Rabbi Chaim Bruk and his family

It’s always a fresh start with a good feeling when we commence the reading of a new sefer of the Torah. It’s hard to believe that in 5781 we’ve already been through Bereishis and Sh’mos. This Shabbos we will begin reading Vaykira, Leviticus, shifting from building a Mishkan, Tabernacle, to bringing the various offerings, korbanos, on the altar. As a ba’al koreh, the one who reads the Torah in our shul, I’ve often gotten stuck right at the first word of the sefer when I see the small alef in the word “Vayikra.”

One of the most beautiful things I’ve noticed as the spiritual leader for the Jewish community of Montana is that we don’t suffer from the elitism and class warfare that exists in many larger cities and communities. When one walks into our shul, he would have no way of knowing who is a millionaire and who is living on unemployment, who is the donor and who is the receiver, who is a direct descendant of the Gra (he’s here in Bozeman) and who is a ger, a righteous convert to Judaism. You can’t judge them by their clothing, as almost all of them dress in a similar style of attire, and you can’t judge them by their car, as they all drive SUVs, a Subaru, or trucks due to the weather and dirt roads. Almost no one ever talks about his or her wealth and successes, as arrogance is not an accepted attribute in Montana.

Humility is not a virtue in Big Sky Country; it’s a way of life.

The Ba’al HaTurim, a Torah commentary I wish I learned more often, says that Moshe wanted the Torah to say “Vayikar,” without an alef at all, like when Hashem spoke to Bilaam, the Midianite prophet, indicating a lower level of prophecy that one acquires only in a dream while asleep, not during daylight hours while awake. Hashem insisted on having an alef there, as Moshe was no Bilaam—he was greater than any other prophet before or after him—so they went with a small alef as a sort of compromise. Along the same line of thinking, the Kabbalist Rav Chaim Vital quotes the Zohar that says that when the Jews sinned with the Golden Calf, Moshe’s radiance was lessened 1,000 times from its original light, so the alef of Vayikra can also represent elef, 1,000, which is spelled the same way in Hebrew, and reflect that diminishing of his light.

For many of us, humility is a tough attribute to incorporate, primarily because it’s misunderstood. Humility is not thinking less of yourself, or even thinking of yourself less—it’s the recognition that you are created by G-d with unique talents and abilities, but you believe firmly that if someone else had the same talents that you have, they’d utilize them better than you do. Humility is not about having low self-esteem or being self-degrading, but to live life recognizing that we are gifted and can always do better. A famous radio host used to introduce himself as a person “with talent on loan from G-d” and that is a really powerful way to think of ourselves and our mission in this life. Bittul, the chassidic concept of subservience, is not about mistreating our bodies or negating our needs; it’s about putting Hashem ahead of our selfish wants and doing so with appreciation for Hashem and all that He does for us.

The story is told about a group of Russian chassidim who spent the night farbrenging about the concept of bittul. At dawn, as they headed home, they were stopped by a Russian officer who asked, “Ku idyut (who goes there)?” to which one of the chassidim answered, “Bittul idyut (bittul goes there).” The concept had permeated his being so strongly, that it’s how he saw himself.

Imagine how many of our interpersonal issues, relationship issues, and G-d issues would fade away if we lived more like Moshe and less like Pharaoh, with more humility and less narcissism.

My elter zayde, my great-grandfather, Reb Shayel Bruk, for whom I am named, was a mashpia and rosh yeshiva, a mentor and teacher of Torah, at the famed Chabad yeshivos in Tel Aviv and Rishon LeTzion. Thousands of articles have been written about him and a book about his life is in the making, but what always blows me away is his headstone. He demanded in his will that no titles be written, no accolades be given, no fanfare, true or false, be engraved; just his name and date of passing is inscribed, period. It was the culmination of a life of humility—not a false humility in which people hope that though they make themselves look humble, people will give them honor for being “great and humble,” but true, heartfelt, humility. Just yesterday I saw that Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski’s gravestone is similarly engraved, without any titles such as rabbi or doctor.

My zayde, whose yahrzeit is 12 Nissan, understood that humility, anivus, does not mean thinking we are awesome and then working overtime to ensure we don’t give off that “I am awesome” impression to others. It’s the understanding that we are but a conduit for the Divine expression, and, therefore, taking too much credit or skipping out of the gig of changing the world altogether is not the Jewish path. Thinking we are “a nothing,” worthless, is almost as bad as narcissism, because it’s still all about us and what we think of ourselves, instead of thinking more about G-d and how we could do better.

When I see the small alef in the Torah it reminds me that Moshe was a leader who understood that he’s gifted, bestowed with unique skills from on high, and yet never made it all about himself. Hockey player Maxime Lagacé once said, “There’s no need to show off when you know who you are.” He’s right, which is why the truly impressive souls are those who change the world and don’t even know why people make such a big deal about it.

This upcoming Wednesday, the 11th of Nissan, is the 119th birthday of the Rebbe, of blessed memory. For chassidim it’s a special day to reflect on the Rebbe’s life, his constant guidance, and, of course, his humility. The Rebbe knew what his revolution of Yiddishkeit—sending shluchim and shluchos to every corner of the world—did for Am Yisrael and its survival. He knew that his Torah teachings that filled thousands of volumes were unique, novel, and included major chiddushim, creative thoughts, in every aspect of Torah. He knew that he was adored and counted-on by Jews and gentiles of all flavors who sought his wisdom and life guidance, from Lakewood to Billings.

This reality can easily be a recipe for arrogance, but the Rebbe, like his predecessor Moshe, didn’t need, or want, the accolades. All he wanted was to get the job done and—unlike many of his chassidim who worried about his honor—he didn’t care about who would get the credit, as long as it made a difference for our people, his beloved brothers and sisters.

The Rebbe was no pushover. He knew how to defend the honor of the movement he led and believed in its infinite value, and because of that, he didn’t need to play the “it’s my way or the highway” card. He was comfortable in his Lubavitch skin but never looked down on those who celebrated Torah life in a different fashion, with a different tradition.

Moshe had a few mockers, but no competition, because you can only have competition when you think that what you have is available to all. When a person realizes that only I can be me, only I have those talents from Hashem, then there can be emulators but no competitors.

Rabbi Chaim Bruk is co-CEO of Chabad Lubavitch of Montana and spiritual leader of The Shul of Bozeman. For comments or to partner in our holy work, e-mail rabbi@jewishmontana.com or visit JewishMontana.com/Donate.

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