My students, so taken by the scene, formed a half circle facing the view and began to sing, “Esa einai el heharim”

From One Place Alone 

Around the Campfire // Mindel Kassorla

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few months ago, I chaperoned an overnight tiyul with Tomer Devorah Seminary. We traveled down to Eilat to give the students a much-needed break. On the way home, our group made a Minchah pit stop at a lookout point southwest of Jerusalem, known as Mitzpeh Masuah. Before us was a stunning view complete with a burning red sun sinking into the Mediterranean. We took in the breathtaking sight of hills and valleys, forests and roads, which incidentally stretch all the way to Gaza. You couldn’t miss it; the smoke puffs looked as though they were rising from the sea, but we knew it was the remnants of our soldiers doing their job with courage and strength.

My students, so taken by the scene, formed a half circle facing the view and began to sing, “Esa einai el heharim.” We lift our eyes toward the expanse around us, the mighty mountains, the vast unknown beyond what we can even see, and we ask: Me’ayin yavo ezri? Where will our help come from?

The word “me’ayin” is usually translated as “from where.” It’s a question: “Where will our help and salvation arise from?” And the following verse of the perek gives the answer, “Ezri me’im Hashem….”

But the word ayin can also mean “nothing.” The pasuk is making a statement: We can rely on absolutely nothing — not the mountains, not the valleys, not the forests — nothing in our physical world, to be our salvation. Then the following line buttresses the point — our salvation is from one place, and one place alone: Hashem.

As my students swayed back and forth in harmony, the glowing sunset upon them, they saw an army fighting in battle, but they sensed — with every fiber of their beings — the Hand of Hashem.

At What Price?

Personal Development // Rebbetzin Dina Schoonmaker, facilitated by Mindel Kassorla

The pasuk (Tehillim 19:10) tells us, “Mishpetei Hashem emes tzadku yachdav — Hashem’s judgments are true; they are completely correct.” They are made by taking into consideration all the factors; they make sense all around.

As women, we can follow in Hashem’s ways by asking ourselves in any situation: What will be the ripple effect of this choice? How will it peripherally impact my husband, my child, myself… and then we can come to conclusions that are “tzadku yachdav.”

The best path to take may not be obvious, but I offer women the following three words to help gain clarity: Al cheshbon mah — at the expense of what? The options in front of me are both potentially “good,” but what might be the cost of each one?

This can be helpful whether you’re deciding between taking on a major community project when you’ve got a child in need of extra attention, or even if you’re just trying to figure out the best way to use an unexpected free chunk of time. Al cheshbon mah? Which path will be most similar to Hashem — correct all around?

No, there won’t always be a black-and-white answer. Our choices require situation-specific consideration, and yet “al cheshbon mah” gives us a framework to make decisions we can own. And here’s the great punchline: It’s not about getting it right; it’s about thinking it through. If you honestly ask yourself al cheshbon mah, you’ve already gotten the point.

If Money Weren’t a Factor

In Real Time // Esther Kurtz

“I picked the wrong field,” I’ve told my husband many times.

I taught high school English for over 12 years. It was my dream job — really. Just not my dream pay. And there was a point in my teaching career when I regretted my choice of occupation.

Why was I so idealistic as a young adult? I wondered. Why didn’t real adults talk some sense into me? I was supporting my husband in kollel, had two kids, was working three jobs, and was coming home with 40k a year (before taxes). In my estimation, only rich people can afford to teach.

Those commencement address speakers who tell you to follow your dreams appeal to students and horrify the parents watching who know how the real world works, and that the likelihood of success is slim.

But I’ve since come around and view my teaching days and low pay fondly because the Chovos Halevavos says that our job and our parnassah have no correlation. There are rich and poor people in every profession — poor doctors and rich teachers.

We’re supposed to work for two reasons (Adam’s cheit aside). First, it’s a test to see if we’ll recognize the Source of our income and align ourselves with Hashem, or if we’ll think it’s in our control and try to make money in inappropriate ways.

And two, to keep busy. People with too much time on their hands get themselves into all kinds of trouble.

If you’re wondering what kind of job you should be looking for if money isn’t a factor, the Chovos Halevevos offers career guidance, too — look at your skill set and choose a job that matches that.

On reflection, I had the right skill set to be a teacher. And while CPAs b’teva make more money than teachers, I likely would have been the broke one — I’d be that incompetent.

I had whatever money I was supposed to have, and I got to love what I did every day.

That’s the dream, no?

If money weren’t a factor, what would you be doing?

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 906)