Today's class is dedicated—this is a special dedication—is dedicated in memory of Lydia Chaya bat (daughter of) Avera, aleha hashalom (peace be upon her). You know who that is. That's Lydia Shami, aleha hashalom, who passed away, with the shloshim (the 30-day memorial) on Monday. I was actually supposed to speak at the shloshim, but I've been sick in bed for a couple of days. You can't tell from my voice, so I'm trying to get out there now and do my thing.
It's an honor for today's class to be dedicated in her memory by her family, the Cohen family. The truth is, I think her passing and her life were a tremendous inspiration to so many of us in our community. I myself am inspired by her fight, her emunah (belief), her growth, her letters and the way she wrote them, her honesty and openness, the number of friends she had, and her powerful family: her siblings, her parents, her husband, and her wonderful children. I mean, she surrounded herself with the greatest team of all time, and she really was an unbelievable person.
Our Beracha (blessing) to her children is that, B'ezrat Hashem (with Hashem's help), their mother's memory will stay with them forever. Their mother's strength will be a part of them, and that will never leave. B'ezrat Hashem, all the inspiration and all the good that she did will be a zechut (merit) for her family, so that they should be able to find happiness again and find Beracha in their lives again. Inshallah, she should continue to be in our memories and continue to be an inspiration to every single person who knew her, which is many, many, many people.
So, like I said, it really is an honor to have today's class in her memory.
Now, every now and then, if you're part of this community, stories happen that shake our world. Recently, one of those stories happened. It's not a story I'm going to discuss, because I know as much about it as you do, and I have no idea what's true and what's not. But when I heard it, or when you heard it, if you know what I'm referring to, you were shaken up. I was shaken up. Shaken up—not shaken, shooken, whatever. I know it made me, I don't know, do some soul-searching: who's good, who's not? Am I even a good person? I don't even trust myself.
Today's class is going to try to offer a little bit of a lesson we can take from being shaken up that way. That's as much as I'm going to say about that. I hope—and I think—the lesson we're going to learn is very important.
Pesach (Passover) is coming up, and we have a custom. Everyone's awake at this point of the Seder (Passover ritual). It's towards the beginning. We take the middle matzah (unleavened bread) and cut it in half. The big piece gets put in a little sack. We say Mish'arotam (their kneading bowls), and then they hide it. The little piece stays between the two matzot. I want to understand everything about this custom. Why are we dividing it in half? Why are we hiding the big piece and keeping the small piece out here in the open? And why are the kids, so to speak, stealing it and putting it in hiding? What is behind this whole custom?
If you want a little thought for the Seder, hopefully you'll hear what we're going to say right now, and you can tell it over. There are numerous answers to this. This is not the only one, but I'm going to give you one answer. We as people—and I apologize in advance if my energy level is a little low, because I really am drained—we as people and as Jews do a lot. There's a lot that you do on a normal day. There's a lot that you do that's public, and a lot that you do that's private. The real part of you, the part that happens by yourself, is the big part.
I don't really care about your statistics, and yet we judge most people by their statistics. We judge most people by asking, okay, do you keep Shabbat? Do you turn on a light on Shabbat or not? Do you get in a car or not? Do you pray three times a day or once a day? Do you put on Tefillin (phylacteries) or not? We go by those external statistics to kind of rate ourselves as how religious they are.
If I were to describe someone, you would ask me, "How religious is that person?" The next question you would ask is, "Okay, tell me something about what they do on Shabbat. Do they have Friday night dinner or not? Do they turn on the lights? Do they get into a car? How do they dress?" All those external things are the small piece of your life. The internal things, the things that no one else around you can judge, are the large piece of your life. That really dictates who you are. What happens by yourself, in your mind, determines the kind of person you really are. And no one can judge that. No one can judge that, because nobody really knows the answer. I don't know it about any single one of you, and none of you know it about me.
I would like to hope that what I do in private is way better than what I do in public. But you don't know the answer to that. You know what? My children may not know, and my wife probably doesn't fully know the answer either. It's about what's happening in my brain. That's really the large part of my life: what's happening when I have no one else around me and I'm tested. That really determines the kind of person I am.
