We’ve Got Ruach; Yes, We Do!

Have you heard that the average attention span is down from 12 seconds in the year 2000 to eight seconds now? That is less than the nine-second attention span of your average goldfish.

The origins of this data can be tracked back to a Microsoft report published in 2015 and was then included in a host of articles and analyzed and reviewed in different publications ever since.

Now if you’re still paying attention…

This eight-second myth has been busted. The idea of an “average attention span” is pretty meaningless. There’s no hard data behind it. There’s also no evidence that goldfish - or indeed any fish - have particularly short attention spans.

Whatever the research, as a parent, teacher, and rabbi, I can tell you with authority: People today have less patience. We have little attention for things not directly in front of us or that come in doses of more than 120 characters or that can’t be conveyed with a picture or a meme.

I experience this myself. So did the Jews in Egypt. When Moshe relays God’s promise of redemption to them, they don’t listen.

וַיְדַבֵּר מֹשֶׁה כֵּן אֶל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְלֹא שָׁמְעוּ אֶל־מֹשֶׁה מִקֹּצֶר רוּחַ וּמֵעֲבֹדָה קָשָׁה׃

“Moses spoke to the children of Israel, but they did not listen to Moses because of kotzer ruach, a shortness of ruach, and because of their hard labor.” (Shemot 6:9)

What is kotzer ruach?

Kotzer ruach can be defined as three types of limited mindsets: impatience, narrow-mindedness, and a lack of spirit. These mindsets interfere with the ability to overcome challenges, think big, or feel passion.

1) Impatience

Rashi explains that the Jews were working so hard that they were out of breath and couldn’t concentrate. The American poet W.H. Auden wrote, “Perhaps there is only one cardinal sin: impatience. Because of impatience we were driven out of Paradise, because of impatience we cannot return.” Impatience breeds fear, stress and discouragement.

For Bnei Yisrael, Moshe’s speech about 5 stages of redemption was simply too long. They did not have the patience for such a long process. We have become accustomed to things being easy and convenient. Maybe too convenient. As Evan Williams, a co-founder of Twitter, put it, “Convenience decides everything.”

Kotzer ruach means we have limited patience beyond what we’ve accustomed ourselves to have. The response is to develop a little more tolerance for what’s outside the ordinary way things usually are. It may seem hard, or it may seem inconvenient, but it’s necessary.

2) Narrow-mindedness

Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin says that Bnei Yisrael were just too busy working to actually stop and listen. When we are overworked, we don’t have the capacity to be receptive to anything else - even good news. Our vision – our spirit – is limited. That’s kotzer ruach. We need to broaden our horizons.

The Talmud (Berachot 55b) states that someone who goes 7 days without dreaming is evil. What is so wrong with a week without dreaming? Rabbi Yehuda Amital explained that a dream represents one’s aspirations to develop. A person should not go for 7 days without the desire to progress and to explore something new. It’s comfortable to stick with the familiar. It’s also kotzer ruach. We need to expand.

In October 1939, an American educational reformer named Abraham Flexner published an essay in Harper’s magazine under the marvelous title, “The Usefulness of Useless Knowledge.” Noting the way in which the concerns of modern education increasingly turned toward solving practical problems, Flexner made a plea for “the cultivation of curiosity” for its own sake. When was the last time you tried something new or read a book of a different genre than usual? Something lishmah, just for the sake of studying and expanding the range of views and ideas you encounter?

We’re all busy and, nowadays, overwhelmed by what vies for our attention. Let’s retake control, escape the echo chamber, and try something new – a different author, musician, or even a different news channel. (Just not a different rabbi…)

3) Lack of spirit

Rabbi Ovadiah Seforno, the 15th century Italian commentator, explains that kotzer ruach literally means religious spirit. Bnei Yisrael lost faith in the promise of redemption. The Zohar notes that the ruach that the people lacked was the “ruach Elokim, the spirit of God” that was “hovering above the waters” in the beginning of the creation of the world. According to this approach, Bnei Yisrael had become so entrenched in Egypt that they became disconnected and unexcited about anything spiritual.

What about us? Do we, at times, fall prey to this kind of “kotzer ruach” syndrome? Losing this religious feeling may come at a cost.

