Why did I say that?

Sometimes you wonder and never find out. But sometimes you do.

I was recently speaking at an event out of town (that means out of Chicago) about making the Pesach Seder as real as you can to the children and all those assembled at the hallowed Seder table. One tool in the arsenal — especially if your charges need the extra chizuk and reinforcement — can be to relate how even the nations of the world wrote about the events that we believe in with emunah shleimah. To that end I mentioned the discovery of a papyrus attributed to an Egyptian named Ipuwer that was discovered in the early nineteenth century and was taken to the Leiden Museum in Holland. A scholar by the name of Gardiner interpreted it and revealed that the papyrus described the ten makkos in uncanny similarity to the narrative in the Torah (courtesy of Ohr Somayach).

To be sure there was no reason to mention the insignificant details as to whether this artifact was deciphered in Holland or Timbuktu. But after the presentation the organizer of the event informed me that one woman in attendance was particularly moved my speech which was significant because she was making strides in her personal pursuit of Toras Emes. “What did it?” I wondered.

“You mentioned Holland. She comes from Holland and it piqued her interest in a way that nothing else could.”

Sometimes you find out. Was I lucky?

A number of years ago I had to be maspid a very special individual who had passed away very suddenly leaving an inconsolable family in shock and grief. I am usually particular to speak about a niftar in terms and praises that are appropriate all the way down to the alav hashalom or zecher tzaddik livrachah. In the passion of the moment however I surprised myself when I heard my lips express the feelings of my heart and refer to the niftar as zecher tzaddik livrachah. While the people who knew and loved him would not have found this expression inappropriate I normally refrain from liberal use of this appellation without serious deliberation. During the shivah one of the aveilos told me that the only source of comfort she felt throughout the entire ordeal was hearing her father referred to as a tzaddik. Sometimes you find out. Was I lucky?

The pasuk in Mishlei uttered by the shliach tzibbur in the Musaf of Rosh HaShanah reads: L’adam ma’archei lev u’meiHashem maaneh lashon (to man belongs the arrangements of the heart but the expression of the tongue comes from Hashem). The Vilna Gaon explains that when a person needs to speak in front of a king all he can hope to do is prepare the thoughts of his heart and direct them to Hashem; what actually comes out of his mouth is out of his control subject to the will of Hashem.

In our capacities as teachers parents rabbanim or anything else that requires effective communication we are faced with moments where one word can make all of the difference. We need tremendous siyata d’Shmaya to find just the right thing to say or in following the approach of the Vilan Gaon to properly prepare our hearts. Rabbeinu Yonah takes it one step further stating that one cannot trust that his intelligence will enable him to say the right thing; he must believe implicitly in Hashem’s orchestration of his words.

As Pesach creeps up on us we would be prudent to pay very close attention to the messages of the not-so-distant parshiyos hashavua and strategize how to present them. The entire Haggadah response is built upon v’higadeta l’vincho … asah Hashem li.” We tell our children that Hashem did all this to me for me; all the mitzvos are good for me. I love them and you can love them too. It is at the Seder more than at any other time that fundamentals of emunah are transmitted from one generation to the next. Will we say it correctly will our words be properly measured? One word can make the difference one word can make the impression. How can we merit the siyata d’Shmaya to convey the message to our children?

Someone had planned to stop in the city of Radin to see the Chofetz Chaim on his way to a neighboring town. By the time he reached Radin it was late at night however and he found a local hotel at which to spend the night. The next morning he set out to see the great tzaddik and on entering the Chofetz Chaim’s house he found the Chofetz Chaim expounding on the importance of tefillos — even simple ones — and their value in Hashem’s eyes. He spoke strongly about how we must be careful never to miss a single tefillah even by accident. Suddenly the visitor reminded himself that he had missed Maariv the night before in his haste and confusion.

Ruach hakodesh no doubt!

Years later the visitor’s acquaintance shared this story with Rav Shach ztz”l and asked him if this was indeed a manifestation of ruach hakodesh. The Rosh Yeshivah replied “The Chofetz Chaim undoubtedly had ruach hakodesh but this episode does not bear that out. Hashem gives gedolei hador a special talent to say exactly what others need to hear.” (Sefer Toras Chaim on Pirkei Avos cites from Sefer Chassidim that one who speaks only truth and doesn’t want to even think falsehoods merits that even unintentional words that come out of his mouth will be filled with purpose.”)

Why do gedolei hador have that “talent”? The answer was apparent on Rav Shach himself during the hours before he would deliver a shmuess (mussar discourse) in yeshivah. Everyone in Ponovezh knew that the Rosh Yeshivah was absolutely unapproachable that entire day. His whole being was thoroughly engrossed in maarchei lev. It wasn’t the oratory or even the sharpness of the Torah he spoke. It was the lev expressing its maarochos to be shared with the multitudes who longed to hear it.

In the same vein Rav Leib Bakst ztz”l would relate that the great mashgiach Rav Yerucham Levovitz ztz”l would sometimes spend six months preparing one discourse.

It wasn't the words it was the heart.

We are not all gedolei hador and yes sometimes we err. A kollel yungerman was mentoring a teenage bochur who was seeking his third yeshivah at the age of fifteen. The bochur desperately needed help a lot of encouragement and a change of attitude. After a particularly frustrating moment and an uncalled-for remark by the bochur about his parents the mentor blurted out “You’re impossible!”

That session ended in disappointment. The next day the bochur showed up but sat silent the entire time. The yungerman already at the end of his rope finally asked what the ungolden silence was all about. “You said I am impossible remember?” the bochur was quick to reply. “So what’s the point?”

Not all errors are fatal and b’chasdei Hashem we are granted opportunities to rectify them. Suddenly faced with his terrible choice of words the yungerman struggled to recover. “I meant you are impossible if you don’t change your attitude and let me help you ” he explained. “If you just give yourself a chance everything is possible!”

Fortunately this story has a happy ending. The bochur is now a yungerman himself a boki b’Shas. He calls his former mentor “Rebbi.”

One word can make all the difference. That thought of the responsibility we carry might be overwhelming. But if we take our calling seriously prepare our hearts and place the rest in Hashem’s hands we are most of the way there. And then we might sometimes find out that we succeeded.

We don’t have to rely on luck.

Rabbi Henoch Plotnik is the mara d’asra of Congregation Bais Tefila and a R”M in Yeshivas Me’or HaTorah in Chicago.