"Shabbat Shalom from Bangkok"

As one gets older, I mean elderly to the point where they feel their days are numbered, they begin to think about leaving instructions for their loved ones.

They tend to be less cautious about giving criticism.

It actually is a very correct behavior. 

Moshe Rabeinu did this. 

As he was about to pass away, he gathered the Jewish people and spoke most of the book of Devarim – Deuteronomy. In the beginning of this week’s Parsha the tone of the speech includes a fair bit of constructive criticism.

At the end of the book of Bereshit the Torah relates how our ancestor Yaakov addressed his children before he passed away. The discussion was not only about the love and blessing he was transmitting to them. It also included some words of rebuke and reproach.

The Sages commented that there are various reasons for rebuking close to passing away. 

One of the most obvious reasons is the feeling that ‘if not now, when’?

Ironically, once the person has passed away, they can no longer speak. It is now his or her turn to be spoken about.

After a person passes away there are oftentimes speeches made in their memory. Eulogizing a departed person is very much about highlighting the special and praiseworthy attributes of the departed person. Not just because we want to honor their memory, but more importantly because we want to learn from them. We hope that the lessons they taught are inculcated by us and lead us to better behaviors. 

The things we talk about are meaningful. We don’t talk about how discerning a whiskey drinker they were, or how many Gucci handbags they owned. In highlighting the life of a person at a eulogy their kindness, commitment and piety is recalled. 

Talking about eulogies… I am reminded of a joke about eulogies.

A man once walked into the office of a rabbi who was quite well-known for delivering incredibly moving eulogies. Now, this man was, let’s say, exceptionally careful with his money. He wanted to plan ahead and save costs for his family, so he asked the rabbi, "Tell me, how much do you charge to speak at a funeral?"

The rabbi looked at him and explained that, like many things in the modern world, he had different options available. "We have the Platinum package. That is $10,000. Then we have the Gold package for $5,000, and our Standard package is $1,000."

The man, trying to calculate the value of every dollar, asked, "What do I get for the Platinum package?"

The rabbi replied, "Ah, for the Platinum package, I will pour my heart out. I will weep effusively, I will speak of your incredible deeds even if I need to stretch the reality a bit, and I guarantee you that by the time I am finished, there will not be a single dry eye in the entire synagogue."

"And for the Gold package?" the man asked.

"For the Gold," the rabbi said, "I will say very, very beautiful things about you. I will certainly shed tears myself, and a good portion of the congregation will be deeply moved to cry along with me."

The man thought about this. He thought about his wallet, and he wondered if he could push the limit even further. He looked at the rabbi and said, "Look, what if I only have $100 to spend? What do I get for $100?"

The rabbi smiled gently, looked him in the eye, and said, "Ah. For $100? For $100, I’ll just tell the truth."

Save your money.

The truth is the best.

Both in rebuke

And in eulogy.

Let’s learn from Moshe in this week’s parsha.

The following are the words that Moses spoke to all Israel on the east side of the Jordan River, regarding the sins they committed in the desert, in the plain, opposite the Sea of Reeds, in the Paran Desert, for having maligned the white manna, regarding the sins they committed at Chatzerot, and with their abundance of gold.

In each of these triggering mentions of places that they had sinned, there was also a subtly implanted defense and justification.

The one most obvious is reference to the ‘abundance of gold’.

This was a reference to the sin of the golden calf. It was really the worst of all sins, as it was an act of sheer idolatry a mere forty days after the greatest G-dly revelation of all times at Mount Sinai.

As bad as it was, Moshe was also presenting the context of why they fell into this horrendous mistake.

An abundance of gold. 

Moshe is hinting at the fact that drooling with gold and wealth is the backdrop that made them susceptible to sin.

It was not taking away their culpability for their bad choices. The Jewish people needed to ask G-d for forgiveness, and we are still wiping away the dirty smudges that obstinately seem to fade but not totally disappear.

Giving the context of having too much gold is taking away the sting and defiant betrayal that sinning conveys. Moshe is saying they were not intentionally rebellious, they simply fell into the trap of gold.

Rashi brings an example. If you put a young royal in a tempting situation with a purse full of gold coins around his neck, do you really expect him to withstand the advances and lures of the predatory sinners?

This is not a justification that whitewashes or allows the person to sin without conscience. If one is faced with forbidden temptation one needs to muster up every ounce of energy to fight and withstand it.

But Moshe was directing his reframing to the Almighty and offering a defense for the Jewish People. 

YOU, Almighty G-d, gave them the overabundance of gold. This created a great challenge. And alas your children have stumbled and feel regret. 

