Our Sages make a surprising statement: the one thing in all of creation which G-d calls "very good" is the yetzer hara, aka our internal distortion factory.
 
How?

Simple: it's very good because it provides the resistance against which we create ourselves.  That is why we're here.

But there's an important caveat.  This gift is hard to redeem without Inner Connection.

Why?

Because without inner connection, the nefesh is alone.  With no adult in the room, the yetzer hara succeeds in projecting a startlingly compelling fear and shame.

Instead of serving as the backdrop for great choice, it becomes a terrifying lens through which I see myself and the world.  The voice within yells, “Run, hide, blame.”

Inner Connection changes that. With the adult in the room, the fear softens just enough to discover that the Creator is extending—through the distress—an invitation to grow.

That's when we have "very good" - the yetzer hara's resistance allowing us to become creators rather than merely creations.

For example: suppose I need to make an uncomfortable phone call, apply for a job, have a difficult conversation, or take a step that matters.

Immediately the distortion factory begins its work.

"You'll fail."
 
"People will judge you."

"You'll embarrass yourself."

"Better not risk it."

Now I have a choice.

Will I align with the distortion? Or will I turn toward the quiet clarity of my neshama?

Each time I choose truth over distortion, I am doing more than making a better decision.

I am becoming the cause of my life.

I am strengthening my connection to a G-dly way of seeing the world.

I am creating myself.

When the bond between the loving adult and the lovable child is weak, the child naturally reaches for the counterfeit security offered by the yetzer hara.

"Don't try."

"It's hopeless.”

“You won’t succeed.  Just grab whatever this moment’s pleasure is, no matter how destructive.”

There is comfort in those messages because they seem so certain.

But certainty is not necessarily reality.

As Inner Connection deepens, the child gradually gains the courage to say:

"Yes, I'm afraid. And I'm still going to make the phone call."

"Yes, I may fail. And I'm still going to put myself out there."

There is fear, but it feels different because he's no longer facing it alone.

Each encounter becomes another opportunity to choose truth over distortion, connection over isolation, courage over exemption.

And in making those choices, we become what we were created to be:

The cause of our own goodness.

There are many people who at times walk through adulthood feeling strangely empty. Chronologically, we are adults, yet internally we don't always feel fully grown. Instead, we experience ourselves as spectators, bystanders, or passive participants in our own lives.

Why?

One possibility is that we have not yet discovered the loving authority within us—the presence of the neshama that can offer guidance, connection, compassion, and steady accompaniment to our inner world.

Without that loving presence, the nefesh—our lovable inner child—is left alone. And when the nefesh is alone, it becomes overwhelmed. We get stuck, paralyzed by fear or disappointment, watching life happen rather than actively living it.

The Torah offers an insight when Hashem says, "Na'aseh Adam"—"Let us make man."

To whom was Hashem speaking?

The Baal Shem Tov teaches that He was speaking to each one of us.

In other words, Hashem is saying: "Partner with Me. Together, let us make you into the person you were created to become."

But what does that partnership look like?

Each of us has been created with extraordinary potential. Potential, by definition, is unfinished.

We are intentionally created incomplete, with places of weakness, fear, and untapped possibility. That incompleteness is not a mistake—it is the worksite of our life and the very reason we are here.

Yet the journey only becomes overwhelming when the nefesh faces the incompleteness alone. By itself, it cannot face the inevitable disappointments, failures, and loneliness of being human while also reassuring itself that everything will be okay. It needs the loving presence of an inner adult—someone able to remain present and connected and not run from the pain.

Deep within every one of us is a question waiting to be answered:

Who will take responsibility for my life? 
Who will answer the call to be the loving authority I need?

The work of yedidus — deep inner connection —begins by allowing ourselves to feel the pain of the nefesh: the ache of unmet potential, unresolved struggle, and facing life's challenges alone.

Yedidus means we stop hiding from that pain. We stop escaping it or blaming others for it. Instead, we stay connected long enough to hear what the nefesh has been trying to tell us all along:

"I long for more, but I don't know how. I hurt, and I need someone to be with me."

