Stop Comparing and Start Growing (From Last Year 2024)

I recall once seeing a couple, whom I had married, on the street several months after their wedding, and I was struck by how exuberant they looked. They were so happy with each other; they were both glowing, exuding genuine joy and exhiliration. In my mind I expressed the wish that all married couples should enjoy the bliss that this young newlywed couple enjoyed. Just a couple of months later, the father of one of them informed me that the couple was divorcing. It didn't work out. There is a couple out-of-town whom I had gotten to know well over the years. They are wealthy and successful, and have beautiful children. They seem to have everything in life that a person could ever want. But then, at one point, out of the blue, the wife called me – and then the husband, separately – both expressing to me that they're wondering if it's worth staying together. They said they were so miserable in their marriage. These stories are just two examples of a basic truth that we need to know: everyone, without exception, is struggling with something, even if it seems like their lives are perfect. And most people are struggling with several things. We don't realize it, because everyone is putting on a show. Everybody wants to make it appear that his or her life is perfectly in order, and everything is fine. But the truth is that there nobody who can say that everything is fine. We all have problems. It's part of life. Countless studies have shown the damage being caused by social media, as people – especially youngsters – spend hours a day looking at others who seem to be perfect. They see Instagram pictures and videos of their peers having a great time, and they feel that only they're struggling, only they have problems. And this causes a great deal of pain and anxiety. This phenomenon might help explain an episode in Parashat Hukat. Beneh Yisrael find themselves without water, and they complain. They come to Moshe and Aharon and ask why they had brought them into the desert, which is "not a place of seeds, of figs or grapes or pomegranates, and there is no water to drink" (20:5). The people don't have water – but they're complaining also about not having figs, grapes and pomegranates. Why? If a person doesn't have water, does it matter to him that he doesn't have nice fruits to eat? The answer might be that Beneh Yisrael weren't just complaining about the water situation. They were bothered that other nations lived "normal" lives, planting and growing food, while they have been spending forty years in the desert. They wanted to be like everyone else. Their running out of water highlighted the fact that they were not living a normal existence like other people. And this is what bothered them. The first human being, as we know, was called אדם , a name derived from the word אדמה – ground – which is where he originated from. If we punctuate the word אדמה (" adama ") differently, we arrive at " adameh " – "I will resemble." Because there are two ways a person can live his life – he can live a life of " adameh ," of trying to be like other people, trying to have what they have, or he can live a life of " adama ," like the ground, where seeds grow into beautiful plants, trees, flowers and produce. Meaning, we have a choice to make: we can either be bogged down comparing ourselves to other people, or we can grow. Comparing ourselves to other people stifles us. It creates insecurity and anxiety, and causes us to waste our time and energy pursuing things which we don't need and which aren't right for us. Once we stop comparing, we can start growing. We can focus on what we need to do, on who we are supposed to be, on achieving all that we are meant to achieve. And once we live this way, with our focus on growth instead of comparing, life becomes so much more beautiful, so much more productive, and so much more fulfilling.

You Might Not Be Right… Korach was so sure he was right. Rashi (16:7) writes that what led Korach to foolishly challenge Moshe Rabbenu, to start a fight that resulted in his death and many other deaths, was, ironically enough, his רוח הקודש – his prophetic vision. He saw – correctly – that he would have prominent descendants, such as the prophet Shmuel. And so he decided that he must be the rightful leader already now, in the desert, in place of Moshe. Korach backed up his claims with arguments that sounded pretty convincing. The Midrash teaches that Korach won support for his cause by telling the story of a poor widow with two young daughters, who had a small field from which to make a living. She started plowing the field with her ox and donkey, but then Moshe told her about the command forbidding plowing with two different species of animal. When she started planting, Moshe told her about the command forbidding planting different species together. When she started harvesting the field, Moshe told her about the command to leave certain portions for the poor and to give certain portions to the kohanim and leviyim . Exasperated, she decided to sell her field and purchase sheep, instead. Aharon later came to take the sheep's firstborn, as well the first portion of wool sheared from it, as required by the Torah. The woman and her daughters stood there and cried. If I was told this story at a Shabbat table, I would have probably been convinced that Korach was right and Moshe was wrong. This sounds so just, so noble, a cause that is truly לשם שמיים , for the sake of Hashem. But of course it wasn't. This was all about jealousy. If Korach had been honest with himself, he would have acknowledged that this fight was not about fairness, and not about his righteous descendants. This was about himself, his ego, his lust