The Observant Jew

Poison Berries – An Observant Jew Moment of Meditation

I passed a tree this morning which has a number of bright red berries in various stages of ripening. Though they look nice, I believe they are poisonous. I wondered: They look so good, and berries are for eating. Why should they be poisonous?

If you’re the type who reads a lot into the title of an article, you’re probably thinking, “Thank goodness watermelons don’t grow on trees! Someone could get hurt.” You’d be absolutely right, but I’m going somewhere else with this one.

I’d like to share a fantastic childhood memory with you. It isn’t mine, but it’s still so memorable that it’s worth retelling. A woman I know used to live in the Deep South. Her birthday is in July, and for her tenth or eleventh birthday, her parents arranged a watermelon eating contest for her whole class.

They were smart enough to do it outside, and when they were done, they just hosed off the driveway from all the pits and juice and watermelon pulp. She still remembers with glee how the next year their yard was full of watermelon plants!

As childhood memories go, I think that’s an amazing one. The magic of thinking that these watermelons (a special summertime treat for many people) sprouted and filled up her yard as an extension of her birthday celebration is enough to make even the most hardened of cynics smile in spite of themselves at the joy and optimistic jubilance of youth.

I don’t know the end of the story. Since watermelon plants can grow up to 20 feet long, they can wreak havoc on a yard. Perhaps her parents had to spend a lot of time pulling them out, or hiring a gardener to do it. She didn’t mention anything about having watermelon for lunch everyday so I’m assuming that they didn’t let the plants stay, and that being a child she didn’t remember that part since it was more mundane.

What I found especially magical about it, though, was how something so wonderful came along so unexpectedly. Here, they were simply trying to clean up a sticky mess, and they got a wonderful result that was more than they could have imagined.

Thinkers often speak about seeds. For example, one adage says, “Any fool can count the seeds in an apple, but only G-d can count the apples in a seed.” The potential in a seed, like the potential in people, is often overlooked. Not because it isn’t important, but because it is unfathomable. We can’t imagine the potential results, so we miss them.

Now, when a farmer plants a tree, he likely can guesstimate how many apples or oranges or avocadoes it might produce. Perhaps he knows how much a typical tree produces in a given time, and how the rainfall can affect it. He might not be surprised at the end result, but that’s because he’s looking at the dollars and cents of it. The tree is his livelihood and he has to have an expectation of what it will do. But watermelons don’t grow on trees. They are more unpredictable. Each seed may or may not produce. When you plant several at a time, you thin them out and choose the best one. Some of them will die and others will not be pollenated. It’s a toss-up and you won’t know until they grow.

Thinkers also speak of “scattering seeds.” The idea is that you put out kindness, holiness, and love into the world and those “seeds” will produce fruit you didn’t expect or couldn’t foresee, much as the woman’s watermelon plants.

Many of you have heard of John Chapman, better known by his nickname, “Johnny Appleseed.” He was famous for traveling through Ohio, Pennsylvania, Indiana, Ontario and nearby areas planting apple seeds. He is credited with enabling the large apple crops that area is blessed with. There are two facts about Johnny Appleseed that most of us don’t know but are rather important.

First of all, he was a very religious man. He had a strong faith in his god and he actually converted many Native Americans to Christianity. His devoutness is important because when putting effort into something whose outcome is not certain, you have to believe in what you’re doing. If you are trying to spread the message of how a servant of HaShem lives (and that’s a big part of our job as Jews) then you have to expect you’ll get pushback and disappointment. A strong faith will help you withstand the discouraging moments.

Second of all, John Chapman didn’t scatter seeds. He actually made nurseries, that is, small groups of viable plantings, usually surrounded by a fence to keep the animals away. When the trees in these nurseries grew, someone else would sell them to farmers for use in their orchards.

This is significant because it’s not enough to just throw some seeds here and there and hope they take root. If you want to see success, you have to be focused in what you do and put in the effort to get it started properly. Whether it’s an investment in a sapling or a sibling, a tree or a person, the more you put in at the beginning the better result you will see.

Watermelons don’t grow on trees, and in this case they got lucky that they took root. But life isn’t about luck. It’s about taking the time to sow the things you’d like to reap, and recognizing that the potential for growth is unmeasurable.

The title of this article may seem like a children’s book, but it’s really an appropriate one.  You see, the stories and anecdotes I will relate here truly are connected and convey a deep message.

