Yes, You Can Live Your Life–with Gratitude

For Yidden, the “slap” ushers in the song of connection and gratitude to Hashem.

Over the past half year or so, I had the tremendous pleasure and merit of teaching a series on Mesilas Yesharim on the Inspire By Wire phone line, titled “Journey Inward.” Over the spring and summer months, we moved through the powerful teachings of the Ramchal (only scratching the surface!), and then I was scheduled to deliver the final shiur—our grand siyum—right before Sukkos.

I had already prepared a thought-provoking class on how to find our unique path toward living our Yiddishkeit and that only by discovering that key can we unlock our greatness and feel alive. As it would be a class most women would hear either right before Yom Tov or on Chol Hamoed, I included various Sukkos-related themes in the lesson.

But then, for a variety of reasons—including lots of guests from overseas and my need to do it “just so”—I didn’t end up recording the class. “I’ll do it immediately after Yom Tov,” I told myself. “On the first morning the kids are back to school, I’ll get this done.” 

Well, rabos machshavos belev ish. The first morning turned out to be at least two weeks later.

In the days after the heinous Simchas Torah attack, we were all left reeling. As the details came trickling in, there was so much pain, so much shock, and also so much numbness.

And when I finally got a chance to sit down and record the siyum (you can listen to it here), which I had to restructure, I told the listeners that if Hashem had orchestrated that I teach this class now, this would be an opportunity to explore a relevant lesson for us in the nightmare Klal Yisrael had just experienced. Perhaps as a merit for those who were killed al kiddush Hashem we can have a stronger resolve to live our Yiddishkeit? 

How do we do that? Here, let’s explore one way to feel more alive today—an aliveness that stems from cultivating a more positive relationship with Hashem and tapping into His love for us. 

The advice? Appreciating every moment we’re granted in this world and finding the gifts in it. If we choose to view our lives from this perspective, we start operating from a place of more simchah, serving the One who sends us all this abundance with more joy because we’re opening ourselves up to feeling more and more of His love. 

I’ve been keeping a gratitude journal for quite some time now, jotting down five things that I’m grateful for every day—from the more general (our income) to the very specific (a particular talent), from the major stuff (our health) to the “petty” details (the cleaning help showed up—if you know, you know!)— and I’m amazed at how powerful this commonly dispensed yet underrated tool is. On most days, I do this right after I send the kids off to school in the morning. When my heart is more open, the list keeps growing and I end up writing and writing, surpassing my quota of five. On other days, such as when my inner critic isn’t giving me the most positive reviews on the morning routine, or I’m just not feeling my best self, I notice how it becomes more of a chore. But, I also notice how this exercise helps me move from Mom-guilt or down-and-out mode into I’m-doing-my-best and I’m-so-blessed mode. The instant shift from surviving to living through focusing on the good is fascinating. 

So yes, sometimes, the gratitude mindset comes easily for us. Other times, it really does not. Of course, if this is a frequent occurrence, we may want to seek guidance in exploring the underlying blockage. But then there are more practical, in-the-moment ideas that can lift us out of our rut. As we discussed, summoning our strength to keep journaling can be really helpful at times like these. Davka when it’s hard for us to seek out the good in our life the results of doing so are most beneficial. And we have this koach in our DNA, dear sisters—to find the good even when circumstances in life aren’t that rosy. The Midrash tells us that when Nevuchadnetzar had a desire sing shirah to Hashem, it stirred up an uproar in Shamayim. The angels questioned whether his shirah would be more beautiful than the songs of Dovid Hamelech, and Hashem immediately sent Malach Gavriel to slap the king across the face. In an instant, he was silenced. 

