Neshama Sheli

“Letting Someone In” to Your Self-Interest

Part Two: “Letting Someone In” to Your Self-Interest It is true that marriage largely involves working on your character. You cannot simply “press a button” and have everything work. Everyone is born self-centered, though of course with good qualities of their own as well. But “your own shirt is closest to your skin.” Above all, we feel…

Rebbetzin Leah Gans

“Letting Someone In” to Your Self-Interest
Part Two: “Letting Someone In” to Your Self-Interest

It is true that marriage largely involves working on your character. You cannot simply “press a button” and have everything work. Everyone is born self-centered, though of course with good qualities of their own as well. But “your own shirt is closest to your skin.” Above all, we feel ourselves, our own pain and our own pleasure. Our task is not simply to make room for another person, but to “let them into” our self-interest, so that they are no longer “someone else,” but become part of us. With children, this happens on its own: as soon as a child is born, that child is immediately “my child.” With a husband, however, achieving this will take time. In marriage, we reassess ourselves; every character trait is put to the test. We look for what is “distorted” in us. Notice: in us, not in our spouse. Then we learn how to correct it. In the process of building ourselves and our home, we will find the joy and love that accompany someone engaged in work they love.

The Vilna Gaon writes that a person cannot stand still. Either they rise or they slide downward. Any work on oneself—and building a Jewish home is no exception—is like an escalator moving downward. To climb such an escalator, you need to move upward faster than it pulls you down; in other words, you need to make an effort. If you “go with the flow,” the escalator will carry you downward. After all, it does not stand still.

We often think that if we prepare thoroughly before the “battle,” study this subject comprehensively before marriage, and acquire some tools, everything will run smoothly from then on. Now that we are so well equipped, we will “rest on our laurels” throughout our married life—there is nothing more to do! Now we need only reap the rewards: joy and happiness. But for some reason, that is not what happens.

In marriage, we encounter another person who rarely acts “according to the textbook.” We have to learn, make an effort, and invest again and again to move up an escalator that is moving down. This is constant work. 

Two Imperfect People Meet…

It seems that everything should come naturally—we should simply find it easy to be together. But life is never like that. Even in families where there is an apparent ease, it is usually the result of many years of work on themselves by both husband and wife. If we were perfect, perhaps it would be easier for us to “adjust to each other.” But we are not perfect.

Recently, one of the teachers at my daughter’s school died from a serious illness. Her mother came to a meeting and spoke about her daughter. She said, “My daughter was so perfect that apparently she had completed her task in this world!” She described her daughter’s perfect character traits and her profound sense of gratitude. She was only 48 years old. “Apparently, those 48 years of living alongside her were given to us as a gift—and now she has been taken away from us,” her mother said. A perfect person, who has no need to work on themselves, has nothing to do in our imperfect world—they are taken away from here.

At our sheva brachot (a meal on one of the 7 days after the wedding), my father-in-law (the gaon, Rav Yisrael Gans) gave a dvar Torah (words of Torah). He said, “You are now at the very beginning of your journey. For many people, everything ends with the wedding, but for us, G-d-fearing Jews, the wedding is only the beginning. Now your hardest work will begin—your shared ascent, your shared building.”

to be continued

Prepared by Mrs. Zissi Skarzhinskaya