Rabbi Yehoshua Nissan

Spiritual Cleansing at the Dentist

It’s interesting how certain experiences can recur in our lives, reminding us of important lessons. I had a dentist appointment at Marcon's dental practice for a cleaning some time ago, and I realized that I might have been there around the same time last year. This thought struck me as bizarre, almost like a rerun of a previous reflection, but it sparked a different perspective.

As I arrived at the dental office, I was filled with gratitude for the staff—Mark, the hygienist, and everyone there—who consistently go above and beyond for me and my wife. To show my appreciation, I brought a cookie tray filled with Ricky's cookies, which are absolutely delicious.

Walking into the office with a tray of cookies was a game-changer. The atmosphere immediately shifted; it’s funny how bringing food can make you feel like royalty, regardless of the success of those around you. Everyone seemed grateful and excited, and I made sure to express my thanks to each person who helped me. Yet, moments later, I found myself in the dental chair, enduring the discomfort of cleaning, x-rays, and all the necessary procedures. While I was wincing and feeling pain, I thought about how funny it was that I was there, thanking them profusely while simultaneously experiencing discomfort.

It hit me that this experience mirrored a deeper truth: while getting our teeth cleaned may be uncomfortable, the hygienists are working hard to help us. They’re removing plaque and debris to prevent worse issues down the line—like cavities or root canals. I remembered a previous visit when the hygienist mentioned that most people don’t floss properly; they only clean between their teeth instead of pushing into the gums, which is essential to preventing gingivitis.

Sitting there, I reflected on this: I was grateful for the discomfort. I realized that their efforts, though painful at times, were ultimately for my benefit, ensuring my dental health for the future. I thought, “Thank you for cleaning my teeth and checking for any problems.” The entire experience felt like a spiritual journey.

In that moment, I found myself thanking Hashem: “Thank you for Elul. Thank you for Rosh Hashanah. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to look deeper into myself.” Yes, this process can be uncomfortable, just like the dental cleaning, but it’s essential for growth. During Elul, we are given the time to root out our problems and address them before they fester into something worse.

As I sat there, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I thought about how much Hashem deserves, perhaps even more than a tray of cookies, for guiding us through this time of reflection. Elul is a gift, allowing us to see our flaws and address them—removing the spiritual plaque that accumulates throughout the year.

I recalled the words of Rabbeinu Yonah in the Shaarei Teshuvah, emphasizing how Hashem is on our side, helping us to improve ourselves when we seek closeness to Him. Hashem assists us in reaching levels beyond our natural capabilities, renewing our spirits and guiding us to the heights of love for Him.

Moreover, I remembered Rav Aharon Kotler’s teachings about how during Elul, the gates of repentance are open wider than at any other time of year. What might take tremendous effort in other months can be achieved with just a little effort now. This amplified support from Hashem during Elul makes it a unique opportunity for all of us.

So here I was, sitting in the dental chair, contemplating all these profound thoughts. I realized that this was not just a physical cleaning, but a spiritual one, and I felt grateful for the process. If the hygienist deserved a tray of cookies, then Hashem certainly deserved so much more for all He does for us.

Reflecting on my annual visit during this holy month, I can't help but advise others: if you're scheduling a dental cleaning, do it during Elul. It will give you ample time to think and reflect.

Rabbi Yehuda Zev Klein

Fulfilling His Promise

No one in recent memory had such a positive impact on his children and students as Rabbi Ausband, the head of the Riverdale yeshiva. I’d like to share a fascinating story about him. When Rav Ausband traveled to Florida, he occasionally stayed with a man named Jacob Lyons.

One of those occasions was in October 2011. At that time, the St. Louis Cardinals were playing the Texas Rangers in the World Series, with the Cardinals trailing the Rangers three games to two.

Games six and, if necessary, seven were set to be played at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. Mr. Lyons was a diehard Cardinals fan and wasn’t going to miss the chance to see his team make history. Watching the game on TV wasn’t enough; he wanted to be in the stadium to witness it live.

Game six was scheduled for Thursday night. His plan was to fly from Boca Raton to St. Louis on Thursday and catch the game that evening. However, he had a dilemma: what if the Cardinals won game six and tied the World Series? Game seven would take place on Friday night, and there was no point in flying in for game six if he couldn’t watch game seven when his favorite team could potentially be crowned champions.

So, he approached Rabbi Ausband with a very interesting question.

“Rabbi, I’ve worked out all the laws of Shabbat in advance. I’ll stay at a hotel right across the street, and they won’t hear my ticket. I found a minyan with a Torah scroll. I can walk in and out of the stadium without any problems.”

