Rebbetzin Leah Gans
Part One: Builders of the Jewish Home
There is a well-known parable about a king’s son who became separated from his retinue and got lost in the forest. He wandered for a while, but then he was fortunate enough to come upon a small village where simple but good people lived. They welcomed him warmly, gave him food and drink, and provided warm clothing and a roof over his head. The kind people allowed the prince to regain his strength, then helped him find his way back to the palace.
When the prince returned home, the king was overjoyed and, of course, decided to reward the kind villagers. He asked his son what he thought the little village was lacking. The prince thought for a moment and remembered that he had not seen a single car on the village streets, which he told his father.
The king bought the most advanced car and ordered it to be placed on the main street with the keys in the ignition. Every resident could come and use the car as a token of gratitude for saving the prince.
The villagers thanked the king profusely. They set up a schedule: every evening, they came to the car, took turns sitting on the soft seats, turned around, and looked out the windows. After a while, someone dared to press a button—and the car’s headlights lit up the street! What a miracle! Now they could turn the lights on and off. Then someone else squeezed the horn, and the car let out a piercing sound… What a wonderful gift from the king: it gives light and makes sounds, and you can turn it on and off. Every day after work, the villagers came to the car, lined up, and could use the king’s gift one after another.
After a while, the king decided to check whether the villagers were using his gift. He came to the village himself and saw that the car was still in the very same place where it had been put and was already beginning to be overgrown with weeds. The king asked whether they were using it. The villagers enthusiastically assured him that every evening without fail, they took turns sitting in the car and pressing different buttons.
—And driving it?
—You mean you can drive it?!
The king roared with laughter for a long time, then said, “I did not give you merely an expensive toy. With this car, you could have traveled long distances and gone wherever you liked, but all you did was press buttons. You should have asked how to use it if you did not know!”
Clearly, this is a parable, and each of us can recognize ourselves in the image of a villager.
We begin married life, often without knowing what it means to build a Jewish home.
What, in fact, is this tool the Almighty has given us—the most advanced, most effective tool?! With its help, we can rise very high, to the very summit—to perfection, that is, to unity. Yet we usually play with the doors, press buttons, turn things on and off, but do not move from the spot.
We know that “The wisdom of women has built a home” (Mishlei 14:1). Every woman has the wisdom of life within her, and all she needs are the tools the Almighty created for building a Jewish home. Of course, learning to run a Jewish home, like learning to drive a car, takes time and effort, but we already have the tools—why not learn to use them?
After all, every woman can merit a marriage that is not a yoke (ol), but a source of uplift (al).
Another true story will illustrate what we have said. A rosh yeshiva traveled abroad to raise donations to support the yeshiva. After some time and tremendous efforts, he found a respected donor who agreed to donate enough money to cover most of the year’s expenses. However, to receive the money, the rosh yeshiva had to attend an appointment with this wealthy man on the day and at the hour specified by his secretary—the man was extremely busy and had no spare time, with his entire day scheduled very precisely. “If you are late, there is no chance he will see you,” the secretary said.
On the very day of the appointment, the rosh yeshiva was plagued by setbacks—one delay and breakdown after another. With barely enough time left, he hailed a random taxi on the street and gave the driver the address, asking him to hurry. But the rabbi did not know that this driver had only recently become a taxi driver and therefore did not know the city very well. In addition, he thought he heard the rabbi name a different street, whose name sounded similar to the correct one, and drove to the other end of the city. In short, he made a mistake. Once they realized the mistake, they went back, but precious time had already been lost. When the rosh yeshiva entered his prospective benefactor’s office, a full hour had already passed since the appointed time. The rabbi asked whether he might still be seen. But the stone-faced secretary told him that he was not the only one, and the substantial sum he might have received had been given to another petitioner who had arrived on time, even early. Therefore, there was no point in asking to be seen, and he could head back.
Upon returning to Israel, the rosh yeshiva gathered his students to tell them about this instructive incident. He told them that, of course, everything comes from Heaven. Certainly, that sum could have fed the entire yeshiva for almost a full year, and there would have been no need to seek benefactors again. Yet this was not the lesson from the incident that he felt obliged to share with them: someone who has truly important plans, an appointment they must reach at all costs, should not hire a driver at random. They should find out how long he has been driving and whether he knows the city well. The streets must be as familiar to him as the lines on his own palm!
The same applies to us—the builders of the Jewish home.
Since this is such an important, life-shaping endeavor, we cannot rely on new methods that have not stood the test of time, even if they involve studying and researching the subject from every angle. Something new keeps appearing, but we need that very taxi driver—the knowledgeable, competent one—who is guaranteed to get us to our destination on time.
The Almighty, Who created us, gave us the Torah to guide us. The right approach, based on Torah, allows us to reach our goal—to build a true Jewish home, attaining unity and perfection.
If we use a color filter—for example, glasses with red lenses—the whole world takes on a red hue. If we use blue glasses, it takes on a blue hue. Yet this does not mean that everything actually becomes blue or red. The world remains as it was. By putting on suitable, carefully chosen glasses with lenses suited to our eyes, we can see the situation clearly and distinctly, as it is. The Torah worldview, if we learn to look at the world through it, can become those very glasses, properly chosen, that we need to see life’s situations truly.
A Favorite Activity
Everyone likes to put effort into what they do well. For example, a woman completed pastry chef training. She learned to bake and decorate cakes and pastries, and this also became her favorite activity. Among the various things needed for a children’s morning party, she will choose to bake a cake, because it is something familiar that she loves doing. Although it will take time, she will happily work on the cake because she knows how to do it. The same is true in another case: a woman who has completed cutting and sewing courses, bought herself an expensive professional sewing machine, and knows all sorts of tips and tricks of the trade. For her, sewing is not simply work, but also a pleasure, because she knows how to do it well.
The same applies to each of us: if we learn to build our home properly, if we put effort into studying how the Torah instructs us to conduct ourselves in a Jewish family, and if we work on our character traits, then we will gain skill, and our home will become our favorite pursuit!
to be continuedPrepared by Mrs. Zissi Skarzhinskaya