When you know the full truth, and all the circumstances, only then can you really know what the extent of the mistake was and what possibly caused the erring behavior. 

On the flip side. 

Overpraising someone when eulogizing them, especially embellishments that are not true, serve as no benefit to the soul. It is a great disservice.

Can you imagine the embarrassment one would feel if someone praised you for something you weren’t. Or gave you credit for something you didn’t do.

We need a balance as with everything in life.

When chastising or rebuking, (should be kept to a minimum and used sparingly) take the mitigating factors into account. Look at the whole picture, it may not be as negative as it seems.

And certainly, praise must be given. To those who are alive. And to those who have left us. 

To be proper, it must fit the reality not a wishful dream. 

I was thinking about this when hearing all the comments about the late Mrs. Myra – Esther bat Chaim Moshe – Borisute at her recent shloshim (30 day) memorial event.

Mrs. Myra was a remarkably powerful woman. Singlehandedly she raised six children in Bangkok when there was barely any organized Jewish life in the city and managed to get them all imbued with a true Jewish spirit which can be seen in her many observant grandchildren. Her enthusiasm for keeping kosher fueled her indefatigable cooking and baking sprees in her kosher kitchen which she shared with the community, for years being the de facto kosher bakery in town. Her determination and commitment to the mitzvah of family purity made her a fierce champion on behalf of the Mikvah that was built. Jewish afterlife care was so important to her that she worked tirelessly till we had a Jewish burial ground.

Listening to all the incredibly uplifting achievements made her sound so saintly.

Some of her family also painted her as a down-to-earth person with various challenges. Mentioning those challenges didn’t make her seem less noble. On the contrary, those handicaps could easily have torpedoed all of her remarkable achievements and notwithstanding that, she was a remarkable achiever in so many ways.

On a personal note, Mrs. Myra was one of those responsible for bringing Chabad to Thailand. Besides for her general financial support of the community there are some things that she gave us personally that really stood out. Her largesse and sensitivity got my wife a large American oven when it was almost unheard of in Bangkok. She gave me my first computer and printer as well as brought me into the world of mobile phones with a bulky Nokia when only the ‘bigshots’ carried personal phones (in her words ‘rabbi’s need to be reachable at all times..).

Mrs. Myra lives on through her children, grandchildren and a new great granddaughter born within a few days of her passing and named Esther for her. Her soul gets joy and nachas in the Jewish interactions and mitzvahs performed by the myriads of Jews who visit the chain of Chabad Houses and kosher infrastructure who owe thanks to her as one of Chabad’s earliest ‘investors’.

The truth is the truth. There is no need to shop around for a dressed-up eulogy. Once someone passes, they go to the world of truth. Only the truth ought to be told.

The following story will give you a way of thinking that you can copy paste to be used as a reframing tool when looking and judging others.

In a small Eastern European town, there lived a man named Berel. Berel was not a scholar, nor was he known for having refined manners. He was the town’s water-carrier, a physically grueling job that he did day in and day out. Over the years, the harsh winters and heavy yokes had taken a toll on him. He was known to have a very short fuse, a booming, gruff voice, and a sharp tongue that frequently flew off the handle when he felt slighted by the townspeople.

When Berel passed away, the town gathered for his funeral. The crowd stood in silence, wondering what the town Maggid (preacher) could possibly say about him. Everyone knew Berel's flaws; to paint him as a gentle, soft-spoken saint would be an obvious lie, an embarrassment to his soul in the Olam HaEmet—the World of Truth.

The Maggid walked up to the front, looked at the simple wooden casket, and began to speak the absolute truth:

"My friends, we all knew Berel. He was a man with a fiery temper. He yelled, he argued, and his words could be as biting as the winter frost. We cannot stand here and pretend he was a man of gentle speech."

A murmur went through the crowd. The Maggid was saying the plain, unvarnished truth. But then, the Maggid looked up toward heaven, his eyes filled with tears, and he shifted the perspective, providing the context:

"But Master of the Universe, let us look at why his shoulders were so tight and his temper so short. Every single morning, long before the sun rose, when the mud was thick or the ice was frozen solid, Berel was out there lifting heavy wooden buckets.

He didn't just carry water for those who could pay. He carried heavy buckets up the steepest hills to the homes of the poor, the sick, and the elderly widows of this town. He made sure they had water to drink and wash with before he took a single coin or a single sip for himself. His hands were covered in bleeding calluses, and his bones wrapped in constant pain.

