What is Your “Lead”?

A journalist told the story of her first day in journalism school. In her very first class, the professor stood in front of the class and asked them all to write a “lead” – an opening sentence – to the following short article:

Kenneth L. Peters, the principal of Beverly Hills High School, announced today that the entire high school faculty will travel to Sacramento next Thursday for a colloquium in new teaching methods. Among the speakers will be anthropologist Margaret Mead, college president Dr. Robert Maynard Hutchins, and California governor Edmund 'Pat' Brown."

A “lead” is meant to encapsulate the article’s message and draw the reader’s interest, and the professor wanted to challenge the students to come up with an effective “lead” to this story. The students started typing, and they came up with various ways to summarize the story about the conference in a single sentence.

The professor collected the papers, read them over, and told the students that they all got it wrong.

“The lead to this article,” he told them, “is, ‘School will be closed on Thursday.’ This is the point of the article.”

This story, I believe, captures the mistake that so many of us make in our lives. We define our lives by listing the things we do, the things we need to do, the various jobs and responsibilities that we have. “I take care of my children,” “I run a business,” “I am a teacher,” “I am an accountant,” and so on. But this is not the way it should be. We need to do a much better job at writing our “lead,” at identifying what our lives are really about.

Eliezer and the Donkey

One of the interesting, secondary figures of whom we read in the Torah’s stories about Avraham Avinu’s life is Eliezer, his trusted servant. We first hear of Eliezer in Parashat Lech-Lecha (chapter 14), when the Torah tells of Avraham going out to war with an army of 318 men. Our Sages explained that in truth, he brought with him just one man – Eliezer, whose name (אליעזר) in gematria equals 318. In the next chapter, we read that when G-d appeared to Avraham and promised to produce from him a large nation that would take possession of Eretz Yisrael, Avraham replied, “But I have no children! All I have is my servant, Eliezer!”

Eliezer surfaces yet again in Parashat Vayera, in the story of עקידת יצחק. Avraham took Eliezer with him as he made his way to Mount Moriah where he was to sacrifice his son. When he came within view of the mountain, he said to Eliezer (and to Yishmael, who was also traveling with him), “Stay here with the donkey.” Our Sages explained that Avraham was actually saying, “Stay here with the donkey, because you are like a donkey.”

Upon reading this, we can only wonder, did Avraham really say that? Avraham was probably the kindest, most sensitive and most generous person who ever lived. Could he be so offense as to call his loyal, trusted servant a “donkey”?

This question arises again in the next context in which we hear of Eliezer – when Avraham sent him to find a suitable bride for Yitzhak. Our Sages tell that Eliezer had a daughter whom he had very much wanted to marry Yitzhak, and he asked Avraham about this possibility. Avraham told him, “Yitzhak is blessed, and you are cursed, and the blessed cannot join together with the accursed.”

What?! Is this an appropriate way to speak to anybody, let alone to the servant who has devoted his life to faithfully serve Avraham?

Eliezer’s Journey

The story of Eliezer goes back to the time of Noach, who had three sons. Noach blessed his son Shem, and Avraham was the greatest of Shem’s descendants, and thus he was blessed. By contrast, Noach proclaimed a curse upon Canaan, the son of Noach’s son Cham, and Eliezer was a descendant of Canaan.[1]

This curse, however, is not by any means the end of the story. In pronouncing the curse upon Canaan, Noach said, ארור כנען, עבד עבדים יהיה לאחיו – Canaan would be cursed, and he would be a slave to his brothers. This pronouncement is often misunderstood as saying that Canaan’s slave status is the curse; meaning, Canaan and his descendants are cursed by being condemned to slavery. But this is a mistake. Their status as servants is the way they work their way back from their status of ארור, of being cursed, and achieve a status of ברוך – being blessed. Canaan’s descendants were to make themselves subservient to Shem’s righteous descendants to learn from their example and bask in the beauty of their pious lives. Noach’s curse to Canaan was not a “dead end.” It was not a permanent, inalterable condition. To the contrary, it was a challenge. It meant that Canaan’s descendants would have to embark on a journey, through their subordination to Shem, towards a life of blessing.

Eliezer took that journey. Hazal describes Eliezer as דולה ומשקה מתורת רבו – drawing from Avraham’s wisdom and then sharing it with others. He devoted himself wholeheartedly to Avraham, studying his teachings, paying careful attention to his conduct, and trying to emulate and spread his inspiring example of greatness. He understood that his life was about a journey – a journey from the depths of ארור to the heights of ברוך. This was his “lead.” If he was asked to describe what his life was about, he wouldn’t say that his life was about fetching water for Avraham and Sara, cleaning the floors, preparing food, or tending to the animals. Rather, he would say that his life was about learning from Avraham so he could grow and elevate himself.