The Kotzker Rebbe explains this episode by highlighting a powerful contrast between us Yidden and the others. Hakadosh Baruch Hu’s intent in slapping the king was not because he was afraid that the beauty of his shirah would surpass that of Dovid Hamelech’s—which would be a kitrug for klal Yisrael. Rather, what had spurred Nevuchadnetzar to sing in the first place was because things were going especially well for him at that time. “Let’s see,” Hashem conveyed to the malachim in defense of klal Yisrael, “What happens when things aren’t that rosy? What happens when this king is lent a blow? Will he still keep singing like Dovid Hamelech, who turned every one of his numerous travails into an opportunity for song?” The answer was a resounding no. For Nevuchadnetzar, the slap ushered in silence. But for us Yidden, Hashem’s beloved nation, the slap (which is essentially our Father pulling us closer to Him) ushers in song. Yes, the slap ushers in song. The persecuted, denigrated, mistreated Dovid composed his soul-stirring kapitlach of Tehillim, the words that have been a balm to our spirit for millennia, davka at times when his life circumstances were trying. And it was because he chose to feel the relationship with Hashem that one question was always on his lips: Mah ashiv laHashem kol tagmulohu alai?

Another idea that helps in times when we feel dejected or unfortunate is, while still validating our own frustration or sadness, to remember those who have less, or a time in our own life when we were less fortunate. (If this suggestion only induces more guilt and/or does the contrary to lifting up your spirits, the rest of the article may not be for you.)

A dear friend recently shared with me the reason why she named one of her sons Yehuda. The pregnancy involved its fair share of stresses and scares, and she was confined to bed rest for a large chunk of it. When this long-awaited baby was finally born, my friend and her husband were so overwhelmed with gratitude that the name was an obvious choice. Hapa’am odeh es Hashem. And today, several years later, every time she ponders the meaning of her child’s name, she has a reminder to appreciate “regular life” right before her eyes. In her own powerful words, “As I hug my Yehuda, I’m reminded that everything in life is just another opportunity to recognize Hashem’s goodness, and to thank Him for it. Yehuda’s name serves as a reminder to be thankful for even the mundane activities I so badly wished to do during bedrest, like say Shema with my kids by their beds, give them baths, make them lunches, make my family dinner, and clean up the house—and, of course, for the even bigger berachos.”

At a time when so many are experiencing sheer upheaval in their lives, we can’t get enough reminders of our own gifts. Just the other day I spoke to Rachel Schreiber (Renee’s sister-in-law) who is spearheading a makeshift organization—that will hopefully close very soon—to provide the basics to families from the South who’ve been evacuated from their homes. She shared that as much supplies as they’re getting, it’s simply not enough to cover the needs of so, so many. 

There are currently thousands of frum families living in government-allotted hotels (with no washing machines), or in temporary apartments all over the country with no schools, no income, and no idea how much longer they will call that cramped location home. Several of these stranded families have been placed in our neighborhood in Yerushalayim—two in our building—and they have no choice but to accustom themselves to being full-time recipients of the kindness of others. I spoke to just one of these mothers this week and she shared how trying these times are for her and her family. Aside from feeling the whirlpool of emotion many around the world are experiencing, for her family, there’s the added pain of having lost their home, and with it all their valuables and sentimental items, they have untold added expenses (including reduced rent, but rent nevertheless, new wardrobes, and stocking an entire apartment from scratch for a family of nine!). The days carry on with no structure, and all the kids keep asking is, “When are we going home?” For many of these children, the place they once called home is all but a pile of rubble. 

Listening to even one such story evokes powerful emotion. And one of these emotions is gratitude—gratitude for what we’ve been blessed with, attributes of our life we may have taken for granted. 

But what can we do in addition to living our own lives with more appreciation and joy? The most powerful way we can help these displaced families, and all the families in Klal Yisrael that are desperate for a yeshuah and nechamah during this time, as well as deepen our relationship to Hashem and bring it more to life, is tefillah, both formal prayer and talking to Hashem in our own words—thanking Him for the incredible chasadim in our own lives and pleading on behalf of those who would give anything in the world just to feel the pleasure of “boring” routine again.

Wishing you all a peaceful, uneventful life until the coming of Mashiach, when we will finally come together in our true home. It is then that all the dulled or pained galus parts inside of us will come to life. Az yimalei sechok pinu ulshoneinu rinah—we just won’t stop to laugh and sing. I can’t wait to welcome you all here!