for honor and prestige. He fooled himself – and his supporters – into thinking that he was waging a noble battle, that he was doing the right thing, that he was fighting against injustice. But in truth, he was fighting for his selfish, egotistical concerns. Let us all ask ourselves honestly: have we ever made this same mistake? Have we ever gotten involved in a fight or controversy, thinking with certainty that we were right, that we were fighting for a noble, holy cause? And if we have, did we stop to think clearly and objectively about our true motives? Did we consider that maybe we weren't really right, that we were being selfish and petty? The Gemara tells that one of the leading participants in Korach's uprising – a man named On ben Pelet – ended up backing out, thanks to his wife. She told him that this idea was silly. Even if Korach's side wins, she said, he – On ben Pelet – would be under Korach's authority instead of Moshe's. What would he gain from that? We all need people in our lives like On ben Pelet's wife – somebody who could help us think objectively and rationally. When we find ourselves in a fight, or part of a controversy, it helps to have somebody who can tell us that we're wrong, that we're being foolish, that this fight is not worth it – and we have to be willing to listen. Next time we feel like fighting, like joining some campaign against somebody, let's stop and think clearly and honestly. Let's ask ourselves if we are really being sincere, if this fight is really the right thing to do, and if this fight is really worth it. If we do this, we will spare ourselves a lot of heartache and a lot of wasted emotional energy, and we will be able to focus on the things that really matter, on being productive, on working hard to achieve to the best of our ability.

Parashat Shelah is famous for the story of the meraglim – the spies sent by Moshe Rabbenu to scout the land. They returned with a frightening report, insisting that Beneh Yisrael were incapable of capturing the country, and convincing them not to proceed to the land. The nation accepted their report, and wept. Hashem severely punished the people, keeping them in the desert for forty years until that entire generation perished. Interestingly, the first words the meragelim said about the land were very positive, and even sound enthusiastic: באנו אל הארץ אשר שלחתנו, וגם זבת חלב ודבש היא... We came to the land you sent us to, and it is indeed flowing with milk and honey… (13:27) After this brief word of praise for the quality of the land, the spies then told the people that they could not possibly capture it, and that it was not even worth capturing. Rashi explains that the spies began with praising the land because a lie is credible only if it includes some truth. The spies needed to start with the truth – that the land is "flowing with milk and honey" – in order to lay the groundwork for the lies they wanted to spread. But others explain differently. The spies were telling the people that the Land of Israel was so good, so desirable, that they should have expected many surrounding nations to want to take it over. Yet, nobody did. The reason, the spies claimed, is that the nations in Eretz Yisrael were too powerful for anyone to dare launch an attack. Thus, the spies' positive words were actually part of their negativity. They took the great blessing of the Land of Israel and turned it on its head, making a complaint out of it. I'm sorry to say this – but this is something that we're all guilty of. A person is invited to a wedding, and complains about the inconvenient time, the hassle of having to get dressed, find a babysitter, make the trip, buy a gift, and so on. Two weeks later, that same person is talking to a friend who is going to another wedding, and responds, "What? I wasn't invited?!" This sounds silly, but we all do this in one form or another. We all complain about our blessings. We complain about our spouse, our kids, our house, our jobs, our rabbi, our community, etc. etc. etc. These are all wonderful blessings, but we complain, because our lives aren't perfect. What we don't realize is that our lives aren't supposed to be perfect. But they're supposed to be appreciated and enjoyed. And in order to appreciate and enjoy them, we need to stop complaining about our many blessings. Earlier in the parashah (13:26), the Torah says about the spies, וילכו ויבואו – "They went and they came." Rashi, based on the Gemara, comments that this pasuk alludes to the fact that the spies' departure to scout the land was similar to their return from their spy mission. Just as they returned with the intention of convincing the people not to proceed to the Land of Israel, they had initially embarked on their mission with that same intention. What Rashi is saying is that the spies' negativity was not triggered by what they saw during their mission in the land. It's not as though they left with a positive attitude and were then discouraged by the things they observed. They set out with a negative mindset, and so they turned everything they saw into a complaint, into something terrible. This is what we need to stop doing. We need to stop turning our blessings into complaints. So many parents of engaged daughters complain about the hassle and costs of making a wedding. So many people with a summer home in Deal complain about the hassle and costs of moving in for the summer and maintaining their homes. So many people who can afford luxury vacations complain about the hassle and costs of air travel. Do they hear themselves? Do they realize how silly they sound complaining about these wonderful blessings? Let's all stop complaining about our many blessings, so we can, once and for all, fully enjoy them.