In October 2023, a Harvard report about youth mental health found that “nearly three in five young adults (58 percent) reported that they lacked ‘meaning or purpose’ in their lives in the previous month. Half of young adults reported that their mental health was negatively influenced by ‘not knowing what to do with my life.’” This sounds a lot like kotzer ruach, a lack of focus and mental wellbeing. The study noted there was a variable that helped the situation. Young adults who belonged to any religion were more likely to report having meaning and purpose. Having ruach helps.

We can all use a little more religious spirit, energy, and passion. We need to be open to the power of an expanded spiritual experience.  There are so many possibilities. A short, inspirational Torah thought. A small act of kindness in the middle of a busy day. A rousing niggun or song. An act of charity, kindness, or a smile to a neighbor.

We are not always in the mood to be spiritual. Nevertheless, we cannot let these moments allow us to let kotzer ruach define us.

Bnei Yisrael needed to overcome their kotzer ruach to be freed from Egypt. Let’s tackle our kotzer ruach. Let us consciously find ways to be more patient, more broadminded and tolerant of different ideas and experiences, and more open to our souls and spirituality. Let’s have more ruach.

 

Why Was Moshe Called Moshe?

A mother walks her son to the school bus on his first day of preschool. “Please behave, bubbele,” she says. “Bubbele, take good care of yourself and think about your mother who is waiting for you! And come right back home on the bus, bubbele...Remember, bubbele, your Mommy loves you a lot!”

At the end of the school day, the bus returns. The mother runs to her son and hugs him. “So, what did my little bubble learn on his first day of school?" she asks. “I learned that my name is David...”

It is more than a humorous stereotype; it’s a Midrash.

There is an obvious difficulty in the naming of Moshe. The Torah tells us he was born and immediately hidden for 3 months before being placed in a basket on the Nile. When Batya, the daughter of Pharaoh, rescued the lad, SHE names him Moshe. If that’s the case, what was Moshe called for the first three months of his life? Maybe Bubbele…

The Yalkut Shimoni quotes a tradition that Moshe had 10 other names.

1) He was called Levi because he was a member of that tribe

2) He was called Tuviyah, which has the word “tov” in it, because there was goodness that was visible from the time of his birth.

3) Miriam called her brother Yered, which means down, because she went down to the Nile to see what would happen to her baby brother.

4)  Aharon called his brother Avi-Zanuach, “master of rejection,” because Moshe’s father rejected his mother, but he came back to her after the birth of Moshe.

5) Along the same lines, he was called Chever, which means to join, because he caused his parents to come back together

6)  His grandfather Kehat called him Avigdor, literally “master of the fence,” because after Moshe’s birth, Pharaoh was fenced in and gave up on his decree to drown all Jewish baby boys.

7) His mother called him Yekutiel, related to the word for hope, as a prayer to one day be reunited with her son.

8) The Jewish people called him Shmaya ben Netanel from Hebrew word to hear. They hoped that God would listen to them due to Moshe’s intervention.

9) He was called Ben Avitar, son of pardon, because Moshe would facilitate pardon in the aftermath of the sin of the Golden Calf.

10)  He was also called Avi Socho, master of prophecy, because he would grow up to become the greatest Jewish prophet of all time.

If Moshe had so many names, why is Moshe the only one we know?

Moshe is the name with the most important message.

The daughter of Pharaoh named the boy she saved “Moshe” because “I drew him out of the water.” (Shemot 2:10) Seforno explains her rationale: “The reason why I named him Moshe is to indicate that he will rescue others.” Batya wanted Moshe to remember that he was saved from the water so that he would feel a sense of responsibility to save others. Every time we refer to “Moshe,” we hear a call to pay forward what Batya did for Moshe.

Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski suggests that the most formative experience of Moshe’s life was the fact that his adoptive mother was willing to sacrifice everything to save the boy. Although he probably didn’t remember the incident, Moshe surely knew the story of how he was found and got his name.

It worked. When Moshe grew up, he went out of Pharaoh’s house and saw the pain of his brothers and sisters – “va-ya’ar b’sivlotam” (Shemot 2:11). According to the Midrash, Moshe set his eyes and mind to share in their distress. He was living his name.