This is indicated by his name, אליעזר. The first two letters spell one of the Names of G-d (א-ל), alluding to the fact that he lived with a commitment to G-d, focused upon fulfilling the mission that Hashem put him in the world to achieve. The rest of Eliezer’s name – יעזר – has the gematria of 287, which is the same gematria as the phrase עבד עבדים יהיה לאחיו. He lived his life with the awareness of this goal, that he was on a journey to reverse his status of ארור and become ברוך.

Avraham was not, Heaven forbid, insulting his beloved servant by comparing him to a donkey or calling him “cursed.” Rather, he was telling Eliezer that he had not yet completed his journey. As far as he had come, he had not yet reached his destination. And thus as Avraham approached the site of עקידת יצחק, he told Eliezer that he could not join him and Yitzhak, because his work was not finished. Likewise, when Eliezer asked that his daughter be allowed to marry Yitzhak, Avraham told him that she could not, because his work was not finished; he had not yet completed the journey to ברוך.

Living Life as a Journey

There is much to learn from Eliezer’s humble, selfless dedication to Avraham. For our purposes here, however, we will note his focus, his perception and definition of his life. He saw his life not as a bunch of responsibilities, but as a meaningful journey towards a beautiful destination. He did not just accept his status of ארור. He did just the opposite – he made it his life’s mission to transform his status from ארור to ברוך.

This is something we should all be doing – determining what our lives are about, why we are here, and what it is that Hashem put us in this world to accomplish. When we do this, our lives become so much more meaningful and exciting.

My wife was once speaking with a woman in the community who works as an exercise instructor, leading workouts for women. At one point in the conversation, the woman mentioned what she does: “I am an exercise teacher.”

“No,” my wife corrected her, “this is not what you do.”

“What you mean?” the woman asked. “This is what I do.”

“No,” my wife explained, “what you do is invigorate women, help them be healthy and energized, so they can be better wives, mothers, grandmothers and friends. You inspire dozens of families in the community by helping women feel good and energetic.”

This is a beautiful example of what it means to live life as a journey. This woman’s “lead,” the way she defines her life, should not be, “I give exercise classes.” Her lead is, “I invigorate and energize women, and thereby enhance their families.”

I once came home at the end of the day and asked my wife what she had done that day. She told me she had spent the entire day making mazza – several trays’ worth, in fact. Our son, who was away in yeshiva, would soon be celebrating a birthday, and she decided she would send trays of food for him and his classmates for the coming Shabbat in honor of his birthday. I, and some of our relatives, thought this was crazy.

“Why don’t you just buy something at a store and send it to him?” I asked. But she insisted on preparing trays upon trays of homemade mazza for my son and his classmates.

She sent the food with a Rabbi who was driving to the yeshiva, and on Saturday night, my son called to thank her. As they were talking, a classmate grabbed the phone and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Haber, it was great!” Then another boy grabbed the phone and yelled “Wow, you filled us up for the whole Shabbat!” Another then chimed in, “You should’ve also sent new shirts, because we all grew!” And so on.

I realized that my wife’s idea was not crazy at all. Her vision is to make our home a fun and happy place. If spending a day preparing mazza helps achieve that goal and realize that vision, then she’s happy and excited to do it. She wasn’t just preparing mazza; she was bringing my happiness, joy and enthusiasm into our family. And when we live goal-oriented lives, focused on reaching a destination, life becomes so much more fulfilling and exciting.

A woman once told me a story that happened before her daughter’s wedding. She had gone to the shop that was preparing the invitations, and was told that the shop was running late and would not have them ready when they had hoped. The woman in the store was pleasantly surprised when the customer reacted calmly, and did not express any anger.

“Why are you not getting angry or frustrated?” she asked. “Everyone else gets very mad when I tell them we’re running late!”

The woman replied, “I want this happy occasion to be a happy occasion. This is my goal. I am not going to let anything get in the way of my achieving this goal.”

