My mom will be spending Rosh Hashanah in the hospital this year. She’s been suffering from a rare form of bone marrow cancer that, within the next couple of years, would likely end her life. That is, unless she gets a bone marrow transplant. Well Baruch Hashem, about two weeks ago, she was able to get said transplant. 

But the procedure wasn’t as simple as check in, get the transplant, and check out. Chemotherapy was used to decimate her immune system and though the new stem cells have been given, my mom now goes through the long, difficult, and potentially dangerous process of rebuilding a new immune system. If you thought germaphobia during the times of Covid were bad, you’ve got nothing on my mom (and my mom’s doctors.) Constant checks, tests, and procedures happen at all hours. She gets pricked, pinned, and blood-pressure cuffed incessantly. And I think she’s taking like 30 pills a day. The point is, it’s not super fun.

Now someone had told her that she would be dismissed and could go home on Monday, the morning before Rosh Hashanah. She was looking forward to watching the Zoomed service from her old Synagogue in Dallas, Texas from the comfort of her own bed. But, alas, her doctor informed her that the nature of her disease would delay engraftment and her freedom from her hospital room would have to wait. She wasn’t thrilled.

Sitting with her the other day, between the incessant alarms and her bouts of light headed nausea, we started talking about the High Holidays. In a rather blunt statement, hoping to inspire motivation, I asked her, “Why do you want to live another year?” I expected something akin to, “See your daughter grow up a little more.” Or, “Watching [your nephew] become bar mitzvah.” Perhaps, “Being at [your brother’s] wedding.” But instead she said, (paraphrasing) “I want to be nicer. I’ve had a very short temper lately and I say comments I really shouldn’t.” 

I was taken aback. My mother had expressed something that Rosh Hashanah, in fact all of Judaism, in fact all of creation, is all about. The refinement of character traits. 

In Hebrew, character traits are known as middos. The refinement of middos is essentially the perfection of self, but it is a long and difficult process. As many like to say, the longest distance in the world is between the head and the heart. Meaning, it is one thing to aspire to behave a certain way. It is another thing to be able to act that way, even when you are tired, frustrated, and in constant pain… which is exactly my mother’s condition. But if one is able to work on themselves regularly and with determination, even during those difficult moments, if they are still able to act the way they know they should instead of giving into their anger or frustration, that is when they have truly reformed their character. This is what God wants.

To which my mom replied, “Well, why didn’t God just make us like that [meaning with good character traits]? To that I replied, “God doesn’t need any more angels. He created mankind for something different. He created mankind to give to us.” 

Mom: Oh?

Me: “God created mankind so He could bestow the greatest good possible.”

My mom was incredulous. 

Me: “What does Judaism say is the best, most impactful way to give to someone? You see an impoverished person on the street, what’s the best thing you can do for them?”

Mom: “Give them tzedaka with a personal connection.” 

Me: “Great. Don’t just throw them a dollar but genuinely show you care about them as a person. But does that really solve their problem? And might they become embarrassed that they’re taking charity?” 

My mom pondered where I was going.

Me: “Giving someone charity or tzedaka can rob a person of their self-worth, so giving anonymously to them is a higher level. But beyond that, giving in a way that sustains them is better than a one time gift. “Catch a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, you feed him for the rest of his life.” Or as I like to say “Build a man a fire, you’ll keep him warm for a day. Set a man on fire, you’ll keep him warm for the rest of his life.”

I waited for my mom to laugh at the joke. She didn’t. 

Me: “Okay, so teaching someone lasting skills is better than gifts. But some skills are better than others. Teaching someone to drive is great. Teaching them how to get a job is better. What about teaching them how to find a spouse? Raise a family? Find meaning, purpose, and joy in life?”

My mom nodded. I couldn’t tell if she was still with me or if I had talked too long. She had always been a little ADHD and that was before the pain, light headedness, and brain fog. But she said she was following.

Me: Okay, so what if you help someone so much you not only take them out of poverty, not only show them how to have family and meaning, but you show them how to help others pull themselves out of poverty and despair? That’s being godlike. Not being God, but acting like Him. That’s ultimately what God wants from us. He wants us to be godlike. 

She contemplated that for a bit. Or her mind had wandered. I wasn’t sure. If I were to venture a guess as to the question she couldn’t put into words, I’d say it was, “So what am I doing connected to IVs, losing my hair, and can barely eat anything?” So then I added,

Me: “But what makes getting anything meaningful? What makes receiving something have a lasting impact? It’s in the effort you took to overcome the obstacle to get it. On Tuesday, we are asking Hashem for another year of life. Most Jews are assuming they’re going to get it. You on the other hand have had to drive to dozens of doctors appointments in rush hour 405 traffic. You’ve had to endure chemo, radiation, fear, delays, changing doctors, platelet transfusions, bad reactions to platelet transfusions, and isolation all for a chance at another year. 5786 will mean more to you than the vast majority of the people walking out of Synagogue. Not in spite of your trials, but because of them.”

At this point a nurse came in with another set of pills and it was clear that my sermon was over. I tried to get back to it later, but the moment was gone. If I had been able to continue I would have finished by saying that improving our middos are the most meaningful of gifts because we have so many obstacles to overcome to make any progress. Ingrained behaviors, a society built on tempting us to indulge, deep seated personal traumas, nature and nurture, and so much more. It’s like the deck is stacked against us. But that’s exactly how God wants it. 

When we decide to improve a middah (singular of middos) be it anger, procrastination, spending too much time on our phones, etc, we’ve made an intellectual decision. We know it is the right thing to do. But then our emotion tempts us to go back on it. Sometimes it persuades us with twisted logic. Other times it strikes us when we are at our weakest and we respond like a knee jerk reaction with our old ways. But when we renew each day, take on the task and not give up, our rational mind becomes more active. Even in those knee jerk moments of lashing out, there is a fraction of a second of rationality that says, “don’t do this.” 

Viktor Frankl is famously quoted as saying, “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space lies our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” In other words, that’s where our freewill, our bechirah is. This space is the space we connect to when we listen to the shofar. It overwhelms the stimulus and gives us a chance to reconnect with who we really want to be. Who we know we can be. Who we were made to be.

Being in that space in the midst of outer turmoil, by making the right choice, even if you go back on it minutes later, still flexes this muscle. The longer that rational mind lasts before we give in, the longer it will be there the next time. Then even longer the next time. If we work on it day in and day out, we will find, before we know it, ourselves transformed. Deciding who we want to be and slowly overcoming the most profound deep seated obstacles to become it, that is the most meaningful work we can do. Perfection of self is by definition godlike. 

Work on our middos turns us from someone who is needy for other’s approval, affection, attention, or appreciation and makes us self-reliant. Because we don’t need anyone else to tell us we’re good, we know we’ve made progress and are engaged in making more. And though we think we’re on our own, tackling the problem ourselves, in fact, God is right there, helping us every step along the way. Giving us harder challenges so we can discover we are capable of more and giving us strength when we think we aren’t capable anymore. That is what I want my mother to take with her. That the desire to be better and our attempts to achieve it are worthy of another year. My mother may be stuck in a hospital bed this Rosh Hashanah, but her yearning to refine her character is the very essence of being written into the Book of Life.

Clearly this post is dedicated to the refuah shleimah of my mother, Reiza Chaya bas Zlotta Sheindal and anyone desperate to be inscribed in the Book of Life.

Update: My mom ended up getting released on erev Rosh Hashanah. Thank you to all who prayed or learned or simply read this blog post in her merit.