way is it a real test?

I’d like to take a moment to suggest an answer to these questions and then speak briefly about our beloved bar mitzvah, Yehuda, and our blessings to him on this special occasion.

One way of understanding a test is simply the experience of being stuck:  the Jews facing recapture at the Sea of Reeds or destruction in ancient Persia.  Of course individuals undergo tests, too.   Someone with a highly critical boss, really annoying siblings, or discouraging personal failings.

A test is being in a painful place with no apparent exit.  

This is where miracles come in, but not in the way we’d expect.  The test looks like puzzle pieces that can’t fit, so that a miracle involves somehow changing the pieces.  Really, the test is not in the pieces; it’s in our way of seeing the pieces.  The opportunity of a test is when a person senses he needs new eyes.  

The Talmud says that a person never does destructive things unless “visited by a spirit of insanity.”  It’s been said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results.  When we see that our way of seeing is not working, we have the opportunity to humbly ask God for new eyes.  

And then God can answer us.  Suddenly, the boss looks more well meaning, just a bit insecure.  The siblings don’t seem as annoying.  A person softens toward his own failings and sees progress.  

How did it happen?  Did he switch on a switch?  

New understanding showed up in the heart of the person being tested.  Divine wisdom humbled him, broadened his outlook.  God showed up in the heart, mind, and actions of the one being tested. 
 
This is the connection between a nisayon (test) and a nes (miracle): getting stuck comes when we crowd God out of our perspective; the miraculous solution is letting Him back in. 
 
And this is how God makes a name for Himself without His name even being mentioned.  He shows up in the heart, mind, and actions of His people.  Through tests, He reminds us of the inadequacy of our personal worldview and invites us to be vehicles through which His loving wisdom can come into the world.   It’s not God announcing Himself from the mountain top, but the one tested can see: I didn’t raise myself up; I know where this miracle comes from.
​
Yehuda, here’s where I speak a little about you.  I know you don’t necessarily like this; consider it one of your divine tests.

Mommy and I have watched as you worked towards this day.  There were many difficulties in undertaking all the ambitious preparations.  You spent many, many hours doing things you’ve never done before, all the while dealing with siblings, school and a demanding father.  There were many frustrating moments.  You persisted many times.  And today you are a different person.  You do things that were beyond you even six months ago.  How did that happen?  Hashem has helped you. With your trust and persistence, you let Him.
​
Our blessing to you is that you continue persisting.  Continue to let Hashem make you a vehicle for His goodness - through your good heart, words and actions.  Continue to see your tests as a way for God to show up – through you – to make a name for Himself in this world.