So many people get bogged down by all the details of preparing a simcha that they forget that it is a simcha – a joyous occasion. They see the flowers, the gown, the invitations, the catering, and all the other peripheral details, and lose sight of what this is all about. They forget that preparing a simcha is a journey to an exciting goal – to make the new couple happy, and to rejoice over this beautiful milestone in their lives. If this is the goal, and the people involved are determined to reach it, then the process becomes so much calmer, more pleasant, more rewarding and more enjoyable.

Eliezer lived an exciting life as Avraham’s servant because he saw his life as a journey towards a lofty goal. Similarly, whatever it is that we do in life – at home, at work, in our community, and so on – we can find fulfillment and joy by defining for ourselves the exciting destination we are working to reach.

Seeing the Road Ahead

In a certain sense, this is far more difficult for us to do than it was for Eliezer. He knew of Noach’s pronouncement of עבד עבדים יהיה לאחיו. His family history made it very clear what his life’s goal should be. We, however, do not have access to this kind of information. How, then, do we identify our destination? How are we to know what it is that we are here to accomplish? No prophet is telling us what our goals should be. How, then, do we decide?

After I got married, I went to study in kollel, but I wanted to have a plan, to know how long I would spend there. I went to my Rabbi, Rav Reuven Feinstein, and asked him for how long I should be learning in kollel. Quite obviously, one can never complete the entire Torah, no matter how many lifetimes he devotes to full-time study. So at what point do I say I’ve spent enough time learning?

He said, “You leave the kollel when one of these three things happen: you run out of money, a good opportunity arises, or you feel ‘burnt out’ from learning.”

As I walked out, I thought to myself, “This is so practical, but so real.” This is precisely how the process of setting life goals should work. We should look at our lives and at ourselves, and see what we are cut out to do. We should look at our circumstances, our situation, our skills, our strengths, our weaknesses, our limitations, our likes and our dislikes, and then determine what our mission and purpose is. To take one obvious example, I was not cut out to be a Rabbi in Argentina. I was raised in the New York area, in the Sephardic community, speaking English, so my role is here, not in Argentina. If a person does not have a lot of money, then his mission in not to be a philanthropist. If somebody earns a lot more money than he needs to support his family, then most likely, his mission is to be charitable, to use his wealth to help improve the world.

We should all be asking ourselves, “Why did Hashem put me where He did? Why do I have these kinds of children, these kinds of parents, this kind of spouse, and these kinds of neighbors? What role do these circumstances help me fill? What kind of things do I enjoy doing, and am I naturally good at? What things are harder for me than for other people?” Answering these questions will help us write the “lead,” and help us determine the goal and purpose towards which we should be directing our lives.

I recall once driving to the synagogue one morning and getting stuck behind a school bus. As long as I was driving directly behind the school bus, I couldn’t see anything. All I could see was the bus. It was only when I carefully veered a bit to the side that I was able to see the road. I couldn’t see all the intersections that lay ahead, but at least I was able to see the general direction in which I was headed.

This situation serves as an appropriate metaphor for the journey of life. None of us know what “intersections” our lives will come to, or how the road will twist and turn along the trip. Our lives in twenty years from now may look very, very different from what we imagine now. But we should try, as best we can, to see the road. We should have a general vision of what our goals are, rather than just looking at the nitty-gritty details that we are involved in. If all we see are the details, then life becomes a drag. If we see the road, then these details become part of an exciting and exhilarating journey.

בראשית and אנכי

It took Eliezer many years, but he reached his destination. To understand how we know this, we need to take a brief detour, back to the very first word in the Torah, בראשית (“In the beginning”).

Hazal teach us that G-d decided to begin the Torah with the letter ב', the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet, because it represents the word ברוך. The first letter, א', represents the word ארור, and so it would have been inappropriate to begin the Torah with this letter. As “compensation” for losing this privilege, our Sages tell us, Hashem gave the letter א' the distinction of opening the Ten Commandments, which begin with the pronouncement אנכי ה' אלוקיך – “I am Hashem your G-d,” starting with the letter א'.

The question is obvious. If א' represents the word ארור, and was thus deemed unsuitable as the first letter of the Torah, then why was it deemed suitable as the first letter of the Ten Commandments?

The answer given is that the Torah empowers us to transform ארור to ברוך. When we received the Torah at Mount Sinai, we could begin with א' – because we were given the ability to transform “cursed” to “blessed.”

