MarHeshvan

November morphing into December is called by its Hebrew name, Heshvan.  Some call it MarHeshvan (the bitter Heshvan) because this is the only month in the Jewish calendar that does not contain a holy day.  Up in the northern climes the month is as dry and brittle as the earth with its dull brown grass now covered with curled leaves.

Heshvan is almost other-worldly:  it is in-between time.  Summer has passed.  Winter has yet to arrive.  The earth’s verdant hues have disappeared.

As the days pass it is easy to long for the warm sand that flowed though our toes at the warm beach.  Memories of cold nights in front of a warm fireplace are also somehow very distant.  It is Marheshvan, after all.

There is an old tale of a fisherman in his small boat out on an endless sea. Overlooking the ocean stands a high castle. The prince, daily comes out onto his balcony and sees the boat in the distance. 

“I envy him,” the prince thinks. “He has no problems or responsibilities. I wish I could go out in a small boat and just relax with my fishing pole in hand. 

At the same moment, the fisherman contemplates, “Wow! Look at that palace! The prince has servants to bring him all the food he could ever want, whenever he wants.  I wish I were a prince, not a fisherman.”

“More” and “less” is specific to the individual. That is why the Talmud tells us that richness is satisfaction.  If you are happy with what you have you are rich.  If you are unhappy with your lot you are poor, even if you have billions.

Most of us live perpetually wedged between two worlds. One world is the external one where we register our emotional quotient by what others have or say.  The other is independent of anyone except our self-value.  The internal world knows its place, accepts its lot, and does not begrudge others what they have or become envious or self-pitying.  Too often the internal voice passes unheeded.  The two worlds often vie to see which will gain control.

Sometimes worth is correlated to the value others place on it.  Usually we end up losing when we ask: Do we have a nice lawn (while looking across the street)? Do we own an expensive car (eyeing the neighbor’s)? Do our children get the best grades?  Do they have a good education  “I simply have to get my child into that program!)? Does our family radiate find grooming (“I was so embarrassed by your behavior today!”)? 

These are all questions where we are comparing ourselves to others and imagining what they think of us. 

As winter advances it is a comforting thought that we can curl up and listen to some fine music, dink mulled cider, dance in the living room, talk intimately to our God.  It is good to slow down like a bear getting ready to slumber.  Find that place.  Find that peace.

Boo-Boos

We are prone to making boo-boos.  Not the kind where you scrape your knee or hit your head getting out the car too fast but the other kind.  Boo-boos are good.  They mean we are experimenting, taking a chance, stepping beyond our usual habits.  

Take jokes, for example.  Some people seem to naturally funny and others, well, not so much.  Yet we all like to laugh and make other experience the joy of a good chuckle. When they fall flat, do not give up, try telling the joke again until you get it right.

There are many wondrous and difficult aspects to being a child.  One the other former is that we are game for about anything, jumping off a high limb, rolling in the mud, tasting dog biscuits and eating asparagus (that does no usually end up so good).

It is a sad day when we grow up and admit, “We can’t do it.”  And worse, we do not even try.

Y. Peretz, crafter of Hebrew stories wrote, “Nobody trips over a mountain; you trip over a pebble.”  When we fail it is hardly ever disastrous.  Failure is a signal that we need to modify what we did, not stop trying.

On June 2, 2010, Armando Galarraga, 28 pitched what seemed to be a perfect game, a feat only achieved twenty times in Major League Baseball's 130 year history. However, on the very last play of the game, umpire Jim Joyce, 65, mistakenly called the runner safe at first base, ruining the perfect game. After the game, understanding the mistake he had made and the implications to Galarraga, with tears in his eyes, Joyce went over to Galarraga and apologized, admitting his mistake. Galarraga graciously accepted his apology saying, "nobody's perfect. Everybody's human. " They then wrote a book together titled "Nobody's Perfect."

The thing is the pitcher did not retire or give up.  He continued on, having learned an unintended lesson of life.

Mistakes should always be purposeful, never meaningless.  Yogi Berra once commented, “I don’t want to make the wrong mistake.”  He was right, in his inimitable way.  There are some mistakes that are bad choices but even then we learn and grow.

Talmud, which is the judicial and philosophical backbone of our people, is full of trial, error and then more trial.  “Arguments for the sake of truth,” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks labeled it.

The Mei Shiloach, Rabbi Mordechai Yosef of Ishbitz, wrote, “A person can only uphold the teachings of the Torah when he has stumbled in them.”  The sage is telling us, “Go ahead, take a chance, a risk, make mistakes, learn from them, change, and grow.

It’s a New Year.  We are  year older and G-d willing, a year wiser.  Even Torah has Moss and David doing some real bloopers.  Yet their greatness is that they become great through their errors.

Give it your best shot.  Then give it your better shot.