Batya’s compassion and Moshe’s name resonate today. We need to realize that everything we have has meaning when we use it for the benefit of others. That’s the basis of who we are. The Talmud says that there are three characteristics that a Jew must possess: rachmanim, bayshanim, gomlei chasadim – mercy, humility, and kindness. We need to be inclined to observe and react to the needs and pain of others.

King David reminds us of this responsibility in a well-known verse in Tehillim (37:25):

“Na’ar hayiti v’gam zakanti v’lo ra’iti tzadik ne’ezav - I have been young and am now old, but I have never seen a righteous man abandoned.” Is that true? Did he never see a righteous man abandoned? Never?!

Rabbi Leo Jung explains that King David never saw a righteous person abandoned and did not respond. If he saw someone in need, he always tried to take action to help them. Maybe he couldn’t ease the pain, but he never left the person abandoned.

Moshe is Moshe because there is a Jewish need to rescue others in whatever way we can. Rabbi Sacks wrote:

“Greatness, even for God, certainly for us, is not to be above people but to be with them, hearing their silent cry, sharing their distress, bringing comfort to the distressed and dignity to the deprived. The message of the Hebrew Bible is that civilizations survive not by strength but by how they respond to the weak; not by wealth but by how they care for the poor; not by power but by their concern for the powerless. What renders a culture invulnerable is the compassion it shows to the vulnerable.” (To Heal a Fractured World, p. 37)

We need to keep our eyes and ears open for the pain of those around us as well as our brothers and sisters in Israel. Especially now as we face such a complicated range of experiences and emotions, we can’t see the pain without trying to find a way to react. We may not solve the problem, but it is our obligation to feel the pain of others and respond. As Rabbi Doron Perez put it, “We need to do everything we can to make the biggest difference we can as proactive protagonists, not passive participants.”

Fasting on a Friday

How is this fast different from all other fasts?

Asara B’Tevet is unique in two ways.
1)  It is the only fast that cannot fall on Shabbat.
2)  It is the only fast that can fall on Friday (like this year). Asara B’Tevet falls on Friday 20.1 percent of the time. It happened last year but won’t occur again until December 22, 2034.

It is strange to fast on a Friday. Fasting on Friday means we technically fast a little on Shabbat. The fast ends around 30-40 minutes after sunset. While we don’t usually start our Shabbat dinners until then anyway, when Asara B’Tevet is on Friday, we CAN’T make Kiddush and start the meal until the fast ends. In effect, Shabbat yields to Asara B’Tevet.

What is so special about Asara B’Tevet? Let’s start by reviewing what happened on 10 Tevet.

“In the ninth year, on the tenth day of the tenth month, the word of God came to me: O mortal, record this date, this exact day; for this very day the king of Babylon has laid siege to Jerusalem.” (Yechezkel 24:1-2)

The fast on 10 Tevet commemorates the start of the Babylonian siege on Jerusalem. Six months later, the Babylonians broke through the walls of the city on 17 Tammuz. Three weeks later, on 9 Av, they destroyed the Beit Hamikdash. Some five years later, the leader of the remaining Jewish community, Gedaliah, was assassinated on Rosh Hashanah, ending any semblance of self-rule. The assassination could only be mourned after Rosh Hashanah on 3 Tishrei. These calamities were all commemorated as fast days that will, hopefully, one day be transformed into holidays:

“Thus said the Lord of Hosts: The fast of the fourth month (17 Tammuz), the fast of the fifth month (9 Av), the fast of the seventh month (3 Tishrei), and the fast of the tenth month (10 Tevet) shall become occasions for joy and gladness, happy festivals for the House of Judah; but you must love honesty and integrity.” (Zachariah 8:19)

Now that we know what happened on 10 Tevet, we can analyze why it is unique.

Rabbi David Abudarham, 14^th century rabbi, notes there is textual emphasis concerning 10 Tevet. God tells Yechezkel that it was “this date, this exact day” on which the siege of Jerusalem began. Abudarham suggests that this specificity would require us to fast on 10 Tevet even if it occurred on Shabbat! Now, this never happens, but if it would, we’d fast. 10 Tevet is meant to draw our attention.

