Parshat Naso: One Among Many

This post was originally published on http://thoughts4mysoul.wordpress.com/

The longest parsha (Torah portion) in the entire Torah, Naso, is the second reading in the Book of Bamidbar (Numbers). It begins with a natural continuation from the previous week’s census by sorting out the jobs of the levi’im. Then, however, the parsha presents a series of topics that appear, at first glance, to be quite disparate: levites; remunerations, tzarat and confession; suspicion of adultery/punishment of adulterers; the nazir (one who take so on the nazarite vow of refraining from haircuts, alcohol and contact with dead bodies; the priestly blessing; and the princely gifts

While gifts brought by the prince of each tribe closes the parsha, it also doubles the parsha’s length, taking three aliyot to be completed. It is also the most repetitive section of the Torah, as all 12 princes brought the same offerings and gifts. And while there are many different lessons that people have explained for this repetition, I would like to explore the entire parsha as a whole–and why these particular laws are grouped together.

The twelve princes honoured G-d in the best possible way – with unity. The well loved song says it best: Hinei mah tov u’mah’nai’yim, shevet acheem gam yachad. (How good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity – Psalms 133:1). But how do we get to unity?

The parsha begins with the levi’im who prepared the Mishkan (Tablernacle), demonstrating the need for people to work together, but each with his specific jobs. Another allusion to unity. Each group of levi’im had their own special tasks – and each was an essential part of the service.

The next portion of the parsha, however, introduces the rules for those affected by ritual impurity. While some may not enter the Mishkan or its environs, others are banished from the camp altogether. Those plagued with tzarat, which is commonly mistranslated as leprosy, suffered with this strange skin disease because of a spiritual degeneration. In most cases, tzarat was a result of lashon harah, the wicked tongue, an allusion to gossip. Those banished from the camp because of tzarat would, it was hoped, repent of their anti-social behaviour through a desire to return from banishment.

Reparations for thievery, another anti-social behaviour, is the topic of the next section of the parsha. A thief must return what he stole or the value of what he stole PLUS that value again. Additionally, a thief must confess his wrong doing. In fact, every transgression must be verbally confessed, to the victim and to G-d because every transgression weakens society.

Society is made up of individuals, but it is built in the home. Children learn morals at home. More importantly, children learn to feel secure, to trust others, at home. The Torah therefore next defines what should be done when the trust in a household is destroyed by the suspicion of adultery or adultery itself.

It is not just crime and moral misconduct that undermines a society. The Torah follows the question of the adulterer with instruction, praise and a subtle reprimand for the nazir. A nazir is one who takes a special vow to abstain from alcohol, hair cuts and contact with the dead. While the goal of the nazir, to make himself more holy, is praised, the conditions that separate him from society incur, according to some opinions, the need for a sin offering.

Without pause, the parsha transitions to the blessing of the priests over the people. Today, these words are included in the prayer service, the morning blessings and the blessing of the children on Shabbat – in addition to its recitation by the kohanim:

Y’va’reh’ch’cha Hashem v’yish’m’recha.
Ya’ayr Hashem panav ay’leh’cha vee’chu’neh’ka.
Yee’sah Hashem panav ay’leh’cha, v’yah’saym l’cha shalom.

May G-d bless you and watch over you.
May G-d shine His face toward you and show you favour.
May G-d be favourably disposed to you and grant you peace.

The nazir adds stringencies upon himself to come closer to G-d; the priestly blessing, however, offers insight into how to do that without the stringencies. In a relationship, a person is favourably disposed to another when the first person feels comfortable and accepted by the other. When the Jewish people turn toward G-d, G-d turns His face towards us – collectively and individually.

The Jewish people is a nation made up of individuals. Each has his own job. Some will fall, damaging the bonds of community. Others will set themselves apart in the desire to be better. In the end, for both the transgressors and the ascetics, nothing is as effective as turning your face toward G-d.