Then comes the turning point.

"I'm here. I'm ready. I'm willing to become that loving presence."

The heartfelt and vulnerable pain arouses our neshama to answer the call. 

The neshama is not afraid of pain. It does not rush to fix or judge. It accompanies. It encourages. It offers wisdom, direction, compassion, and the willingness to seek whatever resources are needed to continue growing.  As the connection deepens, it offers the nefesh the expectations and boundaries that come along with loving authority.

When we accept responsibility for this inner relationship, something remarkable begins to change. We stop waiting for life to happen to us. We stop feeling like bystanders in our own story.

Instead, we become active partners with Hashem in our own creation—living with greater freedom, deeper purpose, stronger will, and the quiet courage to become the people we were always meant to be.

If you'd like to watch this idea on youtube, click HERE.

Inner Connection begins with this truth:

Every heart longs to be seen, known, and accepted without condition.

This is what Hashem offers us. It is what we long to receive from the people we love.  It is what they long for in return. And it is what the lovable child in ourselves—the nefesh—longs to receive.

When I find myself overwhelmed by feelings of frustration, disappointment, or inadequacy, I don't try to silence them.

I listen.

Before I fall asleep, I ask my nefesh a simple question:

"What are you feeling?"

Then I let it speak:

"I feel like a failure."

"I'm discouraged."

"I'm frustrated."

"He’s so much farther than I am in life."

"I’m a loser."

Are those thoughts true?

Not necessarily.

But in that moment, my nefesh is overwhelmed by them. Rather than arguing with those feelings or trying to fix them, I'm  with them.

Where did I learn this?

From Hashem.

Listen to this powerful Midrash Tehillim (4:3): “When a person has a visitor, the first time he comes, he’s offered a couch.  The second time – a chair.  The third time – a stool.  The fourth time he comes, he is told, ‘How much you bother and crowd me!”  Not so with God.  The more we press and come to His place of prayer, the more joy exists before Him.”

Wow.  What an astonishing idea.

Hashem never says, " Hello - this is getting old," or “Hello - we dealt with this – 17 million times already” etc.  He never becomes weary of hearing our hearts.

Knowing that changes the way I approach Him. I want to unburden myself to Him. 

It also changes the way I try to relate to my own nefesh.

This is exactly what I saw in my favorite parenting book, “How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk.” Listen to what the author’s adult daughter recalls from her own childhood:

“I remember saving up the frustrations of my school day.  I knew that I could bear it when the teacher was mean or some terrible injustice occurred because when I got home I could tell my mom.  She’d listen to my outrage and I would be soothed and strengthened for the next assault.  Even as a little girl I noticed that other parents were different and I remember wondering how other kids got by without having anyone to listen to their sorrows.”

This is the gift Hashem gives us.

This is the gift a parent gives a child.

And this is the gift our neshamah gives our nefesh.  Try it.

The next time you find yourself overwhelmed, don't rush to fix the feelings or push them away.
Instead, ask:

"What are you feeling?"

Then listen.

Not as a technique to make the feelings disappear.

Not as a strategy to regain control.

Simply because every part of us longs to be seen, known, and accepted, to not feel like a burden to another.

Only after your nefesh has finished speaking you might ask:

"Would you like my help thinking about what comes next?"

And thus, upon the foundation of trust and warmth, begins the next stage of Inner Connection: Loving Authority and Guidance.
Thanks for reading,
​Henry Harris
To view this idea as a video, visit HERE.

One of the foundational ideas behind Jewish Wellbeing is that healing doesn't begin with trying harder. It begins with connection.

We often experience ourselves as if we're divided—part of us longs for what is good and meaningful, while another part struggles, reacts, or gets pulled in directions we wish it wouldn't.

The question is: What is the relationship between those two parts?

A remarkable passage in the Gemara offers a profound answer.

