RH: Bless This Mess
A few months before moving back to the U.S. from Israel on my way to Los Angeles, I was ready to become a car owner again. Well. My dad was paying for it. But I would be its faithful driver. Let the record show that I wanted something beige, like a modest, mid-sized sedan. But a few weeks before we were supposed to go looking, my Abba sent me this heinous, blue blog. Apparently he had done a little searching on his own.
He said, “I test-drove it. I think you’re going to like it.” Uh. Okay. Then I came home, and the search started at nine. But not after he made me put on pants and a button-down shirt, because, as he reminded me, “you can’t go into a dealership looking like a homeless person.” Actual words. Swear to god. We spent all day looking. Last stop was Volkswagen. And there was my future. The car I would drive around Los Angeles like speedracer—a 2008 R32 in Deep Sea Blue Pearl. I looked at my dad. “This thing?” He said, “Just shut up and drive the darn thing.” Also actual words. Swear to god.
As I pulled out of the dealership and pushed the pedal, my body was pulled back into the driver's seat, my hands gripping the wheel. Then it happened. A you-know-what-eating grin took over my face. Unintentionally. Like the torque itself was pulling the corners of my mouth apart. I was glowing. And I miss her every day.
It’s an odd experience when you smile uncontrollably. Not just a “Say Cheese!” Facebook smile, but a real one. Not just a bout of happiness but the weight, force, and gravity of the sun’s power- a type of glee. Spiritual moments, if you will. Maybe not in a car per se.
But there exist these moments when our souls feel like kids in a candy store. Moments when we can’t help but radiate happiness. Satisfaction. Fulfillment. You get the gist. Like the first day with your new puppy, your Social Security check, or the first time riding a Jet Ski. Because seriously, you can’t be unhappy on one of those.
And while this evening probably isn't as thrilling as any of those things, it is still our god-given purpose to evolve as sentient human beings, which brings me to this song we used to sing with the Sunday school kids. After four years of singing it, it stuck with me, like a lingering winter cough. It’s called “What Makes You Glow?” by Jacob Spike Kraus. And I’ll sing it for you so it’ll get stuck in your head. You’re welcome.
“Fish swim, birds fly
Days do, night sky
Rain soaks, sun dries
I call, you reply
I just need to know
Just what makes you glow
שאין לך אדם שאין לו שווא
ואין לך דבר שאין לו מקום
I mean I really do believe ואני מאמין
That everybody's got something to show”
It’s kind of this contagious existential mantra: “What makes you glow? Everybody’s got something to show.” And every year it’s a new answer. But I want to clarify what this notion of glowing means. The Hebrew phrases used aren’t just song lyrics. They come from a text called Pirkei Avot, Ethics of the Fathers, a famous Mishnah text that focuses on virtuous worldly advice. Like how we say “Live, Laugh, Love” and “Bless This Mess.”
“[Ben Azzai used to say] Do not despise any man, and do not discriminate against anything, for there is no person that has not their hour, and there is no thing that has not its place… (Pirkei Avot 4:3).”
Rabbi Dr. Joshua Kulp, the Rosh Yeshiva at the Conservative Yeshiva in Jerusalem, comments on this:
“The central idea in the first part of Ben Azzai’s statement is that every person has worth… Even someone who seems to be worthless and a total detriment to society has his hour and his place. One never knows when that hour or place might come.” (4:3:2)
See, there’s still hope for all of us. It’s not too late to blossom and butterfly. But in all seriousness. Every single human being has divine worth. It may not be obvious. Especially on hard days. But if you had to put down an answer, right here, right now. What would you say makes you glow? What would make you feel like you weren't a totally worthless detriment to society? That it was your hour to shine? Like the Jewish version of “fifteen minutes of fame” + “Is there a doctor on board?”
As if we were brewing up an experience with a dash of “unexpected excitement,” a heavy helping of “finding our place in the sun,” and a tiny sprinkle of “my time to shine.” Which goes in the oven for, let’s say, “Only God knows.”
I’ll simmer this down into three diverse, but similar feelings. Let’s call the first one (1) Thrill, which is really just excitement with a twist. Probably very easy to put your finger on and describe. Like this moment of “feeling alive.” You know. Top down, radio on, wind flying through your luscious hair – or what’s left of it. As if every moment triggered the next, leading to this profound, life-changing promise of joy.
(2) Thunderstruck. I would describe these experiences, journeys, and side-quests as very extemporaneous or impromptu. Surprises even. Ones that jolt you, whack you up the side of your head so hard that you have no choice but to “live and let God,” completely surrendering to a particular moment. Letting go of preconceived notions about who and what you are, and just “go with the flow” – because you couldn’t swim against the current if you tried. We know inherently that “Man plans, God laughs,” but sometimes we don’t believe it. Until life gifts us these “I couldn’t have predicted this outcome in a million years,” life-changing twists. But happy ones. Not winding up in jail ones. Buoyant feelings of disbelief where we immediately have to rearrange our priorities. Because God is an amazing story-teller and life throws curveballs. But in Judaism, we learn those aren’t bugs in the program of life; rather, they’re very intentional features.
I’ll give you a personal example. When I lived in Houston, I hesitantly joined a kickball league because someone convinced me it was something to do on a Sunday. Why not. Stepping onto the field that day, I had no idea I'd meet my now-wife. But then it just clicked. And there I was. Accepting completely that, in a wholly unique, never-seen-before, nor ever-again union of time and space, whoever I was. All my mistakes. Issues. And defects. Even though “ I was absolutely someone who seemed to be worthless and a total detriment to society,” I was as I should be. I was perfect. And worth more than all the tea in China. Because that’s how God made me.