The power of the individual as part of the nation was not, at first, something that the princes of the tribes understood. When Moses first asked the people to bring gifts from the heart for the building of the Mishkan, the princes held back, saying among themselves that they would wait and see what was still needed. They assumed their individual abilities to give were of greater use than the giving of the community. After all of the people gave the donations to Moses, however, there was nothing left for the princes to donate. At the inauguration of the Mishkan, they did not make the same mistake. By each bringing the same gift at that time, they expressed the beauty of being an individual and a member of a larger whole.

Tongues, Lungs and Eyes

This post was originally published on http://thoughts4mysoul.wordpress.com/

This morning a friend of mine asked me why my kids always seemed to be sick. And she wasn’t the first person to ask me or point this out. My kids catch things a lot, it’s true. Why–don’t know.

This has been a particularly challenging week. My eldest two, and my husband, were stricken by a weird virus that causes their tongues to hurt and small blisters to appear (and conveniently disappear when the doctor is mentioned so that there is no sign of anything wrong). Actually, this weird tongue virus has been in our house for over two weeks, but this week the three of them had it for sure. The three year old similarly complained but I was never sure with her.

We asked a doctor on Monday, on Wednesday, on Thursday and on Friday (all different doctors in different situations0 and they all shrugged their shoulders and said it was just a virus. (Thanks, really helpful when my kids are whining at me!)

The three year old, as I mentioned, also complained about her tongue but more concerning was that she started a fever Sunday night that lasted the entire week. Although she was seen by a doctor Monday (it’s just a virus), I took her to the pediatrician this morning (Friday) because I didn’t like the fact that the fever kept coming back as soon as the tylenol wore off.  Congratulations…she has Pneumonia (we even got x-ray confirmation).

After spending the morning at the pediatrician and the radiologist for x-rays, I managed to be home for all of an hour and a half before picking my eldest up from school and taking the top three to the eye doctor. Now my eldest kept telling us he needed classes…and both my husband and I thought it was all in his head. We were wrong…he is myopic (fancy word for nearsighted, I think). So Sunday we will be going glasses shopping.

If you are wondering how this all relates to thoughts on the soul, let me tell you. We have poor eyes, pneumonia and a mystery virus that will not die.  And I say — Hodu la’hem kee tov! Thanks to God, for He is good!  Every time I want to complain I just think…it’s only this. Baruch Hashem, these little childhood illnesses are nothing.  We all had them and we survived.

The news, even just the neighbourhood news, is so filled with tragic events and terrible illnesses that it makes one stop and say “Thank You God for the sneezes, and the coughs and, yes, even diarrhea.”

I had more thoughts on this, but I have to finish preparing for Shabbat.  However, all the things that happened today, this week, were such a beautiful reminder to me of how much we can learn when we look at things from a more global, more spiritual perspective.

Scheduling Conflicts

This post was originally published on http://thoughts4mysoul.wordpress.com/
Balancing the world of Torah and the world of work can, for many people, be a delicate dance.  Today I’ve gained a renewed perspective on how grateful I must be to work for a Jewish organization and not participate in the dance.  Unfortunately, this understanding, sadly, came at the expense of watching another struggle.

A close friend of mine realized only today that an important two day meeting conflicted with Shavuot. It was an avoidable predicament that left this friend in lurch on how to communicate with the boss.  The conversation had to take place sooner or later, but the boss was hard to reach until late in the evening. The whole day was spent with an anxious sense of doom…

It wasn’t my predicament, but I too worried about the outcome. Would this be a chillul Hashem (desecration of the name, or basically when Jews do something that leaves a bad impression)? Would the Torah be blamed for this, or simply the lack of forethought?

I finally spoke to my friend tonight and, thank God, everything worked out. The boss is put off, but it looks like it will not be considered a permanent strike.

This morning I davened for my friend. I asked God to just make it all go smoothly, to let the boss be in a good mood and that God should not “harden his heart.” Of course I was concerned for my friend and my friend’s future, but the chance of these actions creating a negative view of Jewish life was also on my mind.

While I grew up surrounded, for the most part, by Jews, and I have spent a large portion of my adult life immersed in the Jewish world both socially and professionally, there is a large part of my family that is either not religious or not Jewish. These people do not necessarily comprehend the perspective of my community on absolute truth and absolute laws. I can’t drive on Saturday ever – period, end of story. (When I was overdue with my son, the nurse said that the hospital might call me to induce me on Saturday. When I told her I couldn’t answer my phone that day, she asked why I couldn’t make just one exception.)