The final pesukim of Parashat Behaalotecha tell the famous story of Miriam speaking inappropriately about her brother, Moshe Rabbenu. Miriam was punished with tzara'at (leprosy) for speaking lashon ha'ra (negative talk) about her brother. One of the most significant aspects of this story is what's missing – Moshe's reaction to Miriam's harsh words. We don't find Moshe saying anything to Miriam. In fact, the Torah interjects, והאיש משה עניו מאד מכל האדם אשר על פני האדמה – that Moshe was the humblest man in the world (12:3). This implies that Moshe, in his great humility, kept silent. The Gemara (Gittin 36b) speaks about the unique greatness of הנעלבים ואינן עולבים – those who do not respond to insults, who simply remain quiet when others put them down. Such people, the Gemara teaches, are the ones of whom the pasuk in the Book of Shoftim (5:31) says, ואוהביו כצאת השמש בגבורתו – "…and those who love Him are like the sun when it comes out in all its force." In other words, people who keep quiet, who do not respond when they are offended or insulted, who simply ignore it and go about their day, have special power. Indeed, numerous stories are told of people whose prayers were answered in this merit – because they would keep quiet and not respond to insults. For example, the Gemara in Masechet Ta'anit (25b) tells that once, during a harsh drought, the people assembled to pray, and after Rabbi Akiva led the prayer service, rain began to fall. Specifically Rabbi Akiva's prayers were answered, the Gemara explains, because he excelled in the quality of מעביר על מדותיו – letting things go, not responding to insults. What is so special about this quality? Why is it so difficult to remain quiet and not respond? One answer, perhaps, is that this is something we cannot prepare for ahead of time. We never know when somebody will offend us, hurt our feelings, or disrespect us. Just as an example – I recall once when I was delivering a speech, somebody walked into the room in the middle and announced that I had already exceeded my allotted time, and I needed to stop. I was a little taken aback, and I politely asked if I could have just another two minutes as I was right in the middle of a thought. He adamantly refused, insisting that I stop my speech dead in its tracks. As I walked out of the room, I passed by that person. I am proud to say that I controlled the urge I felt to say something to him, but I cannot say I was unaffected. I was upset, angry and agitated. There is no way to prepare for experiences like these. They just happen. We can mentally prepare ourselves for challenges that we anticipate, such as waking up in time for prayers in the morning, closing the business before Shabbat, dressing the way we are supposed to dress, or refraining from going somewhere we know we should not go. But we cannot prepare ourselves to be מעביר על מדותיו , to remain quiet, to not respond to something hurtful that somebody says or does. The only solution is to be humble like Moshe Rabbenu, to develop and strengthen our characters to the point where people's opinions of us don't matter. And if we can do this – then we become incredibly powerful. Nobody is stronger than the person who is not discouraged by insults, who is unaffected by what people say or think about him. Let us harness this remarkable power through the quality of מעביר על מדותיו , by following Moshe Rabbenu's example of genuine humility, by making ourselves invulnerable to insults.

