Rebbetzin Leah Gans
Not only sorrow but also joy in the heart can bring a person closer to the Almighty.
It is well known that on Sukkot, during Simchat Beit Hashoeva (the celebration of the water libation on the altar), the people who came to the Temple drew so close to the Creator through their joy that they merited the spirit of divine inspiration (ruach hakodesh).
We feel joy and closeness to the Almighty during the holidays, but afterward it takes effort to preserve them throughout the year. For example, on Pesach, joy is given to us as a gift, but then comes the Counting of the Omer, when we need to work on ourselves and improve so that we can draw close and receive the Torah with joy on Shavuot.
For children, feeling the Almighty close by comes naturally.
Recently, as I do every evening, I sat one of my younger sons down to comb through his hair. Strangely enough, I could not find the comb—not in its usual place, or anywhere else. No matter how hard I looked, I had to cancel the combing session. As soon as my son heard this, he said: “Baruch Hashem” (Blessed is the L-rd!). So for him, it is natural to thank the Almighty for being spared having his hair combed.
Why do we not thank Him just as naturally, or turn to Him in general? Only in exceptional moments of joy or sorrow do the words come spontaneously to our lips; in everyday life, it takes work on ourselves to turn to the Almighty.
“…and (in place of) bulls we will offer (the words of) our lips”
Rav Yaakov Galinsky explained this verse from Hosea (14:3) with the following parable about a man who counterfeited money. He had special machines that printed banknotes. What denomination? An impressive one. Say, 200 shekels. Why those? Wouldn't they be more likely to be checked? Wouldn't it be simpler to counterfeit 20-shekel notes, which change hands all the time? But no, this man reasoned as follows: if I am taking such a risk and going to such expense—machines, special paper, inks—then I might as well take a big risk rather than deal in small change. After all, the punishment for counterfeiting is the same, whether it is a 20-shekel note or a 200-shekel note.
Each word of our prayer is a banknote. Who decides what the face value of that banknote will be?
We do. Will we say each word with proper concentration, with kavanah—worth 200 shekels—or will we mumble something unintelligible, worth twenty shekels?
“And (in place of) bulls we will offer (the words of) our lips”—bulls were the most expensive animals used for sacrifices.
If you are going to bring a sacrifice, let it be a bull, the most expensive and the best. In other words, let the words of prayer (which in our time replaces the service in the Temple) be like bulls—just as valuable and weighty.
to be continued
prepared by: Mrs. Zissi Skarzhinskaya