Upholding the Torah way of life in a world that does not understand is always challenging. Jewish law often sets Jews apart from the cultures in which they life…and while this may be, practically, to limit social interaction, it is also a constant reminder to our own selves that the world does watch us, does note how we are, does take our solo actions as the actions of the whole.

Elul Group, 2009

This Dvar Torah was written as part of a group that says Tehillim/Psalms together during the month of Elul (through Yom Kippur).

First off, I would like to say how proud and honored I am to be part of this outstanding group of women. Not only are the Divrei Torah inspirational, but it means so much to me to be able to be able to maintain my connection to so many Passaicers and former Passaicers this way.

Second of all, I would like to ask mechila from the entire group. I tried to say Tehillim everyday, but I must be honest that there were many times that I missed. (Ruthie very wisely placed me on the same day with another woman for Tehillim.)

Warning, the following is long. Actually, the following are two separate items that I wrote sitting here tonight. The second one is a little more personal, perhaps less inspirational to others, but I decided to attach it as an optional read in case it adds meaning to anyone elses’ life.

#1
Another year has come and gone. As with all years, we have had months of choices made, opportunities taken and opportunities missed. No one goes through a year without regrets...but it is what we do with our regrets that truly energizes the time of year known as the Yomim No’araim, the Days of Awe.

As we rest on the edge of another Yom Kippur, I look back and see the past with an all too honest eye. Where have I gotten to?

I remember my first Yom Kippur in an Orthodox shul. I was at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, 20 years old on my Junior year abroad. I had recently found my niche with a group of other students who were searching and moving and slowly becoming frum. Since I did not live on a "religious floor," I chose to stay with a friend in her dorm room. I don’t remember much of the details, but I remember we set an alarm and rose early enough to be in shul at the very beginning–and stayed there the entire day, without tiring. It was....wonderful. I felt so geshmacht. I had connected to something wonderful and powerful.

That was 15 years ago. Since then I became fully frum, graduated college and grad school, spent a year in seminary, lost my father (obm), dated, gotten married, had three children and am currently gestating #4. I’ve lived in Maryland, Jerusalem, Brooklyn, Passaic, Portland (Oregon) and now Montreal...and no experience has equaled the spiritual elation I felt that first Yom Kippur.

The first year that I had a child, I fought against the idea of not going to shul on Yom Kippur. How could I connect without the spiritual umph of the davening in shul? That year, at least, he let me daven. The next year, then a toddler, my son walked over and closed my machzor so I would stop and play with him.

My son is now 5, so its been a while since I’ve been to shul on Yom Kippur, and it’s something that I have come to terms with. I am not going into the Yom Tov expecting to daven, because then I would be angry with myself and, chas v’shalom, with my kids, if I didn’t get to. If I do get the opportunity, I will see it as a gift.

What I am taking with me into Yom Kippur this year is more humility. In the midst of a difficult time this year, someone handed me a book of stories to read. They were the usual inspirational, wow that really happened to someone (and why doesn’t any clear message like that happen to me) type of stories. But one of them hit home the message that sometimes we need to daven to Hashem to help us to daven. Sometimes, far more times than most people are willing to admit, we need to throw up our troubles and tell God that we are leaving it up to Him, really and truly. I did that, and I did it about a complex issue of bitachon and emunah, and truly did feel a sense of peace as I have not before experienced.

Writing this brought to mind a line from Avinue Malkeinu that my son has been singing over and over (although my husband and I didn’t realize this was what he was singing because his rebbe is chasidish and he was singing Uvaynee Malkaynee instead of Avinu Malkeinu!) Avinu Malkeinu patach Shaa’rei shamayim l’tifilateinue: Our Father, Our King, open the gates of heaven to our prayers.

Not just the gates of prayers or the gates of tears, but the wider gates of heaven themselves. Let me just get my foot in the door to begin the process of teshuva, let my prayers enter even the first courtyard of the heavenly court!