So, therefore, here's what we do with that middle matzah. We're sending a powerful message. We're dividing it in half because every single one of us has two parts. The small part, like the tip of the iceberg, is the part that's above water, the part everybody sees, and that's the part we leave right there on the table. The large part, which is the actual iceberg, is the part that's underwater, the part we take and hide. The real me is completely hidden. No one else knows the answer to who the real me is.
If you want to judge yourself as a Jew, again, you can tell me what you do on Shabbat, what you do, and where you send your kids to school. You can tell me those external tips of the iceberg. But you have to have the answer for yourself. Who are you? What kind of person are you? When you're really challenged, how strong is your belief? When you have someone who works with you who doesn't have power, how do you treat that person? How do you speak when your kids are not around? That's the real you. That's the actual iceberg. How about when someone asks you to give to charity in a way where your name is not going to be on the building? Now, of course it's beautiful to do it when your name is on the building too. Of course it is. But how about when it's not? How do you give then? What's your emunah? What's your belief when times get really tough? How do you pray when you don't feel well, when you're sick and not in the mood? What are the conversations between you and your spouse like? I don't care about how you walk into a wedding together, with him well dressed and you well dressed, smiling at people and saying, "Here's my husband, nice to meet you." You get into the car, maybe you even grab his umbrella. I don't care about that, because that doesn't really tell me who you are. What you want to know is, who are you? That's the most important question you can ask yourself, and there's no one you can fool on that. You may be fooling the world, but you can't fool yourself.
It says Hashem tells Adam, "What's his conversation?" The Gemara says that in the next world, they're going to show us the small conversation that happens between husband and wife in private. That conversation is going to be read in front of you after 120. That means not the conversations that happen when all the cousins are over and you're smiling, but the ones that happen when you wanted to spend a thousand and he only gave you 500. How does he react, and how do you react, when the doors are closed, and you're frustrated and tired? Those conversations that nobody hears are the ones that define you. That's the one that defines your relationship. That's the iceberg; the rest is just the tip. Therefore, we take the bigger piece of the matzah and hide it, because we're showing that the real you is in hiding.
Should I give you a nice little story? This took place in 1994, so it's outdated, but the message is not. There was a regular guy named Shlomo. I think he worked in a school somewhere as a technician. Originally, he worked for a company called Micro Innovations. The company took its top tech guys and sent them to a small seminar given by Toshiba. Toshiba's still around? Okay, anyhow, it was in Parsippany, New Jersey. They went to the seminar, and this guy Shlomo, a Hasidic Jew, was sitting there. They had a bunch of different lessons on technology, including how to use different pieces of technology and how to fix them.
One of the things they told them was to take a laptop and completely disassemble it, down to its bare bones: every wire, every chip, every fan, every screen, every screw. Everything had to be taken apart, down to just the plastic, and put in a tray. They gave them a big tray with different sections, and maybe they put the pieces in the different sections. Then they would come back in the afternoon and have to rebuild the laptop entirely, perfectly.
They had a room full of people. They handed out the laptops and trays and told everybody to disassemble the laptops. Shlomo disassembled his computer down to the frame of plastic. All the wires and chips and everything were in their own sections. He was trying to remember exactly how it went, because that night he had to rebuild it. They took their lunch break and came back. The man in charge handed everyone their tray and said, "Okay, now go rebuild it."
Shlomo rebuilt the entire thing, and when he was completely done, there was still a screw there. He thought, "Oh no. If I'm off by one screw, if I'm missing that screw, then the thing is going to short; the whole thing is going to go out. I can't believe it. I thought I got it. It looks perfect, it looks perfect." He disassembled the whole thing again and built it up again, and there was still a screw left on the tray, this lousy, crazy, annoying screw. He said, "Let me try." He turned it on. It worked. He said, "Let me try the different things." It totally functioned. He said, "I don't know what to do. It worked, but I can't figure out this screw."
Finally, the thing was done. The man in charge said, "Raise your hands if you're done." A bunch of people raised their hands. "You're done?" he asked. "Okay, try it out. Yes, it works. Have you completed it entirely? Yes. Have you used every single piece of it?" Shlomo raised his hand. He said, "I did, but I still have a screw left." The man said, "You still have a screw left?" He called Shlomo up in front of the room. This Hasidic man was blue, purple, red. He thought, "I look Hasidic. Look what a fool I am; I can't do this job." The man announced, "Does anyone else have any parts that are not?" Everyone said no, they were done. The man called him up and said, "At least I have one honest man in this room, because I placed an extra screw in every single person's tray, and I wanted to see what all of you would do."
