Often I read a piece in the Yated and marvel at how
someone else has taken the thoughts that have been in my head
for ages and given expression to them. Then I wonder why it
is that I never got around to writing them down myself. Why
is someone else's name on that piece? Well, obviously because
she put her thoughts down on paper (or in cyberspace) and
sent them off, whereas I didn't. But, what is the desire to
put pen to paper all about?
I can't answer for anyone else, but for me, it comes down to
two basic areas: a) a need to understand and clarify my own
thought processes by committing them to writing and b) an
urge to share and communicate my feelings with others and to
hope that someone 'out there' reading them will benefit from
them in some way, will have that 'Aah!' feeling that comes
from a meeting of minds, from the comfort of finding a
kindred spirit, that very feeling of, 'I could have written
that . . . ' However there is another possible reason for
putting our words in the public arena.
Rabbi Yitzhok Breiter teaches in the name of Rabbi Nachman of
Breslov that since the destruction of the Beis Hamikdosh,
whatever we see, hear or experience, from someone close to us
— or even someone we've never met, "all are the words
of Hashem calling you to Him" (Seven Pillars of Faith,
II; based on Rebbe Nachman's Wisdom #52).
In most cases the revelation is indirect, and therefore it is
up to us to seek the underlying messages and to find the good
in them (they are always for our ultimate good). It would
therefore seem that we each have a responsibility to share
our thoughts with others since, in these days of prophecy
through "madmen and children" (Bova Basra 12b) "the
people giving us this Heavenly guidance are not themselves
aware of the true significance of their words" (Seven
Pillars II).
Naomi* gave me the following true example of this process.
She related, "Shortly before Pesach last year, I had some
medical problems. There is never a good time to be ill, but
before Pesach has got to be the worst! I think, because of
the stress that everyone was under, no one had any patience
or sympathy for the fact that I was ill and I was treated
less gently than I otherwise might have been. I, too, was
wrapped up in my own pain and worries and wasn't able to make
allowances for how my illness was making life harder for
others. I became very bitter and resentful, I'm ashamed to
say, even to the point of hatred.
"During chol hamoed, while the rest of the family had
gone on an outing, I sat down to read a magazine. I was in a
very negative mood and wanted something to distract me. I
started reading the latest episode of a serial I'd been
following, based on the experiences of a young Hungarian-
Jewish girl before and during the war [Between Two
Mothers]. At this point in the story she was hiding in a
forest cave in the care of a gypsy woman, Chungarabee. I'd
barely started reading when this phrase jumped out at me
`Chungarabee told me that hatred harms the hater and not the
hated.'
"I was amazed. Not only did the gypsy help the young girl in
her care but she also helped me, some sixty years later. This
was clearly a message from Hashem; I read it over and over.
How could that gypsy have known the importance of her words
to me?"
In Naomi's case, the message was very clearly to her benefit,
but sometimes it can seem as if we're receiving a message
that has nothing good in it for us. Rabbi Breiter reminds us
that the message is always for our ultimate good. Aviva's*
story is a good example:
"After my last child was born, I suffered a mild post-partum
depression. I was still functioning, but finding it a
terrible struggle to keep going, and many jobs just weren't
getting done. I felt guilty, but still, I felt I was doing
the best I could at the time. A lot of the extra work fell on
my husband, of course, and it wasn't easy for him.
"One day, things just got too much for him and he started to
shout at me that I was selfish and never did anything for
anyone else. I'll spare you the details of the argument but
it left me feeling quite distraught, because from my point of
view I was working at maximum capacity. However, because I
had been feeling guilty, I decided that without changing my
activity level, I would actually take a look at what I was
doing in a day.
"Every night before I went to bed, I listed all the things I
had done that others had benefited from, including things as
diverse as changing the baby and being part of a Tehillim
rota. I was astonished to find how much I actually was
accomplishing. I didn't show the lists to my husband but my
guilt feelings completely disappeared. I could see I was
really doing my best."
Although at first glance, it seemed that nothing good could
come of the hurtful words of Aviva's husband, in the end they
were a vehicle for making Aviva feel good about herself. Of
course, this is not an excuse for deliberately insulting
others. Aviva's husband thought he was delivering 'Message A'
but actually he was giving an entirely different message.
So, to all my fellow aspiring writers, you never know what
message you may be inadvertently bringing to someone else, as
since the destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh, all of us have
unwittingly become tools for communicating the words of
Hashem to one another, provided, of course, that we are all
prepared to search for the hidden messages within one
another's words. [ . . . and giving leeway for
misinterpretations that might creep in]
May the days of direct revelation return to us soon with the
coming of Moshiach.
Happy writing!
* names and identifying details have been changed