When we come into the Yamim No’arayim, we need to come in humble and yet prepared to ask for the grandest of gifts-teshuva itself. (The ability to do teshuva, the willingness of Hashem to accept our atonement, is immense!)

Wishing each and everyone of you a successful, meaningful and inspirational Yom Kippur.

#2
From the very beginning, I wanted to talk about Psalm 27 for my Dvar Torah. This is the one we add to davening twice a day from the beginning of Elul through Hoshana Rabba.

Before I get to Psalm 27, however, a diversion. Today I did something I haven’t had the time or energy to do of late, I went to the local women’s Shabbas shiur (with Rebbetzin Wenger for anyone familiar with the Montreal community). During the shiur, Rebbitzen Wenger discussed the following passage from I Melachim 19 (11-13):

...And, behold, Hashem passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and broke in pieces the rocks before Hashem; but Hashem was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake; but Hashem was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire; but Hashem was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entrance of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said: ‘Why are you here, Elijah?’"

Rebbitzen Wenger pointed out that our chance to connect with the "still small voice" is during Vidui on Yom Kippur. Even among a crowd of worshipers (or a whirlwind of children), Vidui is a time for us to be alone with Hashem and to really talk to Him about the teshuva that we need to do.

It is in the time of this conversation that, in my head and heart, I would wish to scream out: Achat sha’alti ma’et Hashem, otah avakesh shivti b’vait Hashem kol yimei chayah lchazot b’noam Hashem u’lvaker b’haychalo (One thing have I asked of Hashem, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of Hashem all the days of my life, to behold the graciousness of Hashem, and to visit early in His temple. - Psalm 27:4).

And yet, somehow I never do. Why? This is my truest prayer...what does it mean, to me, to dwell in the house of Hashem, to behold the graciousness of Hashem? To me it means the comfort and security in a relationship–you know, that sense of ease when one is able to come into the house as if part of the family. And God is our ultimate Father, so it should be natural and easy to create that relationship. But for me, it is not.

Today I had a glimpse into one of the reasons that it is not. It all has to do with that "still small voice."

For many, many years, in different situations, people have been telling me not to "think so much." (For those of you who remember what I was like while dating David!!!) My response was always: "If I knew where the off-button was, I would!" You see, what I have learned in my lifetime thus far is that I am uncomfortable with silence, with being alone or even with finding inner-peace. (As David once said after I got a clean bill of health on something I was worried about–ok, now to find the next thing for you to worry about!) I do not believe that I am the only one who suffers from this unconscious fear, but I am aware of how it effects me.
Without silence within, how can I hear the still small voice? If I am busy looking for Hashem in the wind and the earthquake and the fire, I am blinded to all the nissim that are actually occurring silently within my life. In a busy life, it is hard to "stop and smell the roses," but if you don’t "stop to smell the roses" you won’t notice all the wonders of the world.

Tonight is erev Yom Kippur. I won’t be at shul this Yom Tov, and I can’t even guarantee that I will be able to say more than basic Shacharit. I will be looking after my wind, earthquake and fire (Avi, Shevi and Leah...all miracles of their own). But, please God, this year I will try to follow my heart’s lead and let Hashem know that I want to reach a place to hear that "still small voice," but I need His help to get there.

May each of you have a meaningful, inspiring Yom Kippur, and may we all soon gather to dwell in the house of Hashem and to visit His Temple.
 

Search Me!

When I was a small child, I was delighted when my school gave each of us a paper bag containing a feather, a candle and a wooden spoon. With these implements, we were armed to go home and help our parents search for chametz - only my parents didn’t. Along with the majority of children who attended the Jewish day school in our small community, I did not come from a home that actively practiced Jewish observance. We had no Shabbat dinners, we had no hesitations about ordering ‘pork lo mein’ at the local Chinese restaurant, and we certainly didn’t clean every nook and cranny of our house in preparation for Pesach.

Obviously, we were proud to be Jewish--after all, my parents had chosen to send their two children to the local Jewish day school. My mother was even a member of our synagogue a capella choir that sang at Friday night services. We were somewhat observant of the “major” Jewish holidays such as Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Chanukah and Pesach. We were aware of Sukkot and Purim and Shavuot, but not much more.