In Berachot 10a, the Gemara asks why King David repeatedly says, "Bless Hashem, O my soul." Why does he specifically direct his soul to bless God?

The Gemara explains that it’s most appropriate that the soul bless God because it resembles God.  Just as Hashem fills His world, so too our soul fills our body. Just as Hashem gives life to the world, the soul gives life to the body. Just as Hashem is pure, the soul is pure. Just as Hashem sees but cannot be seen, so too the soul.

This isn't simply a philosophical observation. It offers a powerful way of understanding ourselves.

Just as we are meant to turn toward Hashem for guidance, comfort, love, and wisdom – ie have a dynamic connection to Him, our nefesh—our emotional and physical experience of life—is meant to turn toward our neshamah for loving connection.

The job of the nefesh is to present its needs before the neshama, to rely on it, and to accept and tolerate the discomfort of its guidance.  The job of the neshama is to love the nefesh, comfort it in its pain and warmly draw it closer to its world of meaning and purpose.  It is meant to lead the nefesh with the same qualities through which Hashem leads us: wisdom, compassion, patience, and love.

There are, in a sense, two distinct entities within us.

There is the neshamah—the calm, wise, loving adult.

And there is the nefesh—the lovable child that longs to be understood, comforted, and guided.

The deepest question isn't, "Which one am I?"

The deeper question is: How connected are they?

This, to me, is one of the clearest Torah sources for understanding inner connection.

The real work of growth is not fighting ourselves. It is strengthening the loving relationship between our neshamah and our nefesh.

When that connection grows stronger, lasting freedom becomes possible.

To see this idea in short video form, visit HERE.

Wishing you continued inner connection,
Henry Harris

I have learned so much from being a student — and at times a teacher — of the principles of innate health. The biggest lesson was seeing my limited control in life.  Not only am I not in control of the weather outside nor my loved ones, I'm not even in full control of my own moods.  There’s an all powerful and loving Source that is.

I came to see that I have a lane, and inside that lane, I can do quite well. Outside of it, I don't do very well.  I became more interested in staying in my lane and more aware of the Source.  My life got lighter.

And still — somewhere along the way, I encountered difficulty.

I'm not here to say the principles of innate health are incomplete. I only want to describe what I personally couldn't find there, and what I later found somewhere else: in the world of Musar, Jewish self-development, specifically in the teachings of students of Rav Shlomo Wolbe, obm.

His idea, in short, is this: the world was created for the sake of Yedidus — for warm, loving connection. Though warm connection occurs with other people and with the Creator, it actually begins inside me, between two distinct entities:
a) the neshama — the loving adult, and b) the nefesh — the lovable child.

These are two genuinely distinct facets of me and there's a relationship happening between them at all times. Sometimes it's a relationship of exquisite affection and togetherness. Sometimes it's a relationship of estrangement and aloneness. 

I had been noticing the second kind in myself — a sticky aloneness, a chronic undercurrent of shame, of being ill at ease in my own skin.  I didn't know what to do with it.  It was weighing me down and I was indulging habits I didn’t like.  

I stayed loyal to what I’d learned in the Principles, to the idea that there's nothing other than a single Source, and that my moment-to-moment experience is being created by that source right now. But honestly, it felt cool. Abstract. Philosophically tidy, but not so helpful against the recurring aloneness and shame I was carrying.

What changed things was learning about yedidus, the loving connection that isn't just a concept — it’s a startlingly warm reality that is waiting to be chosen, to be ignited.  The natural desire of any child – when there’s trust – is to connect warmly with a loving and capable adult, and vice versa.  That warmth doesn’t prevent all difficulties, but it creates a safe environment in which a child can be with difficulties, navigate and question them, and open to new and courageous paths.   

I started filtering this idea through my own experience as a parent.

When my children are in distress, not only do I not try to control them, I communicate something specific: I see your pain.  I see your courage.  I get you.  I am with you.