Before Rabbi Ausband could respond, he overheard the question and pulled him aside. “Uncle, I just heard your question. Let me understand: you’re thinking of attending a baseball game in a stadium on Friday night?”

“Rabbi, you have to understand, this isn’t just a baseball game. This is game seven of the World Series.”

“I know exactly what you’re talking about. You think I don’t know about the Cleveland Indians from way back? Here’s my deal: if you don’t go to the game, if you don’t watch it on TV, listen to it on the radio, or even ask the score on Shabbat, I promise you the Cardinals will win the World Series. You can even order the Kiddush now for Shabbat, and I’ll tell everyone the whole story during Kiddush. You can include it in the shul newsletter about the Cardinals winning.”

That was quite a bold promise. The Cardinals hadn’t even played game six yet, and they would need to win both game six and game seven to be champions. The uncle thought, if I’m truly a Cardinals fan, I must take this deal. He shook hands with Rabbi Ausband and said, “Rabbi, we have a deal.”

So, he stayed in Boca Raton. On Thursday night, he watched game six. It was the bottom of the ninth inning, two outs, and the Cardinals were down by two runs. He thought about calling the caterer to cancel the Kiddush. But miraculously, the Cardinals came back and scored two runs to tie the game.

They went into extra innings. The Rangers scored two runs in the top of the tenth inning. Again, the Cardinals were down to their last out, trailing by two runs. Miraculously, they scored two runs again and tied the game. In the bottom of the eleventh inning, the Cardinals won game six with a dramatic walk-off home run. Now, it was on to game seven.

On Friday night, Jacob was having his Shabbat meal, anxious and wondering about the game. His housekeeper asked if he wanted to know the score. “No, I can’t know the score,” he replied.

Like every pessimistic die-hard fan, he went to sleep convinced that the Cardinals had lost the World Series.

On Shabbat morning, he woke up at 6:30, got dressed, and made his way to shul for the early minyan. On his way, he passed a CVS Pharmacy and glanced at the newspaper. To his delight, he saw that the Cardinals had won game seven, five to two, claiming the World Series title.

When he arrived at shul, Rabbi Ausband approached him. “Jacob, when am I speaking?” he asked, not even inquiring who won the game. He was so convinced that because of Shmirat Shabbat, the promise would be fulfilled.

A righteous person decrees, and Hashem fulfills it. When someone takes a stand for the honor of Heaven, Hashem fulfills His promise.

And now, we know.

Rabbi Eliezer Abish

All the Way to Heaven

In Israel, a young family with small children was excited to move into a new apartment building. Their neighbors were also young families, making for a friendly atmosphere. The Gold family lived on the ground floor, and the Silver family had just moved in upstairs. The two families got along well, with their kids playing together as they grew.

As time went on, the Silver family started to have a lot of success. They married off their children one after another, celebrating many simchas. Meanwhile, the Gold family faced struggles; none of their kids seemed to find matches. While the Silvers celebrated, the Golds felt left out and discouraged.

Despite their friendly relationship, Mr. Gold began to feel jealous. He thought, “Why are they so lucky while we’re struggling?” This jealousy created a rift between the two families, even though Mr. Silver hadn’t done anything wrong.

One day, Mr. Silver knocked on Mr. Gold’s door. “Shalom Aleichem,” he said. Mr. Gold braced himself for another announcement of good news. Instead, Mr. Silver said, “I’m here to ask for a favor. We want to extend our apartment, and I need your permission. The extension will block some of your sunlight.”

Mr. Gold felt annoyed. “You want me to give up my sunlight for you?” he thought. However, after discussing it with his wife, she suggested, “Maybe we should let them build. It’s not their fault they’re doing well. Let’s have a good eye and see if that brings us joy.”

Taking her advice, Mr. Gold agreed. He went back upstairs and said, “Yes, you can build.” Mr. Silver was grateful. “Thank you! This will make a big difference for us. You should be blessed in your home.”

Then Mr. Silver added, “I have one more request. We’ll need to go through your apartment to access the upstairs area during construction.” Mr. Gold felt a new wave of irritation but agreed. “Okay.”

When construction started, the sounds of hammers and drills filled the Gold family’s home daily for over five weeks. Mr. Gold chose to stay quiet, accepting the noise for the sake of his neighbor’s happiness.

Three weeks later, Mr. Gold’s eldest daughter got engaged, marking their first simcha in years. During the celebration, Mr. Gold spoke with his son-in-law’s father, who shared, “You know, I made just one phone call for this shidduch.”

Curious, Mr. Gold asked who it was. “I called a contractor friend who built in your building. He mentioned how you allowed his workers to walk through your apartment. That made a big impression on me. I thought, ‘Someone like that is who I want for my child.’”