Here's my question: what would you do? What would your kids do? What would your spouse do? Because that's the real you. I don't care about how many times you pray in a day, and I don't care if you tell me that when you go to Las Vegas, you went to the Minyan (prayer quorum). I don't care about the tip of your iceberg. I care about what the real you is.
And you want to know why this matters so much? Because Hashem deals with us the same way. You know, when the Seder happens, we do something interesting, something we never do the rest of the year: we say the full Hallel (praise) in half. At the beginning of the Seder, we say the first part of Hallel, and then we eat a full meal—matzah, maror, the meal, the egg, the shank, the whole meal. After the meal, we say the second half of Hallel. That's why no Beracha is made on that Hallel, because we're dividing Hallel in half. The Torah even writes that this is why men in shuls (synagogues) say full Hallel at night, with the Beracha: they're saying the Hallel then, because when they say it at the Seder, it's going to be in half. Why do we split Hallel in half? That's such a strange thing to do. Hallel is a full Hallel, all these things thanking Hashem. Why are we splitting it in half?
The answer I saw, which is wonderful and true, is this: when Hashem split the sea and took us out of Egypt, the Ramban writes this famous fact. He says, why did God do this and pretty much only do it then? Why did Hashem do ten plagues? Why did Hashem split a sea? Why did He make miracle after miracle after miracle, all concentrated in a few weeks, or maybe more than a few weeks—a year, a year and a half—and then after that, we don't see how? You haven't had open miracles in your life. You haven't had man (manna) fall from heaven. You haven't had clouds protect you. You haven't had a sea split in front of you. You haven't seen frogs suddenly arrive, or water turn into blood. Why did Hashem make it all happen at once? What was His purpose?
The Ramban says: here's why. God wanted to give us just the tip of the iceberg. He wanted to show us what He can do, and once you see what He can do out there in the open, you understand and realize for the rest of time what He can do beneath the surface, in hiding and in private, and all the hidden miracles He can do in your life. So yes, one time He showed us; He blitzed us with all kinds of open miracles, so we could really see the hand of Hashem out in the open. Then, the rest of the time, we're supposed to realize that if He can do that, He can maneuver whatever little thing He needs to for my life today, too. If I can believe in the sea splitting, then I believe He can make that person I need to say yes say yes. He can make that car spot I need happen. He can make me feel better. He can do those little things behind the scenes, beneath the surface. He can make that happen. If He can do that, He can do this.
That's why we say the first half of Hallel right after we're talking about leaving Egypt. That first half of Hallel is about leaving Egypt; it's about everything God does for us openly. The second half of Hallel is about the future. After we conclude the meal, that part of the Haggadah (Passover text) is about thanking Hashem for everything that happens beneath the surface, all the hidden miracles He does in your life and mine, all those things He's done for you that the person next to you has no idea about. Maybe once or twice it's a good story to tell, but most of the things He does are things where you have to be there. If you're not there, you can't understand how powerful it was and how amazing it was to me.
So many times people come to me and say, "Rabbi, you have to hear this story." The truth is, it doesn't sound like a cool story. You know why? Because to them, in that moment, it fit so well; they saw Hashem. For me, I don't get the context. I don't appreciate the background. I don't see it as clearly as they do, because Hashem does so many, quote unquote, miracles in our lives for us, beneath the surface.
So we do the first half of Hallel, celebrating all that He did in the past, and we do the second half of Hallel, celebrating all that He does for us in the future, all that's hidden. That's why at the end of the Seder we say Nishmat. Nishmat is thanking Hashem for every breath, thanking Hashem for our eyes and our ears, and for all those simple, basic miracles that are happening every day. We're asking Hashem, "Hashem, just as you can't judge me by who I am in the open, and really judge me by who I am in private, I'm asking you: don't just do miracles for us in the open. Do those private miracles for us, because that's what keeps us going, and that's what makes us us."
