I never cease to be amazed by the power of our thinking to cause us to feel lost and the power of insight to make the world feel right. 

During the Innate Health Conference we were blessed to just run, I listened as R. Shaul Rosenblatt and his wife Chana described his patience with her over the years.  He understood that his wife’s ups and downs were just her feeling stuck in her thinking; he didn’t take her upsets personally nor as indications of some “problem” in her.  Eventually, she was touched by his equilibrium, looked into the principles, and is now a gifted teacher of the ideas.

At the time, I found myself feeling so discouraged.  I knew about the principles, had even by moved by them, but I wasn’t always so patient with my wife.  I grabbed R. Shaul in one of the off sessions and expressed my pain and disappointment about my failure.  He didn’t really flinch.  I could feel his acceptance and his trust in my wisdom.  There really wasn’t anything wrong.

“I had that lots with my first wife [who died from illness] and my second wife and I still have it,” he reassured me.

Something shifted.  I saw my impatience with greater compassion.

After the conference was over, I sat with all my AV stuff and other supplies, waiting for my ride from Manhattan to New Jersey.  I began to enjoy a nice rapport with one of the building maintenance staff. 

“It’s so difficult,” he confided, “how people are not careful about how they dress in the summer.  I don’t want to look at women like they’re objects, but sometimes I can’t help myself.”

I was impressed with his sensitivity.  He saw his failure.

“Every man is subject to those temptations,” I said.  “I’m happily married but I still need to be on guard.”

“Dude, you’re my man,” he said, his face lit up. 

Like all people, he desperately wants to be good but gets discouraged by his thinking that he’s not.   

There’s no contradiction: people have great wisdom and they also get lost; everyone is subject to the laws of personal thinking and to the laws of divine insight. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Henry Harris

[My oldest son, Avraham, celebrated his Bar Mitzva last week.  This is one of the messages I wish to remind him, and myself, of.]

You’re going to get a lot of gifts on your Bar Mitzva, Avraham (a lot of people love you!).

Of all the special gifts you’ll get, though, know that the greatest is a knowing soul.  A knowing soul is the special gift of the Al-mighty.   It means you can resemble Him and it enables a boy to be considered a man in the eyes of Jewish law.  It’s important for you to know what is possible with a knowing soul.

You’ll perceive the preciousness in yourself and others, beyond results or the approval you enjoy from others.   And freed from those worries, you will yearn to exert yourself – unconditionally – for the good of others and love of the right thing.

You’ll feel more deeply the stirrings of your loving heart toward your baby sister (and even your non-baby siblings).

You’ll feel the beauty of wisdom and its power to change a life and even the whole world. 

You’ll see greatness in others, even in the eyes of those who feel confused or discouraged.  Your heart will be moved with compassion and desire to bestow good.

You’ll sense the gift of commitment and its capacity to liberate you from the pain of self-absorption.

You’ll sense the vastness of life and your own inadequacy to tackle it.  And you’ll taste the sweet vulnerability of standing before the Source of it all, knowing there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and you’ll gladly surrender your heart.

A knowing soul is something you don’t make.  It’s not something you can lose.  It’s alert and ready for action at all times, even if you temporarily forget you have it.  It’s your connection to the Source.   Though there is much effort to invest in guarding this gift, the support of its Giver is always with you.   

With much love and pride,

Tatty and Mommy

The Talmud records a fascinating dialogue between King David and G-d.

Looking over the first words of the daily “amida” prayer, David asks, “We refer to You as the G-d of Avraham, the G-d of Yitzchok, and the G-d of Yaakov.  Why not the G-d of David?”

David was a humble man.  He wasn’t asking, “How did you have the gall to overlook me?”  His question was, “What is it about my life that I haven’t merited my name to be joined with Yours?”

G-d says, “You haven’t been sufficiently tested.”

On a basic level, life involves tests and those tests are meant to connect us with the divine.  How?

My experience has been that the biggest part of a person’s tests is his attitude.  He might be facing objective personal setbacks, but his thinking about the setback will make the greatest difference.  Often, he doesn’t know where to find a good attitude, try as he may. 

The story of King David reminds me that a person needs to know that life is about discovering that we’re a channel for Divine insights.   Change is utterly possible, but a person needs to look for a moment to a different place than his own tool box for eluding, maneuvering, or fixing challenges.  The test is like a tap on the shoulder: to understand that for even something so basic as his own thinking, a person is only a partner.  With even a slight shift, our name can become synonymous with the divine.

I want to encourage everyone reading this to check out the conference I’m helping organize on Innate Health next Sunday through Tuesday in Manhattan.  Innate Health is a simple approach that helps people look in this new direction - with inspiring results.  For more info, visit: http://www.jewishcenterforwellbeing.com/nyc-innate-health-conference.html.

Shabbat Shalom,

Henry Harris

Various numbers in Jewish wisdom signify spiritual completeness.  What’s also interesting is that those same numbers minus one represent important human accomplishments.

Thus, 40 are the weeks of fetus’ development in the mother’s womb and the days and nights Moses spent receiving the Torah.  Thirty-nine, though, is the number of creative work acts (cooking, building, etc.) a Jew avoids on Shabbat to show his acceptance that G-d runs the world.  Thirty-nine is the number of lashes a Jewish court administers to certain law-breakers as atonement.

Another example: 50 are the gates of spiritual understanding. And 50 is the number of days from the time of our exodus from Egypt to our receiving the Torah (the time of year we found ourselves in now).  There is a mitzva to count these days between Passover and Shavuos but we don’t count to 50.  We count to 49, starting the day after Passover.

What’s the deeper idea behind the “minus one”?

Rabbi Akiva Tatz likens it to the ingredients of beautiful music.  There are many individual notes that go into creating a lovely song.  There are many musicians involved in forming a beautiful symphony.  But a sensitive person will tell you that even precisely played notes and well-rehearsed musicians don’t necessarily make inspired music.  There is a magic that visits the parts of the whole that bring it perfection. 

The “minus one” reminds us of the hugely important job of a person in this world:  faithfully assemble the parts and await the missing ingredients in the recipe for perfection.

Shabbat Shalom,
Henry Harris

I had watched the monsoon-like rain all day on Wednesday.  Still, I was surprised to open the laundry room door to discover a slowly but steadily growing puddle in our basement.

I dried it up but it kept coming.  I couldn’t find its source.

Clearing away the accumulated lint and gunk that collects on a laundry room floor, I found a slight but consistently flowing stream gurgling forth from a small hole in the wall.

The plumber said, “Call a contractor.”

The contractor said, “That’s a tough cookie.  I’ll have to see it after it dries.”

I ran to Home Depot to purchase a utility pump.  Aisle Four (plumbing) had become a support group for weary basement warriors.  The pump didn’t work in the end either.

I had called everyone, thought of every trick, and tried every strategy I knew.  The water just kept coming.  So I surrendered and spent the next six hours hand-wringing towels into waste baskets and dumping them outside. 

After I got over all the possible resentments (the guy I bought the home from, the plumber, the contractor, and a couple of other personalities) I couldn’t help but be awed by the water and its unstoppable flow to the bottom of people’s homes.  Water always finds the low spot.

I’ve learned that Torah wisdom is like water.  That means that when we humble ourselves, wisdom finds us.  It’s just a law of reality.  Now, humility doesn’t mean “I’m nothing.” It means that I’m something, even something special.  But as great my something is, it’s so small relative to the wondrous, infinite, awesome source that makes my and everyone else’s something special to begin with.

May we merit to trust in the law of the low places: wisdom, like water, will always find the humble.
Shabbat Shalom, 
Henry Harris