I want to carry their pain and look at their heroism alongside them.  If I get permission, I'll offer guidance. But the main message is always: you are not alone in this. We're together. Whatever you're feeling doesn't have to be carried, or suffered, by you alone.  Your victories are not seen by you alone.
Once I have their trust, I will also assert loving authority.  I will communicate expectations and boundaries.  And because of the warm trust, they will experience my authority as an extension of our warm connection.

Connecting my parenting to the neshama and nefesh dynamic was new.  And I opened to the idea that I could offer my nefesh the same thing I offer my kids. 

Had mistrust crept in?  Yes.  I had been meeting the pain and shame with deep but cool clarity: “your experience is being created in the now, moment to moment.” 

But with no adult to hold the pain, it festered.  In the absence of the neshama and nefesh seeking each other with an understanding of their respective roles, my life became host to inner mistrust, resentment, and estrangement between the two.  Meanwhile, lacking a warm connection with the neshama, the nefesh had become more susceptible to the false security of my yetzer hara – my distortion impulse.  This is not so different than a home in which a child doesn’t find reliable, warm, safe connection.  He still needs connection; if not with his family, he’ll seek it in the street.

As I began to seek this connection, something began to shift.  The aloneness started to soften. In its place came a steadier feeling: I have ups and downs, but I'm not alone in them. I have access to a loving connection and authority.  I can question the distortion that lies behind the shame; I can consider new possibilities.  My nefesh yearns to draw close to my neshama and my neshama yearns to draw it close. 

My neshama turns out to be a wonderful loving guide and teacher. My nefesh turns out to be a delightful and lovable student and child.  Together, the two of them are experiencing the reality of warm connection and accomplishing a great deal.

If you’d like to hear more of my thoughts on this topic, please visit this youtube link below for over 30 short videos.  I welcome your input and questions.

I’d like to share a recent success.

I was in a room full of men praying Mincha (afternoon service) when I saw a child of about five come before his father with an urgent need to speak.  I had finished my private prayer, but his father hadn’t and was – eyes closed - quietly talking to God.  The boy stood there, fidgety but quiet, eyes fixated with anticipation on his father.  

Two minutes later the father finished his private prayer, the son rushed to whisper in his ear, the father nodded, and the boy ran out excitedly.  A minute later he returned with a soda.  Mincha then finished and as the two were about to leave I initiated the following conversation.

“Is that your son?” I asked.  The two of them looked at me.
“Yes,” he said.
“I must tell you - what incredible self-restraint he has!  I watched what happened.  He wanted to speak to you but he saw you were praying and he held himself.  What strength!”
The father and the boy smiled.

How would I define that success?  I let my soul draw my body close in pursuit of good. 

To elaborate, here’s a brief look at the “parts” that make up a human being and how they interact:  a) guf/body, b) nefesh/life force, c) ruach/seat of choice, d) neshama/Divine soul, e) yetzer hara/death wish.  

The body is our physical aspect with its material pleasures.  The nefesh/life force is the seat of our emotional drives such as greed, ambition, excitement, jealousy, etc.  The Divine soul is a spark of God that resides within us and just wants eternal connection with its Source.  The death wish presents a worldview in which connection with God is impossible; our only succor is the pleasure of now, no matter its self destructiveness.   Where will the body and nefesh turn for guidance?

Ideally, the neshama, with the help of the ruach, serves as a loving parent to the body and nefesh.  It showers the body and nefesh with affection, invites them to join its pursuit of meaning, attends to their physical and emotional needs, while also tolerating their limits and comforting their pains and frustrations.  The body and nefesh are not capable on their own of seeing and wanting the lofty pleasures of healthy spirituality, but they definitely can enjoy connection with the soul and can be elevated over time.  If the affection and pleasure of that connection with soul is consistent, the body and nefesh will endure discomfort, resist the allure of the death wish, and over a lifetime become more merged with spirit.  In the absence of that connection, body and nefesh will become vulnerable, alone, and more prone to the destructive lures of the death wish, thereby marginalizing and even exiling the soul from our consciousness.  Which connection is formed will define the difference between self-love and self-loathing.
 