In my house, the idea of “turning over the kitchen” (as many say euphemistically to describe making the house kosher for Passover) was nonexistent. Looking back, I recall putting all of what we thought might be chametz into one cabinet and taping it closed, but we certainly didn’t search out bread crumbs and cookie pieces under the couch. So each year, my little paper bag with its white candle, wooden spoon and soft feather was put on the table and, eventually, thrown out unused.

It was in college that I became more observant, and, for several years after, I was a bit of a transient. I lived with family or friends, so I didn’t actually own a place to clean. More importantly, I always made plans for the entire week of the holiday so that I would not have to return to my abode, and therefore could simply sell my chametzy space.

Learning to clean for Pesach was something of a rite of passage --but one I was gently eased into. The first apartment that I was required to clean was one I shared with two other women. In the four years or so that we shared that apartment we developed a ritual of sorts. Each of us was responsible for her own room, but one Sunday close to Pesach was designated as group-cleaning-day during which we would divide up the kitchen. Our camaraderie made the work fun, and, at the end of the day, we rewarded ourselves with dinner at a local burger joint.

Now that I am the mother of three small children, I don’t expect the Pesach cleaning to be the work of camaraderie. My husband and I will most likely have to divide and conquer. His job will be to remove the children from the house. (Did I mention that my toddler has a fondness for sliced bread and could give Hansel and Gretel a run for their money on bread crumb trails?)

Let me take a moment to explain that I believe that some people are born with a predisposition to cleaning. They actually enjoy finding and destroying dirt. And I hope and pray to G-d that some of my children will soon feel this way, so I can off-load some cleaning on them!

I have never liked to clean, and at this point in my life I don’t expect that to change. But there is something different about Pesach cleaning. I feel a tremor in my heart when people start talking about Pesach cleaning, and surprisingly, it isn’t a tremor of fear!

The Jewish calendar is full of opportunities for one to start over. Rosh Hashana, the New Year, is a time of repentance. Purim is compared by the sages to Yom Kippur, as an opportunity for atonement, etc. Of course at those times I try to do Teshuva (repentance) and to inspire myself to be a better person in all ways. But, like cleaning, metaphysical soul-searching has never been one of my strengths--I am, without a doubt, a down-to-earth, pragmatic type of person who wants to do something.

Pesach cleaning gives me something to do to prepare. It gives me an activity through which to channel my spiritually focused mental energy.

The Passover cleaning is analogous to giving one’s self a thorough check-up. We check in every drawer, move the dresser to seek out crumbs, thumb through the well-used books and even rifle through coat pockets, just in case there are any tucked away bits of pretzels, cookies or even bread. And as we do these seemingly humdrum activities, we can think about how we have acted during the year, the tzedakah (charity) we did or did not give, the mitzvot that we might have overlooked. And, we look for these things not with the intention of beating ourselves up, but in order to make ourselves better.

Sounds good, doesn’t it? Sounds like I’m a real saint! Hardly. While I do look forward to this process of spiritual improvement, I still dislike the physical act of cleaning. Therefore, I have decided to take proactive steps that can help me on my cleaning mission.

1) To overcome laziness! Laziness, atzlanut, is so tempting at this time of year. It is so easy to just assume that no Cheerios could possibly have been overlooked in the living room...but then I recall the story I heard of a family discovering a child’s secret Cheerios stash when they turned on the air conditioner and the Cheerios came flying out!

2) To focus on Teshuva (repentance) and doing more to build my relationship with G-d. The Haggadah instructs us to have in mind that we too were redeemed from Egypt. At the time of their redemption, the Midrash explains, the spiritual level of the Children of Israel was less than stellar, but they cried out to G-d and He heard their cry. I too need to learn to cry out as they did, so that in the harried hustle and bustle I will remember who really runs the world.

3) To fight against my tendency toward anger. Anger is a symptom of arrogance, of thinking one is absolutely right without giving anyone else a chance to be judged favorably for their actions. In fact, Maimonides equates anger with idol worship because a person assumes that they know what should have been, even better than G-d does. At this time of year, with so much pressure to get everything done, it is hard to remain calm--especially when I find a three year old child sitting in a room that was just cleaned, innocently eating pretzels from a bag held slightly askew.