The question of what makes 10 Tevet so special is compounded when we look at what happened on the date. As opposed to the breaching of the walls of Jerusalem or the destruction of the Temple or the end of the independent Jewish community – all of which were tragedies, 10 Tevet commemorates the START of the siege. Notable – yes. Tragic or catastrophic? Hardly. The events of 10 Tevet marked the beginning of the end, but does that warrant a fast day? A special fast day? Fasting on Friday or, theoretically, fasting on Shabbat?

Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein addresses the unique message of Asara B’Tevet:

“Why do we mark the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem and not just the breaching of the walls or the destruction of the Temple? The message of this commemoration is that after the destruction, we must trace its sources and mark its stages; we must look backwards to events that are not earth-shattering and perceive how the seeds of the destruction on the Ninth of Av were planted on the Tenth of Tevet. The more we study history, the more we learn that we should not concentrate only on the final act, the cataclysmic event itself, but also on all the stages that led up to it. The moral message that arises from this is the importance of sharpening our consciousness of the unfolding of the past, seeing how the branches sprout forth from the roots.”

We need to consider the root causes of the tragedies of the past to learn from them and internalize those lessons to create a better future.

UK Chief Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis invokes a well-known story that teaches the importance of tackling the root of the problem.

In the mythical town of Chelm in Poland, there was just one little bridge over the valley. People noticed that there was a crack in the bridge, causing some people to trip and fall. The crack widened until some people were breaking their legs. It widened further and there was a danger that people might fall through it, and then when the gap became exceptionally wide, people, wagons and horses were falling down it to the valley below. The council of the sages of Chelm decided to deliberate on the issue. At the end of an entire day’s discussions, they announced their decision: They would build a hospital in the valley below.

Asara B’Tevet is the date of the first crack that led to a larger crack that led to even more serious damage. We better not just build a hospital. We must keep our eyes open for how, when, and why the difficulties start to prepare for what comes next and learn lessons now for the future.

Asara B’Tevet always falls on the week of Parshat Vayechi. The portion of Yaakov’s death is called, “And he lived.” Yaakov’s death, like the Jerusalem walls being breached or Temple destroyed, is a time to mourn. As the same, we look backwards to Yaakov’s life or the root causes of destruction to give us hope that there is a better future.

Rabbi Moshe Sofer, the Chatam Sofer, said that there is a tradition that each year God convenes the heavenly court on Asara B’Tevet to decide whether the Beit Hamikdash will be rebuilt this year. On the day commemorating the initial event leading to its destruction, God reconsiders its rebuilding. Past, present, and future are all intertwined in the story of the Jewish people.

These days, we are experiencing many dark moments – war in Israel, hostages still being held, the rise in Jew hatred around the world. The lesson – and uniqueness – of Asara B’Tevet is that, however dark it gets, we must look to the past for ways to survive the present, while being sure, please God, of a glorious future.

Od Avinu Chai!

Yosef has just told the brothers that Binyamin will remain in Egypt, and they are free to go.

 

Yehuda steps up and takes responsibility, “I will remain here. Binyamin must return or else our father will die of grief.” He is ready to go to war on behalf of his brother.

 

Yosef can no longer keep his secret and shouts out:

אֲנִי יוֹסֵף הַעוֹד אָבִי חָי

“I am Yosef! Is my father still alive?”

 

The brothers are dumbfounded. Yosef is still alive.

 

The words “ha-od avi chai” are also an indictment of the hypocrisy of Yehuda. Yosef knows Yaakov lives – Yehuda kept repeating this fact over and over. Rather, he is saying, “Now, you’re worried about causing our father grief!?! Why weren’t you so concerned when you left me in the pit?”

 

It is a very dramatic reunion.

 

Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach sees this moment of reunion as providing the Jewish answer to the world. He incorporates the words “Od avi chai” into his song, “Am Yisrael Chai,” which he composed for the Soviet Jewry movement.  He notes that “od avi chai” refers to our Father, God. As long as God is living, the Jewish nation lives. God is forever, and so are the Jews. While “Am Yisrael Chai” has a long history of being used to express Jewish solidarity, Reb Shlomo turned the words into an anthem of Jewish pride, strength, vitality, optimism and hope.

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik sees the words “ha-od avi chai” as a question to each of us about our link to the past. In a lecture at Lincoln Square Synagogue in 1975, he related one of his experiences as a young boy in cheder in Khaslavichy, where his father was the rabbi. As the Rav related many times, his teacher was a Chasid and would impart Chasidic lessons more often than teach the simple lessons of the text.