The Pesach Seder is about transforming all the glorious things into all the private things, all those things that Hashem did for us. If Hashem just split the sea and did all those miracles thousands of years ago, and then stopped, it would be meaningless. The whole point is everything He's done since then. The same thing is true with you. If you just do the external statistics and all those basic things, it's meaningless. The whole point is what you are beneath the surface. We're asking Him to treat us with great care underneath, where it's not in public, where it's not a glorious miracle, and we're asking ourselves to reciprocate.
I'll give you a little analogy. I think people sent this on the phone, so you may have seen it. A kid asked his father, "Dad, how big is G-d?" You saw this one? Yeah, you saw it. It's a nice one. The father says, "Well, let's look outside." He looks up and sees an airplane. He says, "Yeah, I did that." He asks, "How big is it?" The boy says, "It's teeny, Dad, it's teeny." You know, an airplane all the way up in the air looks small. The father says, "Come with me now." He takes him to an airport, and they go outside on the runway. He says, "How big is the plane now?" The boy says, "Whoa! You ever stand next to an airplane? It looks humongous. The windows look like—it's huge, Dad." The father says, "Well, that's how big G-d is too. It all depends on how close you are, how much He's in your life. If you're a distance from Him, then He's very small. If you're very near Him, then He's very big. That's how much Hashem is in your life."
And that's the truth. It doesn't really go by what you can show me you do, or what you could even tell other people you do. It's all about who you really are. Your real relationship with Hashem is completely private. The real you is something nobody else knows besides you and Hashem. The way He treats us is something no one else knows besides you. What He does for me, I'm the only one who knows. Even my wife doesn't; she might know a little, but she doesn't know it all. What I do for Him, I'm the only one who knows. Even my wife doesn't; she might know a little, but she doesn't know it all. It's the same thing with you. What you are, you're the only one who knows. You can explain it to me from here to the casket of home, and I might believe you, I might not believe you, but that will not mean anything. What matters is what the real iceberg is.
You know, sometimes you do get a glimpse. Before Purim, I raised money for needy people, and I hate doing it, but I do it because I feel like I know those people, and I know those people—it's my responsibility to do it. You see some people react. I'll just send a person a text: "How can you help? The community's families are really struggling before the holiday." Some people react so beautifully. I'm like, you know what, this guy doesn't get a lot of fanfare; he's not getting a lot of attention. All he's getting is this: "Okay, please write out the check to this." Then I'm delivering the check. The guy who's getting the money doesn't know it. I know it for about 30 seconds. I'm paying attention, but I'm not holding on to it. I have the list, but I'm not telling anyone about it. There are some people who have such a wonderful way in private. It's just a glimpse, but some people have this wonderful way of acting when it's the real you, when we want to know who you really are.
There's a statement in the Haggadah for which I heard a unique explanation from a Rabbi today. Not that I heard it today, but the Rabbi is alive today: Rabbi Rabinowitz in Israel. He said that in the Haggadah we say, "Lo echad bilvad amad aleinu lechalotenu" (Not only one rose up to destroy us). What is that? Throughout every generation, they come to try to destroy us. They've been enemies against us, from Egypt throughout history, through every single exile. There's always people out to get us. But I saw a different explanation: lo echad bilvad—it's only when we don't have Hashem as echad. It's only when Hashem isn't one in our life. Then amar aleinu lechalotenu: that's what stands up against us. Our biggest enemy is when, deep down inside our soul, God isn't one.
Can I give you one cute example? I'll give you one cute example. I gave a speech last week, Friday afternoon, about being calm and how you handle yourself on Friday afternoon. Some of you were here. I'm not saying I never did in my life, I'm just saying I try not to, definitely not in public, because, you know what I do in private, who knows. A guy tells me, "Rabbi, I got to tell you this Friday afternoon story." I asked, "You have a Friday afternoon story?" He said, "Yes, the car was blocking the driveway." He said, "Let me tell you a Friday afternoon story." This is a regular guy. He told me this story; it happened to him. He lives a few blocks away. For a little while, a bunch of weeks in a row, his wife's car was getting broken into, like once a week. Whatever was in the car, they took. I don't change a dress, or this or that. They just came in and took it.