This year my children will bring home their own paper bags with a wooden spoon, a candle, and a feather. And perhaps I will look at that wooden spoon and think with joy of all the pleasure that others will savor from the delicious foods I will cook. And perhaps that candle will remind me that my own Pintele Yid (Jewish spark within) needs to be allowed to shine. And perhaps I will use that feather to tickle my children so that their laughter echoes through the house instead of the stern sounds of rebuke. This year, that bag will not go unused.

(Oh yes, the paper bag will be for me to use when hyperventilating when I think about the work I have yet to do!)

Grade 7 Moms

Dear Grade 7 mothers, 


A big thank you to all who were able to attend our meeting, as well as to those who couldn’t make it but expressed their interest before and after. It was proof once again that we all truly share the common goal of helping our daughters navigate this technological age in a healthy and Torah true way. 


Here is a summary of the comments and suggestions from the meeting and those who sent in their views. If anyone would like to add comments and/or suggestions before an official draft of an agreement is written and sent out, please feel free to reply to this email address before Thursday, February 28. Please note that our goal is to work toward a common consensus among the whole grade and every opinion is welcome and wanted. (The notes below reflect the opinions only of those mothers in attendance at the meeting this past Tuesday.)

1. There was a general consensus that we felt that it was a priority to respect each of the families’ differences and that the best way to do so is by hearing permission from the girl’s parents before allowing them access to any device in your home. (Use of any device requires the permission of both the parents of the home and of the guest.)

2. There was a general agreement that there is no reason for an internet capable device to be turned on in school, whether during school hours or during an extra-curricular activity. To this end, it was felt that it would be beneficial to suggest to the school that they could provide better access for the girls to a telephone in order to call home after hours.

3. It was agreed by all present that there was no need for there to be any form of social media chats among classmates, with a separate discussion on whether this included one on one or only group chats. Beyond the other dangers of online chat groups, those girls who are not connected will end up left out, which is not the sense of achdus and ahavas Yisrael that we hope to generate among our girls.


4. Along with parental oversight, there was a discussion of the importance of filters and parental controls on all home and personal devices. Mothers were reminded by those with more technical knowledge that the password on a router can and must be changed from the one that is printed on the router itself, that other children (and our own) can bring in devices that can be connected to your wifi if it does not have a secure password, and that all devices should have at minimum a password for access.


5. A separate, tangential discussion was offered concerning music and permitting non-Jewish(/secular) music at school. This again is an issue of respecting the boundaries of other families rather than prohibiting this type of music.


6. A general conversation was held about helping to teach our girls about respecting themselves and respecting others and about not judging or pressuring others who do or do not use technology.


7. It was agreed that no seventh grade student should have a personal social media account on any platform. 


This meeting was part of a larger initiative known as M.U.S.T., Mothers United to Stall Technology. While recognizing and accepting that many of our children already have some access to internet enabled electronics, the goal of this program is to slow down exposure and provide a responsible environment for the entire class.


If you have any comments or suggestions, please reply to this email no later than Thursday, February 28. The above, along with the comments received, will be used to create a class protocol that will be distributed to all lass parents. It will be requested that parents sign and return the protocols, so each families’ independent voice and opinion is very important. The protocols will be set for this school year and open for revision in Grade Eight.


Sincerely, Sarah Rochel Hewitt


P.S. Mrs. Cipi Schechter asked me to include a note that she will be giving a technology tutorial presentation on Tuesday, February 26, at 12:30 at the home of Sarala Schondorf.

You've Got To Give A Little

When I was five or six years old, my parents gave me a scarf for the eighth night of Chanukah. I can picture all of the candles alight on the kitchen table as my dad and brother went to the basement to shoot a game of pool and my mom followed shortly thereafter. Left alone in the kitchen, I sulked over the lousy final present. After all, shouldn’t the last night of Chanukah be the night reserved for the best present? I can honestly say, I don’t know exactly what I was thinking, but I do know that when my mom came upstairs a few minutes later she found me holding the box over the flames. Thank G-d, no damage was done to anything but the box (not even to the ugly scarf).