You, Almighty God, gave him a life of crushing physical hardship. His gruffness was not out of rebellion or malice; it was the heavy sigh of a broken, exhausted body. Do not judge him by the sharp words he uttered when his feet slipped on the ice. Judge him by the freezing water he tirelessly carried for Your children with those very same calloused hands."

By the time the Maggid finished speaking, there wasn't a dry eye in the cemetery. He hadn't whitewashed Berel’s flaws; he had elevated them by revealing the reality of his struggle.

Hashem is True.

It is He who gives us our gifts. It is He who gives us our challenges. And it is He who truly knows what things are in our control and which are beyond.

As humans we need to be humble.

Even as successful, wildly successful, super-powerful and mighty as we may be, we can and ought to be humble. 

By one simple meditation.

‘Who gave me my success, my beauty, my money or my talent’?

The Almighty.

Did I live up to what I could have become?

Would someone else have done a better job utilizing my gifts?

Before you go to sleep take a moment to think about it.

And make the obvious resolution.

‘Let me try harder tomorrow’. 

As the code of Jewish Law says, ‘RISE LIKE A LION’ in the morning to do G-d’s will.

GOOD MORNING to you my fellow Lion. 

This morning you woke up. This means that G-d gave you back your soul. For a reason.

Go and make a difference in the world by studying Torah and doing Mitzvahs.

Lets bring Mashiach NOW, so that Tisha B’av (coming up this Wednesday sunset till Thursday evening) can be transformed from a fast day to a joyous feasting day.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yosef Kantor

Have you ever found that when you finally arrive at a destination, it doesn’t seem quite as exciting as you imagined?

The anticipation and imagination of what it would be like at that yearned-for endpoint is often much more enjoyable as a vicarious goal than the actual reality on the ground.

It starts when we are children. Summer vacation is something we look forward to all year, eagerly counting down the days until the end of school. Yet, once the holidays actually start, children quickly begin complaining and whining about being bored. At some stage of the long break, many kids secretly look forward to resuming school (albeit they won't admit it when asked).

Is it any different with adults?

How often does someone pursue a goal—whether it’s wealth, influence, or a specific status—believing it will bring them happiness and personal fulfillment, only to discover that the reality requires a level of responsibility, commitment, and consistency they didn't bargain for?

I have watched people rise to financial wealth and then start to feel insecure, overburdened, and self-conscious—almost regretting their newfound success. As an elusive goal, money seems to be a ticket to happiness. So does fame. If you are an "influencer" trying to gain subscribers and followers on social media, you imagine that when you hit your goal of reaching millions of fans, you will be the happiest person around.

Yet, it doesn’t seem to be that way. Too many famous people are downright miserable.

This week, I was counseling one of my young Jewish friends who recently lost a friend of his. His friend was a well-known influencer who achieved fame and money before the age of thirty, but died prematurely due to a freak accident. Because of my indirect connection, I picked up on some posts this celebrity influencer had made not long ago. They indicated clearly that being incredibly popular and sought-after had not made his life happier or easier; rather, it made his life more challenging and filled with anxiety.

He deeply questioned his success. Did people really follow him because of who he was, or merely because he was a good actor?

This really jolted me. This was a person who regularly posted about topics he considered beneficial to his viewers. He wasn’t questioning whether he had provided value; he was disturbed and unnerved by the fact that he was not being "true" to his inner self.

And I ask: So what?

Is the most important thing in life to be who I think I should be, or to do what the Creator created me for?

I am fully aware that today’s society considers one of the most compelling missions of life to be reaching self-actualization, filled with a sense of meaning and purpose that spells happiness. In and of itself, it is noble to try to fulfill your potential. And generally, these two tracks are meant to be one and the same. G-d gives you talents and abilities and puts you in scenarios that all point to the mission He chose for you.

In a more general sense, when a Jew keeps Torah and Mitzvahs, it is the surest expression of self-actualization. It is the only recipe to achieve true, authentic, and deep happiness. G-d created us and gave us the "manufacturer's guide" to self-fulfillment, which is oneness with G-d.

Yet for some people, once they develop their potential, they start to feel an unease. This can lead to "losing the plot." It may even feel spiritually compelling to step out of G-d’s plans and seek an alternative spiritual destination.

This week’s Torah Parsha spells it out. Let me explain what I mean.

This week’s parsha refers back to the mistake and sin of the spies. They rejected going into Israel. Why? They had waited 210 years through exile and torture in Egypt to finally come out and be led to the Promised Land—a land flowing with milk and honey. Why did they reject it?

Because they sent spies to scout the land and bring back a report. In a sense, they got a glimpse—almost like a virtual reality look—at what living in the anticipated destination of Israel would actually look and feel like. And they didn’t like what they saw one bit.