When the idea to speak to the father first bubbled up, I could sense the enticements of the death wish: “It’s a lovely idea, but who are you to make public statements – some world renowned expert? Maybe they’ll think you’re weird.  Maybe they’re in a hurry.  Maybe it will just be awkward.”  The death wish knows how to appeal to the body’s desire for physical comfort and the nefesh’s aversion to embarrassment.  

Then I heard an alternative voice: “A parent needs encouragement.  A kid needs encouragement.  Your Creator will have nachas – come with me!”  

​I have tremendous gratitude to filmmaker and educator Rabbi Yoel Gold for telling a story that emblazoned on my heart one of the keys of Elul, Ani l’dodi v’dodi li: I wil step toward God because I  know You are stepping toward me.
 
Here’s a recap of the short video (see it above) and my takeaway for Elul.
 
Chaim Ginz is a scribe in Bnei Brak who had lost a young daughter to illness.  After the Lag B’Omer tragedy of 2021, he was moved to visit the mourning families.  Perhaps, he thought, my experience of loss could strengthen others.
 
He visited the Zekbach family whose 24 year old Menachem died in Meron.  At the Shiva house, the family gave out Blessing After a Meal pamphlets because Menachem had from a young age been a tireless advocate for reciting those blessings carefully, from a written text, rather than by heart.  Chaim Ginz was moved.  For the elevation of Menachem’s soul, he accepted this upon himself.
 
About a month later, Chaim finished a writing project and was looking for additional work.  The writing  samples he brought to others were met with a lukewarm response:  “They’re nice but they don’t stand out.”  He felt discouraged.
 
Alone one day at a workspace for scribes, he finished his meal and was about to recite his blessings by heart when he remembered Menachem Zekbach, obm.  He looked around the workspace for a printed blessing.  He couldn’t find.  He looked again.  And again.  After 10 minutes of searching he finally found a peculiar pamphlet: it was an entire text of the Blessing After a Meal written in an exquisite version of the font that scribes write in.  He said his blessings from the pamphlet and thought: maybe this sample is the inspiration that will improve my work.
 
He spent three hours carefully writing in scribe style the text of the Blessing After a Meal, inspired by text he’d just used.  Five minutes after finishing, he got a call from a fellow scribe. 
 
“I was offered to write a Sefer Torah and I’m too busy.  Do you want the job?  If so, bring me a sample of your writing.”
 
Chaim brought the newly inspired parchment he’d just written to the address his friend gave him.  A half hour later he got another call.  “They love your work.  You’re hired.”
 
“Who’s commissioning this sefer Torah?” asked Chaim.
 
“A very special Jew in Brooklyn is dedicating a Torah to each of those lost at Meron.”
 
“Which family will I write for?” asked Chaim.
 
“You’re writing for the Zekbachs.”
 
Here’s the Elul message I feel emblazoned on my heart from this story.  Elul is the Jewish name of the month that precedes Rosh Hashana.  It’s a month of preparation before the awesome days of Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur. 
 
It’s also an acronym for a verse from Song of Songs in which the Jewish people say to God: “I am to my Beloved, and my Beloved is to me.”  This signifies the step a Jew takes to initiate a relationship with God, and the promise that God will show him His desire for relationship in turn.  God’s blessing is everywhere in our lives.  When we show our desire to connect, that blessing will become even more obvious.
 
At so many points, Chaim Ginz took a step toward God.
He initiated sharing his experience of loss with mourning families.
He accepted to bless from a written text as a merit to Menachem Zekbach, obm.
He stood firm in that commitment despite both inconvenience and his discouraged state of mind.
He acted on his inspiration to improve his writing – for three hours.
And then he was gifted from Above with the opportunity to further elevate the soul of Menachem Zekbach while simultaneously elevating his career.
 
We are regularly hearing the whispers of our heart to act.  Often those whispers are invites from God.  What better time than Elul to step toward the invitation?