One Friday afternoon, he was getting ready with his kids to go to school. They were all together and ready to go. He came outside his house and saw a guy who looked like he was on a lookout. Then he saw another guy beside his wife's car, fooling around with it. He thought, "No, it can't be." So he told the guy, "Look." The guy said, "Oh, you don't understand. I'm sorry." He asked, "What's going on?" The other guy by the car said, "You don't understand. I'm so sorry. Shabbat Shalom." The man asked, "You're Jewish too?" The guy said, "Yeah, I'm so sorry. Shabbat Shalom." He said, "What are you Shabbat Shalom-ing me for? What are you doing?" The guy said, "You don't understand. We work in some kind of factory that's only open from November to Pesach." "What?" "Yeah, we have no money, we have no food to eat, so we go to cars on the block and take the money and the change and the different stuff." He said, "Are you really telling this to me, like, I'm here in front of you?" The guy said, "Yeah, I'm so sorry. You don't understand."
Now listen to this guy. You want to see what? This is unbelievable. He's talking back and forth with them, and he says, "One second, you said you have no food?" The guy says, "No, we're okay." He says, "You know what? Come with me." He starts walking these boys to shul (synagogue). A friend of his comes out of his house and says, "Who are you with?" He says, "I don't know. Just come with me. I need a little help here." They start walking. He says, "Where am I going to take them?" The boys are talking: "Yeah, we remember your wife's dress that we took, and we remember the—" The guy says, "I can't." He says, "I took the boys to the shul. The Rabbi in the shul, the second I walked in, got it. He knew what was happening. He goes running over to the boys." The boys had been going to shul, and since then, I don't know about now, but for a while after that, the boys had gone to shul.
This guy took the situation and turned it around. He was about to call the cops. Maybe he should have called the cops; I don't even know what he should have done. But you know what happens? Then you get tested as a real Jew. I know this guy. I know what he does above the iceberg, above the water. I know his involvement, the charity, and the community. But sometimes you find out the real you in snap moments. The Pesach Seder is about not just the middle, small piece that stays on the table; it's about the large piece that gets hidden. It's not just about the Hallel, because just as we don't want God to treat us by taking care of us only with the half of Hallel that was glorious and in our past, we want God to care for us, to have peace and that relationship with us through the private ways He cares for us, which hopefully are in our future.
We say, "This is the poor man's bread." Why is it called lechem oni? The Gemara says it means something else. It's bread—the matzah is bread that we say many things on it. What does that mean, that it's bread that we say many things on it? The simple meaning is that you have the matzah on the table, and you say the Hallel, the Haggadah, the Berachot, and all the things that we say with the matzah there. But the Sefat Emet says it's a much deeper thing. He says, "You realize something unique about the matzah, that no other Mitzvah (commandment) that we have around today is like this. It's the only Mitzvah where you're taking something holy and putting it inside of you. You blow the Shofar (ram's horn) out, you read things, you shake a Lulav (palm branch), you sit in a Sukkah (booth), but this is the only thing—a holy thing, matzah, this holy bread—that you're putting inside your body. Is your body really worthy? Is the real you really worthy?"
So what Hashem does is say, "I need you to say the Haggadah." Saying the Haggadah is sort of like a cleansing. It's a way of us talking about Hashem, connecting to Hashem, and building that relationship with Him in a real way. When we do that cleansing, then we're worthy of being able to eat it. So this is bread that, because of all that we said and all that we really mean, we're worthy of consuming. That's the bread; that's what we say in the Haggadah. Anyone who talks as much as he can about Egypt—what does it mean that he's praised? It means he becomes elevated, he becomes praised, he becomes someone special.
So what this Seder should be, again, is this: when something rocks your world, it's not just supposed to make you say, "Wow, I can't believe it." That's the small part of the story. The big part of the story, when it relates to your life, is: is there a lesson in it? The lesson for me in a story is, am I really, really, really, really for real? I have no idea how real the people around me are, and that's not a judgment; that's just a fact. It's impossible for me to know what's happening beneath the surface in so many other people's lives, but it is possible for you to know what's happening beneath the surface in my life. That's my responsibility: to make sure that I'm not just a good Jew above water, but that I am a powerfully good Jew in my bigger half, beneath the surface; that my relationship with Hashem is strong and is growing throughout a time like Pesach. It's not just about doing things, where I'm going to be, or what I'm going to wear. It's about what I'm going to be. What is the person I'm going to transform myself into by talking about Hashem and connecting to Hashem?