Story #1: One day, I got to shul without a Talis.  I had sent my weekday Talis to the dry cleaners and forgot to take my Shabbos one.  I walked over to the Rabbi and asked if I could make a blessing on and wear a shul Talis.  He was already davening and couldn’t speak but he nodded his head, then swiftly shook it side to side, and motioned for me to wait and he pointed to his head as if to say, “I have a better idea,” whereupon he took out his Shabbos talis and lent it to me.

I was able to make a bracha on it, but I noticed something else.  When I was wearing that Talis, I felt that I could not betray the trust of the Rabbi who had given it to me.  I didn’t want to do anything wrong in it, and I even decided not to look at a sefer during Chazoras HaShatz, but to listen carefully instead.  I didn’t know what he would have thought of it so I played it safe.

I wanted to make sure that I returned the Talis with the same sanctity it had when he gave it to me.

Story #2: My wife’s car needed warranty service so I took it into the dealer for her.  I got a loaner car, and it was quite a fancy one.  I guess they want people to drive it to entice them to trade up and get the new model of the more expensive vehicle.  I began to wonder what people might say if they saw it in my driveway.  “Whoa… look who got a fancy new car!”  Then I realized that wouldn’t happen.

Emblazoned across the back window in big letters were the words, “Courtesy Loaner Car from…”  Clearly, people would know it wasn’t mine and I wouldn’t be showing off in any way, nor would anyone get the idea that I splurged on a new toy.

Of course, even if I wanted to get a little glory out of it, I wouldn’t have been able to because people would know it wasn’t mine.  And, every time I looked in the rearview mirror, I got a stark reminder that it was just on loan from the dealership that owned it because the message appeared in big letters which were reflected from my back window and clearly readable to me in the driver’s seat.

The common thread between these two stories is that I was using something that wasn’t mine, and it got me thinking.  When we go about our daily lives, we’re using a “borrowed Talis.”  Our bodies, our minds, and our talents are on loan from G-d.  That being the case, how can anyone be prideful of their looks, their money, or their brains?  These are emblazoned in big letters, “Courtesy Loaner Body, Property of HaShem” so who do we think we’re fooling?

Of course, when I’m in the loaner car, I understand that I’m responsible for all damage, and they check it carefully before and after to see what condition I returned it in, but you can follow that storyline on your own.

Story #3: A fellow took an apprentice into his business.  He taught him everything he knew and trusted him with business secrets.  When the young fellow came into his own, and had learned everything he could, he left the man and struck out on his own, taking numerous clients along the way.  He even turned on his benefactor and undercut him and badmouthed him.

Worse than just taking credit for the things HaShem has gifted us with, we often do inappropriate things in this borrowed Talis.  Here, HaShem has granted us the tools to serve Him, and we turn around and use His tools to rebel against Him!

He gives us hands, but instead of helping others, we raise them in anger.  He gives us a tongue to pray and speak kind words, yet we use it for gossip and hurtful verbal abuse.  HaShem gives us the power of imagination to be creative, and we waste it (or worse) with schemes and fantasies.

When we use our eyes, we must remember that we’re looking through HaShem’s eyes, and we should consider what they will look like when we return them.  Will they be clear and beautiful from looking at the right things and finding good in others, or will they have cataracts and blind spots from looking at the wrong things or seeking out the negative in other people?

As I thought about this, I realized that there is a way for us to take pride in the things HaShem has given us.  Sure, I can’t impress anyone with the loaner car, but if I were to give someone a ride, or stop to let someone cross the street ahead of me, that’s my own decision on how to use the loan, and that’s something I can be proud of.

If I look away when a woman is dressed inappropriately, or change the subject when people start speaking about others or using vulgar language, I have the right to feel good about the fact that I’m using G-d’s gifts properly and not giving back a worn and dirty garment.

When I chose to use the Talis as I thought the Rabbi would want me to, I was taking his feelings into account.  Do we owe G-d any less?  Everything in this world exists at HaShem’s behest, not only what we have, but our very beings.  I can’t think of a bigger ingratitude than taking what HaShem gives us and using it in a way He doesn’t want.  And I thought of something else.

Maybe the Rabbi wouldn’t mind if I learned during Chazoras HaShatz.  Maybe he wouldn’t care if I read my e-mail on my phone while wearing it.  It’s unlikely, but possible.  I really don’t know what he thinks.  But HaShem lets us know what He wants from us.  He gave us the Torah as a user’s manual for everything He gave us.

It tells how we can repay the trust the Creator has placed in us by using the tools as He would like.  Like anything else that is borrowed and must be returned in good condition after using it for a purpose, we must take care with the body and soul that G-d has entrusted to us, and all the midos and attributes He gave us as accessories.