Parashat Naso includes birkat kohanim – the special blessing with which the kohanim are commanded to bless the rest of the nation. The first portion of this berachah is: יברכך ה' וישמרך – "G-d shall bless you and protect you" (6:24). Rashi explains this to mean that Hashem should bless us with material prosperity, and then protect it for us. Normally, Rashi writes, when a person gives his fellow a gift, the giver's involvement ends the moment the gift is given. It is now entirely up to the recipient to do with the gift what he wants, and to take care of it. It can be stolen, it can be misused, it can be damaged, it can be lost, it can end up causing harm in some way. The kohanim bless the people that Hashem will not only give them money and possessions, but also protect these gifts for them. Hashem does not leave us after giving us a gift. He stays with us, guarding it and protecting it. We've all received many gifts. Our spouse, our children, our homes, our careers or businesses, our friends, our community – everything we have is a gift from Hashem. And, as we all know, these gifts can often be difficult to handle. Raising children in today's day and age is very, very hard, and fraught with challenges. Full-time jobs are often very demanding, and take up our entire day. Every businessman knows how much stress and pressure is involved in running a business. Our close-knit community is wonderful, but with so many people knowing each other and working with one another, complicated and uncomfortable situations arise. We have so many blessings, but with those blessings come numerous challenges. This is particularly felt when one is privileged to make a simchah , like marrying off a child. Nowadays, the logistics involved in making a wedding are overwhelming. There are so many details that need to be ironed out, so many different people that we are trying to please, accommodate, and avoid offending, and so many different pieces that need to fit into the puzzle. What should be the happiest time in our lives can easily become the most stressful time. We need to remember that Hashem stays with us after giving us a gift. He doesn't just hand it to us and go away. We are not shouldering the burden by ourselves. Whatever it is that we're struggling with, we must realize that we are not alone. Hashem is by our side, carrying the weight of the responsibility with us. Once we realize this, and we turn to Him in prayer and ask for His help, the burden becomes so much easier to handle. We will then be able to truly enjoy and cherish all the blessings in our lives, without seeing them turn into sources of stress and hardship.

The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (6:4) teaches: כך היא דרכה של תורה: פת במלח תאכל ומים במשורה תשתה ועל הארץ תישן וחיי צער תחיה ובתורה אתה עמל . This is the way of Torah: You eat bread with salt, you drink water in rations, you lie on the ground, and you live a life of distress – and you toil in Torah. At first glance, the Mishnah is telling us that the Torah requires us to live in abject poverty. But this is clearly not the case. While it is true that many great Rabbis were very poor, many others were wealthy. And most were somewhere in the middle between very poor and very rich. Certainly, most Torah scholars today sleep in comfortable beds, not on the floor, and eat far more than bread with salt. What, then, does this Mishnah mean? The answer brings us back seven weeks – to the celebration of Pesach. The Alter of Kelm raises the question of why Hashem needed to rush Beneh Yisrael out of Egypt so frantically, such that their dough didn't have time to rise, and they ended up baking matzah. They spent hundreds of years in Egypt – they couldn't stay there an extra half-hour so they could have proper bread? Why did Hashem find it necessary to have them chased out so quickly? The Alter of Kelm answered that this was necessary to teach us a vitally important lesson – that in order to succeed as Hashem's nation, we need to be prepared to eat "matzah," to sacrifice luxuries, to live with just the basics. The Torah demands מסירות נפש – self-sacrifice. In order to excel as a Torah Jew, a person needs to be prepared to forego comforts and luxuries, and to show his commitment even when the circumstances are far less than ideal. This is the meaning of the Mishnah. It is not telling us that we need to suffer in order to live a Torah life. Rather, it is telling us that we must be prepared to sacrifice for Torah, that living a Torah life requires us to do things that are difficult, that are uncomfortable, that are inconvenient, that are unpopular, that are challenging. It is wonderful to attend a Torah class with several hundred other like-minded community members in a comfortable, air-conditioned shul at 8pm when one has a free evening. Every single person who does so should be commended, and I have nothing but praise for all of them. But – this is not how greatness is achieved. One achieves greatness by displaying commitment when it's difficult. When a person maintains his Torah learning schedule even when he's had a very hard day, when he didn't get a good night's sleep, when the material is difficult or the speaker isn't at his best. One achieves greatness when his friends are getting together for an event that he knows is inappropriate, so he does not go. Of course one should learn Torah and perform mitzvot when it's convenient. But in order to fully actualize our potential, we need to be ready to learn Torah and perform mitzvot even when it's not convenient, when it's challenging, when it requires struggle and sacrifice. This is why the Torah was given in a desert – to teach us that we must be committed to Torah even under "desert" conditions, when we don't have our usual comforts and conveniences, when things are difficult. This is how greatness in Torah is achieved. After my father zt"l passed away, we came across one of his books. He owned hundreds upon hundreds of books, but this one was very special. When he was already very sick, he asked for this book, and one of my nephews bought it for him. After he passed away, we saw that the book had been read through – and it had numerous handwritten notes on the margins. On some pages, there were stains of blood, apparently from the times when he learned the book after receiving an injection or IV infusion in his hand. This is what the Mishnah was talking about. This is מסירות נפש for Torah – learning Torah intensely even when this is challenging. Of course there is nothing wrong with learning under comfortable conditions, in a comfortable room, with heat or air conditioning, when we are well fed, after a good night's sleep, feeling healthy, and in good spirits. But in order to truly excel, we must be prepared to devote ourselves to Torah even when we find ourselves in a "desert," in difficult circumstances. As Shavuot approaches, let us all choose one thing we are willing to do for Torah even though it is difficult, one challenge we are willing to take upon ourselves for Torah. We will then be able to truly say that we earned the great privilege of standing on Shavuot morning and receiving the Torah from Hashem anew.