There's a lot of people who tell you, "How's everything?" "Baruch Hashem" (Thank God), "Baruch Hashem, Baruch Hashem, Baruch Hashem." You know the Baruch Hashem people. It's wonderful if it's real, but sometimes it's not real. Again, it's a wonderful thing if it's real. What does it mean that Hashem is in your life, and that when you close the door, you really talk to Hashem? Can you really say openly, "Hashem, come and judge me, because what you see is as genuine as I can be"? But don't give me Baruch Hashem if it's just the tip and underneath there's no iceberg, there's nothing there.
And you know who almost always knows the truth? Your children. That's why at the Seder, the children take that piece and hide it, because they're sending a little message: "That hidden part of you, Mommy and Daddy, I know it. You might think the door was closed when you had that conversation, but maybe I heard part of it. You might think I didn't hear that word slip out of your mouth, but you know what? I kind of did. You might have thought I went upstairs that day when you were frustrated, but I took a little time before I went up, so I know what's happening. And the same thing the other way: you gave that charity to someone because you really cared, and you know what? Three weeks later, someone told me accidentally. When I saw you trying to talk to Hashem just a little longer, and you closed the door, I paid attention, and I've been imitating it." Your kids know what's happening beneath the surface. I don't know; your kids do.
That's why at the Seder night, when we take that big piece, they hide it, because the person down the block has no idea. The real you—your children in your home really do know.
I'm going to conclude with one little story, which I think is beautiful. I read it about a Rabbi. Again, we got to see the bigger piece. There's a yeshiva in Lakewood; I don't know if you're familiar with it. It's the biggest yeshiva in America, by far. There are seven, eight thousand students there, and they have four Rosh Yeshivas, four Rabbis who run it. There's one Rabbi whose name is Rabbi Olshin. I can't tell you how loved he is by the students. He's written books, and they all love his books. Anyhow, this story will tell you why.
They have this thing where the Rabbis visit the places where their students have spread out. They have thousands of alumni spread out all over the world. They go to different places, to help fundraise, I guess, too. They come to Brooklyn one Shabbat, and the Rabbis come to Queens one Shabbat. A few weeks ago, the Rosh Yeshivas went to Queens for Shabbat. Rabbi Olshin was sitting at a table on a Friday night. They were having a big dinner for him; it was Friday night dinner, and the Rabbi was in town. All of a sudden, a little boy, about 13 years old, came up to the head table and shook the Rabbi's hand. The Rabbi got up and walked out of the room and the building. A few minutes later, he came back in and continued. After the night was almost over, one person said, "Rabbi, where'd you go? It's a big event; everyone's together. Where'd you go?"
He said, "I'll tell you what. I saw that boy." They said, "Yeah." He said, "I asked the boy, 'Which school are you in?' The boy told me, 'I'm in this school in Brooklyn.' He said, 'My mother drives me.' Then he said, 'My mother actually just walked me here tonight to come see you.' So I told the boy, 'I want to go see your mother.'" The Rabbi got up in the middle of this whole event and went outside to give strength to a mother who drives her son to school every day, and the care that she gives.
Now you know why that Rabbi is so loved. It's nice and easy to sit at a head table, make a visit, and give a big speech. It's easy to be the Rosh Yeshiva, the biggest Rosh Yeshiva in the world—I mean, it's probably pretty cool—but that's just the tip of the iceberg. That's not who you really are. An episode like that is a little glimpse into the real you. Every one of us has these stories, these opportunities, and these chances to define ourselves, not by statistics.
That's why we say at the Seder that everyone is obligated to look at himself as if he's leaving Egypt. That means every single person at every single Seder is supposed to make their own transformation, as if I, this year, am transforming my inner being. It's not just an external, glorious relationship with Hashem. It's not just when someone says, "Oh, how religious are you?" and I answer, "I do this, and I do this, and I do that, and I do that, and I cook, and I do, and I cook, and I do that." What's going to answer the question is my bigger half. What's going to answer the question is not the first half of Hallel, but the second half. What's going to answer the question is what my children know and what they're hiding. What's going to answer the question is how much I developed my relationship with Hashem at a time like Pesach.
So, at this Seder night, it's nice; your table is for sure going to look great. Someone is going to come in and look around and say, "Wow, this is a beautiful, much is what's happening inside of your soul," what's happening not in the tip of the iceberg, but what is the ice, what is you? Thank you.