In order to be good borrowers, who faithfully care for the items loaned to us and deserve the trust placed in us, we must learn the Torah to find out what G-d wants from us, then take the learning a step further and put it into practice.  That’s the obligation when you use a borrowed Talis, and how you can live happily ever after.

Walking into a truck stop on Route 80 in our youth, my friend Yosef and I were keenly aware of a song playing loudly on the radio or speaker system.  With high-torque riffs and a grinding melody, the singer belted out the unforgettable words… “I’m b-b-b-b-b-b-bad — bad to the bone.”

We joked about it and imitated it when back on the road, and from time to time, it would come up in conversation with a shake of the head and a deprecating smile indicating our feeling towards the ridiculous lyrics.

Over the years, the song gained in popularity and was used in many different media outlets to announce the arrival of a “bad guy” in the story.  However, it isn’t usually a completely negative connotation.  Instead, it comes across rather proud and powerful, making the villain seem cool and with it.

I noticed that I never heard a song that went, “I’m g-g-g-g-g-good – good to the core.”  It would seem that being good isn’t so exciting and isn’t something that people want to announce.

We have expressions such as “bad-boy good looks.”  What is that?  Do the black eye or missing teeth make him more attractive?  Not at all.  What they usually mean is this is a guy who doesn’t care what people think about him, who will wear his hair messy, his clothes unkempt, and is arrogant enough to “know” he looks good that way.  There’s something appealing about that brazen sassiness, something that people find attractive.

Again, we have no phrase for the person who wears neat, appropriate clothing, who is careful to conform and speak pleasantly.  We might call him a nerd, or a nebbish, or a goody-two-shoes, but those are not complimentary terms.

Why is it that when someone dresses like he shouldn’t, we’re ok with it, but when he dresses properly, we wryly suggest his mother dressed him that way?

How about the way he speaks?  Usually the one who is chutzpadik is viewed as the chacham, even if the phrase wise guy isn’t entirely flattering. (Though it is considered high praise in certain Sicilian social circles I’m told.)  The fellow who is polite and speaks softly and considerately is once again viewed as having somewhat diminished mental capacity, and definitely no social standing.  It’s an embarrassment to be seen with him.  What’s going on; why is it this way?

It’s pretty simple actually.  When we see someone who is rebellious yet prosperous, wild but self-assured, nasty but popular, we begin to think that we can behave that way and get away with it.  In other words, it’s just another trick of the Yetzer Hara who makes people see things upside down.

He wants us to view mitzvos as something old-fashioned, nerdy, or to be embarrassed about.  He wants us to feel we can do what we want, when we want, with no qualms and no repercussions.  It’s not a new concept, just updated packaging.

If we were to stop a moment and realize that this tough guy can’t fit in with society, and his manners rival those of a lower life form, we might stop idolizing him.  Sure, the motorcycle and sneer are exciting, but would you want to be married to that?  What will happen when he’s sixty and still acting like a seventeen-year old?  What will he contribute to the world and how will others feel about themselves after an encounter with him?  What trouble will he get into and what price will he have to pay?

We romanticize characters like Robin Hood who stole from the rich and gave to the poor (any resemblance to politicians living or dead is purely coincidental) but in plain truth, he was just a thief!  You can’t steal and then give tzedaka with that money.  It’s called a mitzvah ha’ba b’aveira, a good deed that comes through a sin, and it’s not a mitzvah anymore.  By Jewish standards, in fact, Robin Hood, or people like him, cause G-d more work by making Him put things back where they belong.

The world around us pushes pirates, gangsters, punks, and tough guys as models for us to emulate.  There is a glitz and glamour to it; it is shiny and has bling.

But that is just misdirection on the part of our Evil Inclination, who is trying his hardest to keep us from being good, wholesome, righteous people.  We don’t often see people treating tzaddikim or those who serve HaShem as role models.  And that’s a pity.

If we were in the right frame of mind, THESE are the people we would be emulating.  Now, I’m not advocating a “Steipler” T-shirt or “R’ Ovadya Yosef” designer sunglasses, but I must admit that when I get a call from R’ Moshe Meir Weiss or R’ Paysach Krohn I feel like I’m talking to a rockstar.  Here are people who are out there doing what HaShem wants, trying to teach and inspire people; how can that not be the coolest thing on earth?

When you see a person stand there in silence, maintaining equilibrium and even a sense of pity, while someone verbally abuses him with rancor, can there be a tougher, stronger, wiser guy than that?

I hope that I’ve been able to change your outlook just a bit, and that now when you see these stereotypical characters being showered with praise you’ll recognize it for the falsehood that it is.  If not?  Well, I guess that’s just too b-b-b-b-bad.