Eliezer’s most difficult challenge came when Avraham sent him to find a wife for Yitzhak. He had dreamed of joining Avraham’s family, of seeing his daughter becoming Yitzhak’s wife and one of the matriarchs of G-d’s special nation. But he had to shelve all these aspirations and selflessly devote himself to find a different wife for Yitzhak. Eliezer heroically withstood this challenge, and it was at this point, by faithfully fulfilling this mission, that he completed his process. When he came to Rivka’s family, her brother greeted him and exclaimed, בוא ברוך ה' – “Come, O blessed one of G-d!” Eliezer was no longer ארור. He was now ברוך.

And when Eliezer began speaking to Rivka’s family, he introduced himself by saying, עבד אברהם אנכי (“I am Avraham’s servant”). He underwent the process of אנכי, of transforming the letter א' from a symbol of curse to a symbol of blessing. Through his lifelong devotion to his role as עבד אברהם, Avraham’s loyal servant, student and follower, he completed his lifelong mission of elevating himself from ארור to ברוך.

A Modern-Day Eliezer

A beautiful example of living a goal-oriented life, of living with a clear vision of one’s goal and purpose, is a talented man who now lives in Israel, whose life story I was privileged to hear when he once came to Brooklyn to share it with a number of community schools.

In 1999, Sports Illustrated ran a feature about an Orthodox Jewish high school student whom the magazine dubbed “The Jewish Jordan.” Tamir was ranked among the 25^th best high school basketball players of his time, and he always played with a kippah on his head and never played on Shabbat or Yom Tov. The article featured many photographs of Tamir, and this probably marked the first time that tefillin was even seen in Sports Illustrated.

After the article’s publication, Tamir was recruited by numerous colleges who wished to have him on their basketball teams. However, he would not sign with any college unless they agreed to his condition: that he would not play on Shabbat. Finally, he signed with the top-ranked University of Maryland, which accepted his terms. After he signed, however, the coach changed his mind, and decided that the team would continue playing on Friday nights. He therefore signed with the less prestigious Towson University.

Tamir described the great respect his teammates had for his unwavering commitment to his religion. On the first night of Sukkot, which fell on Shabbat, his 7-foot roommate, who was named Mohammed, carried his food with him across campus to the sukkah so he could fulfill the mitzvah of eating in the sukkah. That night, a pep rally was being held in the gym, during which the players would be introduced to the fans. He walked to the gym, and when his name was announced, he emerged from the clubhouse…in his Shabbat clothes. The entire gym started shouting, “Sha-bbat! Sha-bbat!” Every Friday afternoon, when the team completed its final training session, they would form a circle, put their hands together, and then scream, “Shabbat Shalom!”

One Thursday night, the team played a very important game, and Tamir played the entire game. Afterward, understandably, the players were tired and hungry, and they went to eat at Burger King. Tamir, of course, could not eat, and he just drank water. The next day was Asarah Be’Tevet – a fast day. After playing a full game and eating nothing afterward, he had to observe a fast. Not only that, but the team was traveling all the way to Boston for a Saturday night game against Boston University. Along the way, the bus got caught in a snowstorm. The clock ticked and ticked, and eventually it was close to sundown. Tamir informed his coach and teammates that he needed to get off the bus; he had no choice, he could not travel on Shabbat. As he got off, his coach reminded him that the next day the team had a “walk through” in Boston University at 2pm, and he needed to be there.

Tamir got off the bus, and walked two hours in the bitter cold and snow, still fasting, until he found a house with a mezuzah. The family welcomed him in, and he ate and slept there. The next day, he walked two hours to the court at Boston University – and he arrived fifteen minutes late. His coach was furious. When the team boarded the bus after the game – which they lost – the coach told him that when the bus gets back to the college, and all the other team members go to bed, he will need to do 20 minutes of excruciating running in the gym as his punishment for arriving late.

As he was running in the gym, he looked up at saw his teammates. They did not go to their rooms to rest. They came to show their support. They had great respect for him and for his determination to stay true to his beliefs and traditions.

The next year, the school hired a new coach, who was anti-Semitic. Tamir therefore moved to Israel and played professional basketball there. He also met a girl who had attended Indiana University and was a member of the school’s track team – which ran on Shabbat. She decided at one point she would not run on Shabbat, and so she moved to Israel. She and Tamir now live in Israel with their four children.

Tamir’s goal was not to play basketball, but to create a kiddush Hashem (glorification of G-d’s Name). This is what drove and motivated him, at every step of the way. And so no matter how hard it was, he persisted, passionately pursuing that lofty ambition.

We, too, can live with this kind of enthusiasm. But it starts with writing our “lead,” defining what it is that our lives are really about, and then getting on the road ready and determined to reach our destination.