Two of my kids are prone to particular conflict.  They can team up wonderfully in many ways.  But sometimes, like recently when the long unstructured Passover break was upon us, they rub each other.  This one claims the other is insensitive; that one claims this one is too sensitive.

The Torah teaches in this week’s portion that we “judge others with righteousness.”  One understanding is that we simply make the effort to be careful and thorough in our courts.  Another is that we judge favorably:  we assume the reasonableness of another’s position, even if it eludes us now.

As the sensitive one refused to leave the playground until the other learned to change, I wasn’t sure what to do.  Intervene or leave things be?  Confront or just empathize?  I felt a small wave of disapproval within: he’s being unreasonable; he has to get over this.  He can’t just disrupt the family because he’s upset.  What’s going to be when he gets older?

Give him some space, I thought.  He’s heated right now.

When I came home from the playground I found I was ready to listen without judgment.  I sought out the other party.

“Can I hear your version of what happened?” I asked.

“He’s just too sensitive.  What can I do?  It’s impossible.”

I blanched momentarily in hearing the words I often think come out of my son’s mouth.  I am often convinced of the unreasonableness of another’s outlook, the impossibility of a path forward.  I could see:  he was unconsciously holding the door shut to a world beyond. 

“There is a way to approach this but you need blessing to see it,” I thought to myself.  “First you have to acknowledge that you’re responsible, that it’s possible.”

Thank G-d, I felt compassion more than judgment.   I let him be. 

As in the past, they made up.  As in the past, I assume there will be future friction.  Finding the favorable judge in us can go a long way.

Shabbat Shalom,

Henry Harris

I heard a story this week that helped me see a little straighter about the precious opportunity of Passover.

The Brisker Rav, Rabbi Yitzchak Zev Soloveitchek, was one of the greatest Torah personalities of the last century.  His commitment to truth, come-what-may, is legend. 

He was once delivered a supply of flour for baking matzos, a scarce commodity in pre-war Belarus.  The messenger proudly showed him a nasty finger wound he sustained during the delivery. 

“Rabbi So-and-so warned me about falling asleep during the train ride here,” said the messenger, “lest the flour become unguarded.”

(Jewish law requires that flour used to make matzo be “guarded” from the time of its harvest lest it undergo even accidental leavening.)

“I was so afraid I’d fall asleep on the overnight ride that I tied a cord tightly around this finger,” explained the messenger.

The Brisker Rav became pensive.

“I can’t use this flour,” he announced.

The messenger was shocked.

“Matzos made through causing pain to another are not suitable for Pesach.”

Our sages teach that leavening signifies arrogance.  Arrogance is the essence of enslavement because it a priori shackles our ability to choose a good life.  You can’t choose good if you can’t see it. 

But there are two expressions of self-centeredness – the inability to see the reality of what’s greater than us and the inability to see the reality of someone other than ourselves.

I speak primarily to myself here though I hope this message resonates with you, too.  The ability to see and experience another’s lot, feelings, difficulties, and joy is such a precious gift.   There is no one in the world whose riches and opportunities won’t seem greater and whose deficiencies and trials won’t seem smaller through the gift of seeing beyond himself.

May we merit to prepare and yearn sincerely for and receive the gift of freedom this Passover.
Henry Harris