The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (5:16) teaches: כל אהבה שהיא תלויה בדבר – בטל דבר, בטלה אהבה . ושאינה תלויה בדבר, אינה בטלה לעולם . Any love that is dependent on something – once that thing is gone, the love is gone; but [love] that is not dependent on anything will never be gone. As an example of אהבה התלויה בדבר – love that is dependent on something – the Mishnah points to the story of Amnon and Tamar, two children of David Ha'melech. They were half-brother and half-sister, and Amnon desired Tamar. After satisfying his lust, he then despised her. Amnon's love for Tamar did not last. As the paradigm of אהבה שאינו תלויה בדבר , the Mishnah mentions אהבת דוד ויהונתן – the special bond between David and Yehonatan – the son of Shaul, who was king before David. Their love endured forever. Let us examine these different kinds of love. Sometimes, a person loves somebody because of some feature, because of some quality, because of something that the other individual provides. For some, it is the person's good looks and physical attractiveness. For others, it might be the person's income, or his or her coming from a wealthy family. A person might love someone because that other person is intelligent or funny, or has some talent. The problem with these models of love is that the love is תלויה בדבר , it is dependent on a specific factor. Once the person's appearance changes, or when the wealth isn't there anymore, or the personality changes somewhat, or the skills and talents aren't quite what they used to be, then the love is gone. The paradigm of this kind of love is Amnon's "love" for Tamar. He didn't really love her; he loved himself, and he wanted to use her for his gratification. And so once he got what he wanted, there was no longer any connection. The love was gone. The greatest example of the opposite kind of love, of אהבה שאינה תלויה בדבר , is the love between David and Yehonatan. These are two people who stood in each other's way. Yehonatan was the king's son, and the heir apparent to the throne, whereas David was anointed by the prophet as Shaul's successor. Each blocked the other's road to the kingship. They loved each other despite the fact that each threatened the other's pursuit of fame and glory. This love was true and genuine, and was not conditioned on any benefit that each party sought to gain from the relationship. And so it was enduring, unable to ever be broken. The strongest marriage is one where the husband and wife feel 100 percent safe in the relationship, where neither is concerned the relationship will be threatened that if they do this or don't do that. If the relationship is based on factors such as looks or income, then it isn't safe, because they know it could be lost once the looks or the earnings aren't what they once were. A marriage is strong when the husband and wife feel safe and secure with each other, confident that nothing can ever undermine the love between them. And this how children should feel toward their parents, as well. There is a saying that a good parent is one whose children all feel the most loved, where each child feels he or she is loved more than the others. I strongly disagree. I don't think it's good for any child to feel that the parents love him or her more than the others. This is an arrogant feeling. In my opinion, the greatest parent is the one who makes each child feel that he or she will never be loved less than any other child, that nothing could ever cause the parent to love another child more. A child needs to feel that the love is entirely unconditional, and אינה תלויה בדבר – not dependent on anything, not on grades, not on helping around the house, not on religious observance, not on being accepted to a particular school or yeshiva, not on professional or financial success, not on whom he or she marries, and not only how his or her children behave. The greatest parents are those whose love for their children is אינה תלויה בדבר , and whose children feel that this love is אינה תלויה בדבר . This is what every child needs, more than anything – to feel safe with his parents, to know that his parents will always be there for him and will always love him, no matter what he does. This kind of unconditional love is described by a pasuk Shir Hashirim (8:7): מים רבים לא יוכלו לכבות את האהבה ונהרות לא ישטפוה, אם יתן איש כל הון ביתו באהבה בוז יבוזו לו. This pasuk speaks of a level of love that is like a fire which can never be extinguished, not even with powerful streams of water, and that if someone would offer the person a fortune in exchange for this love, he would be ridiculed, because it is so clear that the love is worth far more than anything money can buy. Parents should strive to have their children feel this way toward them, to make them feel safe and secure, knowing that their parents love them unconditionally, and nothing will ever threaten this relationship.