Further, when the rabbis say, “for there is no person that has not their hour, and there is no thing that has not its place,” it doesn’t mean that we’re fully conscious of this happenstance. Conversely, we may not even have a remote clue of what’s happening.
Maybe you don’t even know you’re smiling. But everyone around you does. It’s unmistakable. Everyone around you sees you glowing. And you're the last to know, because it's not something to comprehend or learn. It’s not a Sherlock Holmes "ah-ha " – it was Colonel Mustard in the Library with a candlestick – moment. They’re speechless moments. When that radiant, holy light glows so brightly inside you that it’s impossible to hide. Like your soul is smiling from within you. Like every single time I pick up my princess from preschool.
And finally, (3) Purpose and Appreciation. As we learn, God intends for every person, place, and thing to add value to this world and be recognized for it. A feeling of purpose. Of feeling appreciated. But it’s giddiness per se. But an “I’m built for this” feeling. Where rubber meets the road. Where inherent skill, attributes, and know-how meet joy, excitement, and fun. Which means my analogy wasn’t great. Because I do love cars, but I’m a terrible driver, according to a member of my family. The holidays and the year ahead ask us to figure out what mixture or combination of nature and nurture will make us kiss the ground and thank Hashem for the world he built. In my heart, I have always known I was meant to be a father, but God never gave me the details. Like I’ve said before. It’s as if I was meant to feel this.
So where in the Bible do we see something like this? As I’ve been told before, “Rabbi, if it’s not in the Torah, why should I care about it?” Well, there’s just one story. It’s about Moses. The first radioactive, glowing Israelite. When Moses goes up to Mt. Sinai to get the “Two Tablets,” our Ten Commandments, our Torah reveals that:
“And [Moses] was there with God forty days and forty nights; he ate no bread and drank no water; and he wrote down on the tablets (Exodus 34:28).”
Two things here. According to the rabbis, we learn that Moses “ascended at dawn on the twenty-ninth day of Av, and remained there until dawn of Yom Hakippurim.” Wow. What a coincidence. It’s almost like I planned it. We also learn not just why Moses was there on Rosh Hashanah, but how he went 40 days without food. It makes our one day of fasting seem relatively straightforward.
The rabbis explain that the “source of Moses’ food was 'celestial abstract nutrients.” Ah yes. Good old celestial nutrients. It beats a Snickers bar any day. But what does that mean exactly? It means that God’s kindness gave Moses everything he needed in the form of supernatural light. This also explains our next verse:
“[When] And as Moses came down from the mountain bearing the two tablets of the Pact, Moses was not aware that the skin of his face was radiant since he had spoken with God. Aaron and all the Israelites saw that the skin of Moses’ face was radiant….”
I know what you’re thinking. Maybe he’s born with it. Maybe it’s the almighty power of God. As one rabbinic story explains this visual detail
“After Moses had completed writing down the Torah, there was a little ink left over on the quill. Moses touched his forehead while holding the quill. The ink which spilled onto his forehead turned into light rays (Or HaChaim on Exodus 34:29:4).”
Ah yes. A messy art project. Why didn’t I think of that? Like when my Reese comes home as if someone has attempted to tie-dye her whole body, but really it was an activity involving markers and possibly eating some. Who hasn’t spilled a little transcendental, omnipotent pigment every once in a while? Another rabbinic source explains thus:
“We know of the light which represents wisdom, and we know light which emerges out of the darkness. The former kind of light is the light God employed to create the universe itself. Moses attained this light in his heart (Rabbeinu Bahya, Shemot 34:30:1).”
What a beautiful sentiment. Moses attained this light in his heart. And maybe that is really what all of this comes down to. The glow was never just on his face. It came from somewhere deeper. From purpose. From presence. From being exactly where he was supposed to be. Moses did not even know he was glowing. Everyone else saw it first as he came down from Sinai and delivered commandments to his people. And I wonder how often that is true for us too. We get so busy trying to figure out what will make us happy that we miss the moments when we already are. The people, places, and experiences that make us feel alive are often giving us clues about who we are and what matters most.
The story of Moses demonstrates that the thrill of leading his people out of Egypt and quite literally splitting a sea – I’m so Moses too would not, in a million years, have expected to do such a miracle. The thrill of coming face-to-face with Hashem. And also being thunderstruck by the experience of encountering God's ineffable presence. Thunderstruck by the whole ordeal. The Prince of Egypt, in complete awe of how far he has come since his days of the palace and Pharaoh. Thunderstuck to learn that he was a Hebrew.
And finally, Purpose and Appreciation. All those years, Moshe. His secret only revealed at the age of forty. My next birthday. And ultimately reveling in his faith. As if every single moment since he was placed in the water led up to this intimate moment with his Creator. As if he was meant to do this very thing. The quill, the commandments, the leadership, and his divine glow.
That’s where we are on this night of vows. We know the rituals: fasting, prayer, reflection, and the sometimes uncomfortable honesty. We know we are meant to ask where we missed the mark. But what if we also asked where we felt most alive? What sparked our excitement? What caught us off guard in the best way? What filled us with that sense of “I was made for this”? What made us smile before we even knew it? Teshuvah is not just about turning away from what is wrong. It is also about returning to what is right. Returning to the people, values, and moments that awaken our best selves. As we are reminded, “Even someone who seems to be worthless and a total detriment to society has his hour and his place.”
So maybe this year, as we enter Yom Kippur, we should pay attention to what makes us glow. Not what keeps us busy. Not what impresses other people. Not what we think is supposed to make us happy. What actually does. What makes us lighter? Where do we feel most ourselves? What makes us grateful to be here at all? Because perhaps the goal is not simply to end Yom Kippur knowing what we want to leave behind. Maybe it is to walk away knowing a little more clearly what we want to run toward.