It would not matter whose door I knocked on — that of a hostage or of surviving relatives of a murdered hostage — each one teaches humility

AS

a student and teacher of mussar, I have long been perplexed by the trait of humility. Rav Yisrael Salanter and his eminent disciples taught the necessity of refining one’s character traits (middos) as essential to service of the Creator.

But how does one work on humility? If I am plagued by other bad traits — by anger, for example — and I work on it and improve, I can measure my improvement. If certain conditions used to provoke my anger, but no longer do, I can see that my mussar work on this trait is progressing. But humility? If I think I’ve arrived, it’s a sure sign I haven’t. So how does one work on the trait of humility?

In this day and age, there is, oh so sadly, a surefire method that I wish I could undertake, but living in the Diaspora, my possibilities are limited. Here is the method:

I knock on the door of Jon and Rachel Polin-Goldberg in Jerusalem. Their son Hersh was kidnapped by Hamas on October 7, 2023, and in the process, his arm was amputated. The Polin-Goldbergs traveled the world advocating for their son’s freedom. Their love, eloquence, composure, absolute moral clarity, and determination were arresting. They stopped only when the evildoers murdered their son some ten and a half months later.

I knock on their door. They answer. I stand there. I cannot say a word. How can I even stand in their presence? I am humbled.

I knock on the door of Agam Berger, a young woman. She, too, was kidnapped. In the tunnels of Hamas, she decided to keep Shabbos. She refused to cook on Shabbos despite the fact that the evildoers threatened her if she didn’t. She refused to convert to Islam. She comforted the female captives with her. When she finally was freed, she held up a sign, “I chose the path of faith, and in the path of faith I returned.”

I knock on her door. She answers. I cannot say a word. It is humbling.

I knock on the door of Simcha and Leah Goldin. Their son Hadar was kidnapped, murdered (after a ceasefire) in 2014, and then his body was toyed with by Hamas for 11 years. Hadar Goldin wrote a commentary (at age 19!) on the classic mussar sefer, Mesillas Yesharim (Path of the Upright). For 11 agonizing years his parents traveled the world to advocate for the release of his body lest it be forgotten and abandoned. The Goldins open the door. I am speechless.

It would not matter whose door I knocked on — that of a hostage or of surviving relatives of a murdered hostage — each one teaches humility. The names of so many hostages have become household names in Jewish communities around the world: Perez... Damari... Chen... Miran... Sharabi... Alexander... the list goes on and is long.

It is said that when one chassidic rebbe who survived World War II was asked for a blessing, he replied, “Don’t come to me. Go to someone with numbers on their arms.” The contemporary application is clear.

Iimagine myself going to Israel and knocking on these doors and working on humility, because I already have done it. I am experienced. For I knew Ephraim Englard (1915–2002). He survived Auschwitz. He led a minyan in Auschwitz on Rosh Hashanah.

He would say to me: “People say, where was G-d? I say: Did G-d build Auschwitz? Where was man?”

He would say: “I did not forget Your Name [es Shimcha lo shachachti]!”

He would jest: “What is the difference between being old and getting old?... thirty years.”

A small man, his davening and leining were loud, pronounced, unrushed, powerful. In the midst of dancing on Simchas Torah, Ephraim Englard — exuberant, sweating, smiling, unstoppable — turned to me and said: A person who went through Auschwitz still dances like this?

Nothing I might achieve could match this. Humility.

I am motivated to seek the teachers of humility in Israel today because I learned so much from Ephraim Englard — and Rav Yitzhak Orlansky (1898–1992).

Rav Orlansky was the mashgiach in the Novardok yeshivah in Pinsk, Poland in which the legendary Steipler Gaon was the rosh yeshivah. In 1939, Rav Orlansky was arrested, put on a train with one son, and sent to Siberia. Looking through the window of the train car, he waved goodbye to his wife and other children, whom he never saw again. But in Siberia he did not know their fate. Six years of uncertainty. Slave labor. Torah study and mussar study every single night. People’s physiognomies tell their story as they age. Etched in the lines of Rav Orlansky’s face was a permanent smile. He was the happiest man I ever knew. He transcended everything. I cannot match this.

I had teachers of humility and now the Jewish People have them again, despite their and our ineffable wish that they had not been put through what they were put through.

Rav Yisrael Salanter did have a method for teaching humility. He called it “davar b’hipucho, a trait and its opposite.” He illustrated: I am obligated to honor others greatly, but run from honor myself. I am obligated to shower others with material goods, but desire none for myself (beyond basics). I am obligated to build up others, but not myself. By honoring and aiding others, way beyond what I myself have, I learn humility.

So it is with the freed hostages and their surviving families; there is no limit to the honor we can bestow on them and no level of theirs we can reach. Humility.

Rabbi Hillel Goldberg is the editor and publisher of the Intermountain Jewish News, for which he has written a weekly column, “View from Denver,” since 1972, and the author of numerous seforim about the mussar movement and other subjects.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1094)