I was speaking with someone recently who for many years kept Shabbat, kosher, and many other mitzvos.  At one point years ago he stopped.  As we were speaking, it occurred to me that she viewed himself as irreligious.  

“You know, you keep a lot of commandments,” I said.
He rolled his eyes.  
“Please,” he said.  “Like which?”
I thought for a moment.
“You believe in God.  You avoid gossip.  You avoid embarrassing others.  You make effort to honor your parents.”
“Ok, that’s true,” he admitted.
“And you don’t drink blood or eat creepy crawly bugs.”
“Duh!” he said.  “That doesn’t count.”
In more or less these words, I shared the following thought with him.

The Talmud asks, why does God command us not to eat things that people are anyway disgusted by, like blood or bugs?  It answers, God desires to make people successful so He adds on easy commandments, “spiritual layups” so to speak.  If we intend to avoid eating a bug because of God’s command, we are accomplishing something significant.  How much more so, says the Talmud, when we face actual challenges?
​
My friend was surprised to hear this and thanked me.

This is the way of parents who say to their babies, “Who’s a good boy?  Who’s a good girl?  You are!”  Parents intuitively look to impart to their kids that they’re good, they’re successful.  Children generally accept this input.  And as an outcome, they are inclined to seek more accomplishment.  

Where do they get that from?  From the ultimate Parent.  God is imparting that message to us: I am making accomplishment easy and I want you to know that I am doing so.  I want you to see yourself right now as tasting success and I want you to have even more.   

The message is not, “You’re done, you’re perfect.  You can ignore any mistakes you’ve made.”  It’s, “You’re accomplishing great things right now.  I have pleasure from you.  Keep going.”

Apparently, God designed it that accomplished people want to accomplish more.   As we look forward to the opportunity of Yom Kippur, we are obligated to remember: we are accomplishing, right now.

A young man who has seen progress with certain compulsive behaviors shared insight to his growth journey.  Listen to what he describes.
 
“Originally, I was so ashamed of having this behavior that I couldn’t even discuss it, and I suffered alone.”
 
We sometimes view our shortcomings, our reactivity, our limited consciousness as personal failures – and we suffer!  
 
“Then I came to realize I wanted help more than I wanted to avoid embarrassment, so I reached out for help.  Though it took courage to reach out, I now acknowledge that that ‘realizing’ was itself a gift.  I hadn’t seen that option before, and then I did.  That’s a big deal.  Thank you, Hashem!” 
 
It is easy to overlook the gifts of new moods or seeing new options. 
 
“I also don’t minimize the courage it took to reach out for help.  In that sense, I see my partnership with God – He gives me new understanding and I then act.”
 
Wow – we are partners with the Source of all wisdom, and our partnership matters.
 
“Even after I was seeking help and support, I still felt ashamed.  I thought, ‘When is this habit going to be over so I can move on with respectable living?’”
 
Having meaningful insights about a challenge doesn’t mean we’re done and “normal” now.
 
“Then I remembered what Hashem told Moshe at the burning bush, “Remove your shoes from upon your feet because the ground you are standing on is holy.”  The Chofetz Chaim says this means that a person shouldn’t think, ‘I’d love to make progress but I’m too much of a loser; if I only I was like Joe, I could make something of myself.’  No.  ‘The place you stand on is holy ground’ applies not just to Moshe but to everyone.  Whatever situation or level you find yourself in, it’s holy; it’s not only not something to be ashamed of, it’s exactly the place from which to accomplish your life’s work.”
 
Bang.  We do the work of our lives better when we’re not judging, resisting, or fleeing it.
 
“I am warming to the idea that this challenge is really where Hashem wants me.  I wouldn’t have opted for it, but I can embrace it.”
 
This is a central opportunity of Rosh Hashana.  The Source of all wisdom is leading and guiding.  You can be in your life, in your lack of consciousness, in your habits, in your fears.   Where ever you are, you are on safe and holy ground.  You can make Hashem your King here and now and be His partner.