In our family, Chanukah was definitely about the presents. Blessed with generous parents, my brother and I received something on all eight nights. We waited anxiously for my father to return home from work so we could quickly eat dinner and begin our “Hot and Cold” search.

In hindsight, perhaps the best part of the Chanukah gift giving custom was the many lessons I learned from it.

Anticipation is often the best part of exchanging gifts -- something I discovered the hard way when I was probably around 10 years old. A few weeks before Chanukah, I stumbled across the place in the basement where my mother would stash the gifts. I knew what I had asked for and was delighted to see a wrapped box of just about the right size. Lo and behold, just my luck, a corner of the wrapping had come loose. Now what would you do? Of course I peeked. It was the Barbie Dream Van for which I had so fervently hoped. I was so happy, but I had no one with whom to share my excitement because no one could know that I knew. I certainly had great expectations of playing with it, but when I brought the large box to the table from its hiding spot that Chanukah, I felt something missing inside. There was no curiosity, no anticipation, no need to shake it to try and guess what was inside. I had spent my excitement before I even had the gift, and I am certain that my parents were well aware of my dampened level of excitement. I can honestly say that never again did I wish to peek at the presents ahead of time.

As we grew older, the family rules of Chanukah changed. Once we were in college, the “rule” became two presents for each person. And when my brother married, his wife was incorporated into the two-gift custom. Alas, I wish I could say that I was not, deep down, still that spoiled little girl who tried to burn her scarf. Truth be told, however, I was resentful of the fact that I now had to give gifts to four people, but was not receiving back as many as I gave. Married couples, of course, were allowed to give as one unit. So while I was buying two each for mom, dad, brother and sister-in-law, I was only receiving four, two from mom and dad and two from my brother and sister-in-law. (Now you do the math and tell me how that was fair!) Every year it was a struggle not to announce how cheated I felt on this deal.

By the time I graduated college, I had become more observant and had spent a year in Israel immersed in Jewish studies. Through my studies, I gained a new appreciation for the holiday of Chanukah. The word Chanukah shares the same root as the Hebrew word chinuch, education. The main mitzvah of Chanukah is to publicize the miracle. This is accomplished by lighting a menorah in a public area where others will see it. While I was not yet ready to forego exchanging gifts (Hey, I was a poor graduate student at the time!), I needed to incorporate my new understanding of Chanukah into the gift exchange. I therefore started my own personal custom of buying each person one book of Jewish content. Not only did giving Jewish books tie in to the real “theme” of Chanukah, but I also found myself excited at the prospect of choosing these presents.

It was only with the birth of my first niece that I can truly say that my inner gift giving spirit fully changed. There is nothing comparable to having a small child to spoil, especially when the toys then stay at someone else’s house. This change, however, was all encompassing. I began to thoroughly enjoy finding and giving gifts...and I worked at it. I tried to think about what each person would really want, not just what was cute or easy to find. On a highly limited budget, this was no easy task!

Judaism teaches us that if we wish to truly love someone, we must learn to give to them. This doesn’t mean that we should just bring them a cake or a bouquet of flowers, or do some random act of giving. In order to truly give to a person, you must really look at them and see what their needs and wants are. You need to try to understand them, an action that really connects you to them. Of course I already loved my family, but now I really feel in sync with them when I give them something I think they want.

Now I too am married and have my own children. My oldest child is 2 1/2 and quite old enough to be aware of receiving gifts. My husband and I are at a point in our lives where we must choose to establish our own family customs. Certainly we will continue the extended family gift exchange (which has now been modified to giving gifts just to the children). But what will we do in our own home? A gift each night? Probably not. But to take away all giving seems to me to be sacrificing a crucial element of childhood.

During my lifetime of Chanukahs, I have experienced a journey from selfish receiver to joyful giver. Indeed, now, I am often more excited to watch everyone else open their gifts than to open the gifts that I receive. And, because of that, I can now honestly apologize to my parents for ruining the surprise of my Barbie Dream Van.