We are currently observing the period of sefirat ha'omer , when we refrain from festive celebrations and from haircutting and shaving, as we mourn the tragic death of Rabbi Akiva's thousands of students. The Gemara (Yevamot 62b) famously teaches that Rabbi Akiva's students died as a punishment for their failure to treat each other with proper respect: שלא נהגו כבוד זה בזה . The obligation to treat people with respect is exceedingly difficult – far more difficult than we tend to think. Elsewhere, in Masechet Nedarim (81a), the Gemara makes the observation that many Torah scholars have children who do not follow their father's example, and do not become Torah scholars themselves. The Gemara proceeds to bring several possible reasons why this is so. One reason, offered by Rav Ashi, is striking. Rav Ashi said: משום דקרו לאינשי חמרי – "Because they call people 'donkeys'." According to Rav Ashi, many great Rabbis are not worthy of having children who become great Rabbis because they look down on other people, and they treat them like "donkeys." I find this Gemara very frightening. I find it frightening because there is no question that the Rabbis described by the Gemara did not intend to treat people like "donkeys." If we are aware of the obligation to treat people with respect, then obviously great Rabbis are also aware of this mitzvah . But many of them are still guilty of treating others like "donkeys" without realizing it. Why? The answer is that when somebody is good at something, when he is accomplished in any area, it is so easy for him to look down on, and to disrespect, other people who aren't as good as he is in that area. If a person is an accomplished Torah scholar, it is so easy for him to look down on people who aren't Torah scholars. If a person is a successful businessman with lots of money, it is so easy for him to look down on people who earn a modest livelihood and live simply. When a person excels in some professional field, it is so easy for him to look down on people who aren't familiar with his field. Treating people with respect does not come naturally. It is a skill that we need to learn and develop. It requires thought and effort. King Shlomo instructs us in Mishleh (3:4), ומצא חן ושכל טוב בעיני אלוקים ואדם – "And find favor and sound wisdom in the eyes of G-d and man." This means that finding favor in people's eyes requires שכל טוב – a good deal of intelligence. We need to be smart. We need to think carefully and understand how people work. And we need to be aware of ourselves, of our tendency to feel superior to others, so we can resist this tendency. There is also another reason why the Gemara says that some outstanding scholars treat others like "donkeys." When a person strives for greatness, he might feel entitled to knock over other people in the process. If a person is ambitious and does great things, he could forget about the basic, simple things. He might not take the time to give people his attention and to extend himself to help them. In other words, a person who is preoccupied with being great might neglect being good. This, too, requires שכל טוב , wisdom and intelligence. Of course we must pursue greatness – but with the שכל טוב to remember to be not just great, but good, that the amazing things we're involved in do not absolve us of our basic obligations toward other people. During this period of sefirat ha'omer , let us try to develop this שכל טוב , the wisdom to treat all people with respect, no matter who they are.