When we break our nature and transcend beyond what we think we are capable of, extending ourselves for the well-being and benefit of others, Hashem takes note. And then He looks down upon us and considers all the ways He could shower us too with blessing and benefit. Going outside of ourselves for others doesn't just make a difference here. It makes a difference all way the way to Heaven.

Rabbi Fischel Schachter

In Your Hands

I was looking for a place to take my kids for a Chol Hamoed outing, and I had amusement parks on my mind. But then I remembered what is even better. Nature. Nature, after all, is one of the most beautiful things in the world.

A walk near the water sounds lovely—what could be nicer than that? It's so relaxing and meaningful, offering a sense of freedom. So, I decided to take my kids for a stroll along Battery Park City. They weren't particularly enthusiastic at first, but we pressed on. Suddenly, a man appeared with a boat that was a mix between a motorboat and a speedboat.

I’ve trained my kids well not to talk to strangers, so they were just asking him questions. “What’s it like having that kind of a boat?” one of them asked. The man responded cheerfully, and before I knew it, one of my kids said, “Can we go for a ride on your boat?” To my surprise, he said, “Sure, come on in!” I had no idea who this person was, nor did I know if his boat was seaworthy.

Being the responsible father that I am, I hesitated, but my kids were urging me on. I asked the man, “How much is it going to cost?” Nothing,” he replied. “Well, that certainly piqued my interest, so I said, “Sure, let’s go!”

As we boarded the boat, a wave of doubt washed over me. What had I just done? I didn’t know who this guy was or if the boat was safe. I reminded everyone to wear their life vests while my kids cheered for the man to go faster, urging him to perform stunts like turning the boat on two wheels. I thought to myself, “Hashem, please help me. I’m going to end up on the bottom of the Hudson River.”

I could already envision the headlines: “Crazy father takes his kids on a strange boat.” Suddenly, one of my daughters, who was about five years old at the time, began to cry. I asked her what was wrong. “Daddy, he doesn’t know where we live!” she sobbed.

That was her concern? Here I was worrying about our safety, and her primary issue was that the man didn’t know our address.

This got me thinking about how we can bring joy into our Jewish lives. Rav Tzadok HaKohen once said that 90% of the things we worry about aren't real problems. In fact, 90% of our worries never materialize, while the real challenges are often those we never anticipated.

Worry has a purpose; it serves as a wake-up call. It prompts us to take a step back and assess our lives, urging us to seek a deeper connection with Hashem. Hashem doesn't disclose our real problems because if we knew, we might not be able to handle it.

There’s a story about a man who visits a guru, expressing his deep worries. “My ship is at sea, and it’s full of merchandise. If it sinks, it would be disastrous!” The guru, peering into a crystal ball, reassures him, “Ah, your ship is sailing smoothly; it’s calm.” The man feels relief but then hears the guru mention a terrorist on board who will accuse him in a crime. Panic ensues as the man pleads, “Oh G-d, please let the ship sink!”

The guru checks again and announces, “The ship is sinking!” The man rejoices, “Baruch Hashem!” But then he learns that his son is on board. “No! I don’t want it to sink!” he cries.

In the end, the man realizes he has no control over what’s good or bad. He surrenders to the uncertainty, accepting that everything is in Hashem's hands.

The Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chasidus, teaches us an important lesson: when we feel overwhelmed and things seem out of control, we should pause and acknowledge that we’ve always been in Hashem’s hands, and we still are. By seeking His guidance, we can relieve a great deal of pressure and bring joy closer to our Jewish experience.

Rabbi Label Lam

The Keys

As we enter the new year, many keys to a sweet year are already within our grasp. It's no mistake that we begin with a giant mitzvah: “Lishmo’a Kol Shofar— To hear the sound of the Shofar.” The Chofetz Chaim points out that Hashem designed us with two ears and one mouth, protected by two doors—the teeth and lips—to teach us that we should listen far more than we speak.

I had an uncle who would often said, “I only open my mouth to change feet.” The true key to a sweet new year is to speak less and listen more.

Our Sages tell us, “Ein V’ata ela teshuva—There is no use of the word ‘And now’ except as a reference to repentance.” Why is that so? Because teshuva is not a retrospect, a nostalgic look at the past. Remember the good old days when we used to be so devoted? And neither is it a peek into the future. Someday, when all my ducks are lined up, I'll move to Jerusalem and love every Jew and attach myself to my Creator. When someone is serious about teshuva, they bury that last cigarette. It doesn’t happen in the past and it doesn't happen in the future. It happens now.