"Why do I want to be a tzadekes? For the kovod, of course. Simply for the honor" - Shprintza Goldfinger.
Okay, there isn't really anyone named Shprintza Goldfinger [I hope]. But the truth is, we all crave honor.
I remember a family I saw in a mall in America when I was a teenager. Most people in that particular mall were white and upper class, and these were black and looked poor in their tattered clothes. The youngest, probably five or six, was missing shoelaces and kept falling out of his shoes. "Walk much, boy?" his big brother chortled.
There were five children, a mother and father. I watched them from the checkout line in the bookstore where I was buying some stationery and a journal. They sat on a few benches in the middle of the mall. The mother and sister left and returned shortly with hands maneuvering half a dozen hot-dogs each and a bunch of tiny mustard packages. The big brother booted the little one out of his place and sat down, but the little fellow didn't put up a fuss. He perched himself up on the back of the bench and contentedly bit into his hot-dog. I finished up at the bookstore and headed out, passing the family on the way. I noticed some words printed on the boy's T-shirt. It was faded and I strained to make out the message: "I Know I'm Special 'Cuz G-d Don't Make No Junk."
Even then, I knew I could use a T-shirt like that. Of course, somedays warrant it more than others, like when my feet meet crunchy crumbs on the kitchen floor or wet, squashed grapes. Or when dinner is "Noodles, again?"
Now, intellectually, I know my children do not define my worth. Nor does my kitchen, cuisine or career. Nevertheless, my sense of worth plummets or soars depending on these and other factors.
When I think about my five-year-old `friend' in the mall, I wonder about the person who purchased that T-shirt for him. I imagine a hard working Afro-American grandma who prayed for better times for her children and grandchildren. I imagine her nodding with approval when she saw that T-shirt and its profound message for the first time, thinking to herself, "My grandchild deserves to know this."
"Every man is obliged to know that he is important" - R' Shlomo Wolbe.
R' Wolbe doesn't write that every important man is obliged to know that he is important. Or that every good man is obliged to know that he is important. Or that only the rich and famous are obliged to know. Nor does he write that every man is obliged to think or believe that he is important, nor to imagine it. He writes that this is something that everyone must know.
I know the sun is shining. I know my name. I know the capital of Colorado [Leah, pick an easier one, many of us are here so many years, we've forgotten that one, or is that where you're from?]. I know I am important.
Hashem held the mountain over our heads; we were `forced' to connect with Him. This connection is everlasting and unconditional - just because it is. We cannot lose our worth, even when we fail miserably. What we lose is our precious sense of worth, our own self esteem; we lose our senses. In reality, our worth is intrinsic and stays intact. Our actions and the mitzvos we perform are certainly an expression of our personality, our ambitions, our spiritual awareness or righteousness - but our worth? Our inherent importance? Not at all. That remains untouched. Forever.
Mold in the refrigerator can make us feel less than the Balabusta of the Year. Sending children to bed with dirty feet can make us question our right to be parents. Getting fired, insulted, or sinning accidentally or through temporary `insanity' may cause our sense of worth to plummet to the very depths! However, it is just at such times that we are obliged to remember: I am special, worthwhile and important 'cuz G-d don't make no junk.