A fable is told of an egg in an eagle's nest high in the branches of a towering tree, that fell out of the nest and landed in the middle of a chicken coup. It soon hatched, and a baby eagle emerged. The baby bird looked around, saw the other chickens, and naturally figured that it, too, was a chicken. It realized that its wings looked much different, but it was raised among the chickens and acted just as chickens act. It ate chicken feed and ran around the coup, without flying. Then, one day, its mother swooped down from the skies into the chicken coup. It saw its baby, and told it to get onto its back. "Why?" the baby eagle asked. "I live here in the chicken coup." "This isn't where you belong," the mother eagle said. "You're not meant to be here. You're meant to fly, to soar to the heavens." The baby eagle had no idea what the mother was talking about. It never imagined that it could fly to the sky. Finally, the mother convinced the baby to get onto its back. The mother flew to a mountain peak, and told the baby to get off. It then told the baby to flap its wings, and start to fly. The Mishna in Pirkeh Avot (6:2) tells that every day, a voice is sounded from Mount Sinai, exclaiming, אוי להם לבריות מעלבונה של תורה – "Woe unto those creatures, who disgrace the Torah ." This heavenly voice bemoans the fact that so many people neglect the Torah, filling their time instead with other, vain pursuits. The Mishna applies to such people the verse in the Book of Mishleh (11:22), נזם זהב באף חזיר – "A gold ring in the nose of a pig." We were given the Torah, which is more precious than the most expensive piece of gold jewelry. We were given the opportunity to soar to the greatest heights, to achieve greatness, to live meaningful, spiritual lives, to live lives of kedushah . If we waste our time on vanity, then we are like someone who is given a piece of gold jewelry and puts it on a pig. Parashat Kedoshim begins, דבר אל כל עדת בני ישראל ואמרת אליהם קדושים תהיו – "Speak to the entire congregation of Beneh Yisrael, and say to them: You shall be holy." Moshe was to tell כל עדת בני ישראל , the entire nation, every single person among the Jewish People, that they are meant to be sacred. We are all meant to soar. We are all meant to be great. We are like that baby eagle in a chicken coup. All around us, people aren't "flying." They're spending their time on social media, watching all kinds of videos, playing games, and being glued to their screens. This is the society we live in, but this is not the way we are supposed to live. We are supposed to soar, to live at a much higher standard, to fill our time and our lives with meaning, with purpose, with רוחניות (spirituality), with kedushah . We aren't supposed to act like "chickens," to occupy ourselves with vanity. Let us hear the call of קדושים תהיו , and make the commitment to be better, to avoid the distractions, to avoid the nonsense, so we can soar to the great heights that we are meant to reach.

The Vilna Gaon, in his commentary to the Book of Mishleh (16:1-4), discusses how each and every person is created as a unique and distinct being, different from all other people. We all have not only a distinctive appearance, but also a distinctive set of qualities, natural talents, and ways of thinking and processing what we see and learn. This is because every single soul is unique. No two souls are alike. This point is probably not new to most of us. But the next point made by the Vilna Gaon is fascinating. He writes that during the times when there was prophecy, a person could go to a prophet who, though prophecy, could analyze his unique soul, and on this basis advise the individual what his role and mission in the world is. The prophet could tell the person what kind of person to marry, what kind of career to pursue, what kind of activities he should be involved in, and so on, in accordance with his unique characteristics. But nowadays, the Vilna Gaon says, when we don't have prophecy, we have the power to do this ourselves. The Vilna Gaon writes that each person has a certain level of ru'ah ha'kodesh , a kind of spiritual insight resembling prophecy, which helps him identify his unique mission, what unique role he is to fill and what unique contribution he is to make. The Vilna Gaon here is teaching us something so important, and so powerful, which, I'm afraid, some people fail to realize. He is teaching us that the only thing that matters is our unique mission, our unique journey through life. What other people do, or the way other people perceive us, is irrelevant. We each have a journey to take to life – and this is what we should be focused on. So many people get distracted from their journey because they're too worried about what others think of them. They're too busy trying to impress their peers, trying to get attention, trying to win approval and admiration. Trying to impress people is so foolish, because what other people think does not matter. What matters is our journey, our mission, our efforts to achieve what we've come into this world to achieve. This is what we should be focusing on – not on impressing people. Parashiyot Tazria and Metzora deal mainly with the subject of tzara'at , a type of affliction that would befall those who indulged in lashon ha'ra – gossip and negative talk about other people. Very often, we feel the need to hear and spread gossip, to talk about other people's faults and mistakes, so that we can feel good about ourselves, so we can feel that we're better, that our lives are more impressive than theirs. This, too, is terribly foolish. Other people's mistakes and other people's faults have nothing to do with us. The fact that our fellow did this or didn't do that says absolutely nothing – nothing! – about how we're doing, about whether we're living our best life, about whether we're on the right track, whether we're fulfilling our unique mission and advancing in our unique journey. Everyone has issues of one kind or another. Everyone is struggling with something. How somebody else is managing with his issues says absolutely nothing about how we're managing with ours. Focusing on other people's struggles accomplishes nothing but diverting our attention away from the work we need to do to overcome our own struggles. Let's stop worrying less about what other people think of us, and what other people are doing, and start worrying more about working to grow, to achieve, and to pursue the goals that we have been brought into the world to achieve.