Ali and Matt were a Modern Orthodox couple living in the Five Towns. They were in their early 40s, raising four children, building careers, and sharing a beautiful, loving marriage.
And like all beautiful and loving relationships, they had their disagreements. There was one particular point of contention that would come up often. Ali would regularly urger her husband to go to minyan during the week. He was busy, he worked long hours, it was really difficult for him, he just couldn’t do it.
They tell you when you’re dating that you’ll never be able to change your spouse.
I don’t know who ‘they’ are. And thank G-d, neither did Ali.
Because marriage is a dance. Sometimes you’re perfectly in step and sometimes your dancing partner picks up the tempo. Do you slow them down? Do you check out because you signed up for slow dancing? Or do you say, this is my dancing partner, let me try my best to keep up.
After years of Ali trying to speed up the family’s dance, Matt gave in. It was when she finally said, “Do it for your children,” he stopped fighting her. Sometimes we need to view ourselves through our children’s eyes to remember who it is we really want to become. He realized it was time for a change.
Ali being the thoughtful person she was, wanted to keep her husband excited and motivated about his new commitment, so she went out and bought him a new tallis bag to use during the week. She gave it to him on Thursday, August 20th. He was now ready.
On Friday, August 21st, he went to shul. He looked at the tallis and he felt so grateful; grateful for his wife, for his children, for the amazing life that he had. He felt like he never felt before. He looked at the siddur and realized that the Hebrew words which he didn’t fully understand couldn’t capture his emotions. So – with some help from ChatGPT – he created his own prayer, a full-throated thank you to G-d, a sincere plea for continued clarity, and shared his yearnings of using this moment to catapult him into being the best version of who he could be.
He paused – he realized that the person who gets all the credit for making this happen was his wife. He took a quick picture of his Talis bag and texted it to Ali. She wrote back, LOL.
King Solomon writes in his poem Eishes Chayil how the woman of valor laughs until the last day, vatis’chak l’yom acharon. Little did Matt realize that just a few moments after sending that LOL, his beloved wife would have a medical emergency and return her soul to her Creator.
Rav Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, the great 18th century Jewish philosopher, describes how each person comes to this earth to fulfill an utterly unique mission (Derech Hashem). Unfortunately, a baby is not born with a little tag describing what that mission is. It’s up to each of us to assess what our unique mission is based on the unique traits of our personality, the needs of our surroundings, and the benefits and deficits of our life circumstances.
I don’t pretend to know Ali’s mission. None of us can know why a soul is sent into this world, or when that mission is complete. But I find it impossible not to be moved by the timing. In the final hours of her life, Ali succeeded in doing what she had been trying to do for years: she helped someone she loved become more of the person he wanted to be.
I’ve been wondering what would have happened if Matt had simply rejected Ali’s encouragement. Or maybe he would have agreed but then Friday morning, after a late night at work, he would have been too tired and left to work with that new Talis bag on the kitchen counter. And maybe – who knows – but maybe Ali would have passed away that morning, not having fulfilled her mission. And maybe Matt would never have had that epiphany at shul. Her entire raison d’etre and maybe his entire raison d’etre would never have been realized.
That thought haunts me. I come into Yom Kippur with some level of regret for what I did wrong this year, my sins of commission. But I have overwhelming regret for my sins of omission, the many things I could have and should have done but didn’t.
They used to say the humans only use 10% of their brain. It’s not really true. But what is true is that many of us only use 10% of our soul.
We are all capable of so much more.
About five years ago, I was driving with a close friend. I was working hard, teaching, getting increasingly involved in communal life, and feeling pretty good about how much I was accomplishing.
At the end of the drive, he turned to me and said, “Sruli, you’re not doing enough.”
I was ready to punch him.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Eventually I realized he wasn’t telling me to do more. He was challenging me to ask whether I was making the most of what I was already doing. Was I being strategic? Was I maximizing the gifts Hashem had given me?
That conversation literally changed the trajectory of my life.
You may say to yourself, “That’s very nice for Matt. He had an Ali. I don’t have someone in my life pushing me to become more. Or I don’t have a friend willing to look me in the eye and say, “You’re not doing enough.””
Yes, you do.
You’ll be talking to Him for the next 8 hours.
You want a special tallis bag?
We all get one every morning when G-d gives us the greatest gift, the gift of life. It’s His way of telling us I believe that you have more to do on this planet.
You want someone to believe in you that you have more to offer?
We all get that encouragement every time our legs, and arms, and mind, miraculously work. It’s G-d’s way of saying, “There is more to do here. Let’s go!”
If we properly repent – regretting what we’ve done wrong, acknowledging it, and trying not to do the same in the future, then by the end of the day, G-d will 100% forgive you. Clean slate. Those sins never happened.
But G-d can only forgive sins of commission, the things we did wrong.
The sins of omission? What we were supposed to do, and failed to do, that is entirely on us.
Perhaps this is why the Yom Kippur service in the Temple required two goats. One goat was sent away, carrying our sins into the wilderness. But the other was LaShem. Its blood entered the holiest place on earth. Because Yom Kippur asks us two very different questions.
The first is: What do I need to get rid of? What did I do wrong? Whom did I hurt? What habits, mistakes, and sins do I need to leave behind?
That is the Yom Kippur we know well. We beat our chests. We confess. We say Ashamnu, Bagadnu. And Hashem, in His extraordinary mercy, says: Salachti. I forgive you.
But there is another question, and perhaps it is even more demanding: What am I supposed to bring LaShem? What gifts have I been given that I am not yet using? What relationships could be deeper? What mitzvos could be richer? What person needs something that only I can give? What is Hashem still waiting for me to become?
So in addition to beating our chests today, let’s spend some time asking ourselves the following questions:
What part of my character have I known for years needs work, and I still haven’t confronted?
Which relationship in my life deserves more of me?
Which mitzvah have I been telling myself, “One day”?
What problem in my family or community am I uniquely positioned to help solve?
What gift did Hashem give me that I am still leaving in its packaging?
If G-d is giving me another year, what is my mission? What does He want me to do with it?
I mentioned earlier how on that fateful morning, Matt wrote his own prayer. Allow me to read a few lines of what he wrote:
“Help me succeed without losing sight of what truly matters… Give me the wisdom to know what deserves my attention and what I should let go of… Help me become a better Jew… Help me remember throughout the day that You are with me.” Matt concluded his prayer, rather hauntingly by saying, “Thank You, Hashem, for the blessings I already have. Help me recognize them before asking for more… I thank You for all that You have given me and all that You will give me.”
May G-d give Matt the strength to live up to the words he wrote that morning, and may Ali’s memory continue to inspire him and their children to become everything she believed they could become.
And may G-d give each of us the courage to ask not only, “What do I need forgiveness for?” but, “What am I still here to do?”
Because somewhere in each of our lives there is a tallis bag sitting on the kitchen counter.
Something we know we should pick up.
Someone we know we should call.
A mitzvah we know we should begin.
A relationship we know we should repair.
A part of ourselves we know we should finally become.
On Yom Kippur, G-d says Salachti – I forgive you for yesterday.
And then He gives us a tomorrow.
Let’s not leave it sitting on the counter.