“The episode I am about to relate to you took place on a murky winter day in January. I still remember the day; it was cloudy and overcast. It was just after the Chanukah festival, and the Torah portion of the week was Vayigash. With the end of Chanukah ended the little bit of serenity and yomtovkeit (holiday spirit) that the festival brought into the monotonous life of the town's Jews.

As far as the boys from the cheder were concerned, a long desolate winter lay ahead. It was a period in which we had to get up while it was still dark and return home from the cheder with a lantern in the hand of each boy, because nightfall was so early.

On that particular day, the whole cheder, all the boys, were in a depressed mood -- listless, lazy, and sad. We recited, or I should say chanted mechanically, the first verses of Vayigash in a dull monotone. We were simply droning the words in Hebrew and in Yiddish…

The boy, reading mechanically, finished reciting the question: Ha-yesh lachem av? Do you have a father? and the reply: Yesh lanu av zaken ve-yeled zekunim katan, We have an old father, and a young child of his old age. Then something strange happened. The melamed (teacher), who was half-asleep while the boy was droning on the words in Hebrew and Yiddish, rose, jumped to his feet and with a strange, enigmatic gleam in his eyes, motioned to the reader to stop. Then the melamed turned to me and…said to me: "What kind of question did Joseph ask his brothers, Ha-yesh lachem av? Do you have a father? Of course they had a father, everybody has a father! The only person who had no father was the first man of creation, Adam. But anyone who is born into this world has a father. What kind of a question was it?"

I began, ‘Joseph…’ I tried to answer, but he did not let me. Joseph, I finally said, meant to find out whether the father was still alive. ‘Do you still have a father,’ meaning, is he alive, not dead? If so, the melamed thundered back at me, he should have phrased the question differently: ‘Is your father still alive?’

To argue with the melamed was useless. He began to speak. He was no longer addressing the boys. The impression he gave was that he was speaking to some mysterious visitor, a guest who had come into the cheder, into that cold room…

In modern idiom, I would say he meant to express the idea that Joseph was inquiring about existential parenthood, not biological parenthood. Joseph, the melamed concluded, was anxious to know whether they felt themselves committed to their roots, to their origins. Were they origin conscious? Are you, Joseph asked the brothers, rooted in your father? Do you look upon him the way the branches, or the blossoms, look upon the roots of the tree? Do you look upon your father as the feeder, as the foundation of your existence? Do you look upon him as the provider and sustainer of your existence? Or are you a band of rootless shepherds who forget their origin, and travel and wander from place to place, from pasture to pasture?

Suddenly, he stopped addressing the strange visitor and began to talk to us. Raising his voice, he asked: ‘Are you modest and humble? Do you admit that the old father represents an old tradition? Do you believe that the father is capable of telling you something new, something exciting? Something challenging? Something you did not know before? Or are you insolent, arrogant, and vain, and deny your dependence upon your father, upon your source? ‘Ha-yesh lachem av?! Do you have a father?!’

Who knows more? Do you know more because you are well versed in the Talmud, or does your father…know more even though he can barely read Hebrew? Are you proud of your father? If a Jew admits to the supremacy of his father, then, ipso facto, he admits to the supremacy of the Universal Father, the ancient Creator of the world…’

That is the experience I had with the melamed. I have never forgotten it.”

Ha-od avi chai? Is our past kept alive in the Judaism of today? Do we look to our ancestors for inspiration and motivation or are they mere relics of a bygone era? Who do we look to for authentic, living Judaism?

Radio host Dennis Prager observes, “I’ve been in many Jewish homes. I’ve noticed that Reform Jews often adorn their homes with much Judaica and Jewish art. I often will find a painting of dancing Chassidic Jews on their walls.” He goes on to note. “I’ve also been to the homes of many Orthodox Jews who have a lot of Jewish art. I have never seen paintings on their wall of dancing Reform Jews.”

I don’t think it matters what kind of Jews we put on the wall. What’s most important is for Jews to live Jewishly. That is how we ensure the relevance, vitality, and growth of our community. That’s “Od Avinu Chai.” That’s “Am Yisrael Chai.” That’s how we keep our Judaism alive.