The desert was spiritual bliss. They were surrounded by clouds of glory and ate manna from heaven. Entering Israel, however, meant they would have to work the land and live a fulfilling but mundane life.

"Not for us," said the spies. Most of the people agreed with them, preferring to stay in the desert.

We all know how that turned out. Hashem and Moshe were far from happy (to put it mildly) about the choice the Jews were making to avoid Israel. Where did they go wrong? They didn’t realize that the truest and deepest connection to the Divine would come through getting their hands dirty by tilling and working the soil. Hashem desired that the mitzvahs be fulfilled in a physical way, which could only be realized by entering the physical Land of Israel.

I am reminded of a similar scenario that happened with the Rebbe. It was during the large Purim celebration in 1955. The Rebbe asked who would want to be blessed with the gift of wealth. Out of the many hundreds in attendance, only a few people raised their hands.

Why didn’t more raise their hands?

Because although wealth is usually viewed as "rosy" and desirable, the Rebbe had first spoken at length about the immense responsibility and challenge of being wealthy. This shifted the mindset of the crowd from viewing money naturally—as a key to an easier, happier life—to viewing it as a powerful, demanding mission that carries psychological and spiritual challenges.

The Rebbe had described this reality with such vivid color that, in a sense, he had taken them on a "virtual journey" into the demands wealth places upon a person. In response, the crowd maturely demurred, hesitant to take upon themselves this harder path.

But the Rebbe was disappointed. Because that hesitation missed the point of what life is all about: to do what Hashem wants of us. Hashem wants us to use the wherewithal of money to be His treasurers here on earth—to perform acts of kindness, charity, and goodness. Even if it’s a more challenging path.

Let me tell you a story:

A Chassid once came to the Alter Rebbe with a list of personal struggles and needs, asking for a blessing. The Alter Rebbe looked at him and said: "You are highly concerned with what you need from the Almighty. But you haven't asked: What does the Almighty need from you?"

This single sentence, with all of its depth, penetrated the Chassid’s mind and heart so deeply that he fainted on the spot. It speaks perfectly to the tension that can sometimes exist between personal desire and divine mission.

Like in the case of the spies who preferred the spiritual sanctuary of the desert, where manna fell from heaven and their material needs were miraculously met. They feared that entering the Land of Israel meant losing their spiritual focus to grueling, physical labor. However, the Almighty wanted them to go and live a physical life in Israel.

Chassidic thought teaches that their sin was a bit more subtle than it seems. It was the mistake of choosing their own version of spiritual fulfillment over what G-d actually expected of them—which, of course, would have led them to an even deeper spiritual fulfillment than they could have foreseen.

The Rebbe was disappointed when the Chassidim didn’t opt-in to the blessing of wealth for the exact same reason. The Rebbe reminded us that wealth is a mission-oriented gift, given specifically to expand and enhance what one can do for G-d by helping others, even though it comes with immense challenges.

The same applies to influencers, or to people gifted in any of the multiple ways G-d bestows His blessings.

When we achieve success and then face unanticipated hardships at our destination, conventional wisdom tells us to ask, "Is this making me feel fulfilled? Am I self-actualizing to my greatest capacity?"

Torah wisdom teaches us that the question should not be "What am I getting out of this?" but rather, "What am I needed for? How do I serve G-d through this specific reality?"

I have found this question to be present among many people these days. I find it especially pronounced as people proceed into the more advanced decades of their productive lives (kind of ‘midlife crisis?), once major goals have already been achieved. A person "knows" they should be happy, but somehow, that anticipated happiness isn't there.

What should we do?

Sometimes a big change is needed. 

But often life just needs reframing. 

Ask not what makes me happy; rather, ask, "What am I needed for? What does G-d want of me?"

How do you know which is true in your case?

This is precisely why the instruction in Pirkei Avot, "Aseh lecha rav" ("Make for yourself a rabbi/mentor"), is indispensable. A mentor who holds the values of Torah-based morality provides an objective mirror. They help you look past the external illusions of success or the heavy fatigue of responsibility, guiding you back to your ultimate purpose. A mentor can help you look at yourself objectively so that you don’t run away from the responsibilities and gifts that G-d has entrusted to you.

If you are feeling a little disenchanted with what you are doing in life, before making a drastic U-turn, try this piece of Torah wisdom: Do a spiritual "checkup." Take counsel with a wise person who can guide you.

May we all be blessed with the ability to know and commit to G-d’s Divine plan for each and every one of us. This will reach its blissful peak with the coming of Mashiach, NOW.

AMEN.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yosef Kantor