Rabbi's Blog

Self-care has become a popular mantra. We’re often reminded that to care for others effectively, we must first care for ourselves. “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” the saying goes, tending to our own wellbeing ensures we can show up fully for those who depend on us.

That’s all true and important. But can self-care ever go too far?

Sometimes, in our effort to establish healthy boundaries, we learn to “say no” to protect our sanity. But what if, in doing so, we turn away from an opportunity to truly help another person in genuine need?

This week we learn about Noah, who was commanded by G-d to build an ark to save himself and his family from the great flood that would destroy a corrupt world. Noah obeyed and worked tirelessly for 120 years on this monumental project. The lengthy construction period, our sages explain, was meant to give him time to inspire others to change their ways so they too could be spared.

Yet, when the flood finally came, not a single person outside Noah’s family joined him in the ark.

Noah was righteous, but his righteousness was limited to himself. As long as he and his family were safe, that was enough. In a sense, Noah took self-care a bit too far.

Judaism teaches that our own wellbeing cannot exist in isolation. The physical and spiritual wellbeing of others must be our concern too. Caring for ourselves should never come at the expense of caring for others, rather, it should empower us to extend ourselves beyond what’s comfortable, to reach out and lift others up.

In our quest to build an ark of safety, peace, and growth for ourselves, let’s make sure that our “ark”, our homes, our workplaces, and our lives, become spaces that bring warmth, inspiration, and light to those around us.

Now that the holidays have come to an end, the question is: how do we take all that inspiration and infuse it into our daily routine, specifically I want to focus on how we go about giving and sharing?

Most of us give in ways that feel comfortable. We give what’s reasonable, what doesn’t really change our plans or our bottom line. While that’s certainly wonderful, it’s still measured.

Then there’s giving on G-d’s terms. The Torah’s standard for charity (tzedakah) is a minimum of ten percent, an amount that sometimes makes us pause, that we actually feel. It’s the kind of giving that reflects not just human kindness, but Divine kindness. True kindness isn’t measured or calculated. It flows freely, like G-d’s own giving.

I once attended a small gathering at someone’s home. The kitchen was clearly mid-renovation, with counters half-finished and sheetrock exposed. I later learned why the project had come to a halt.

This family had set aside money to complete their kitchen, but when they heard about a couple who had been married twenty years and still longed for a child, they learned the couple could try one more fertility treatment but couldn’t afford it. Quietly, they took their renovation funds and gave them to that couple. The treatment succeeded, and the couple was blessed with their first child.

They chose for their kitchen to remain unfinished, but their act of kindness built something infinitely greater.

In discussing the six days of Creation, our sages teach that someone born on a Thursday is predisposed to be “exceedingly kind,” because fish were created on that day and are constantly sustained by G-d’s kindness. The Thursday factor, then, represents a higher form of kindness, one that flows abundantly and without limit.

That’s the kind of kindness reflected in that story, and the kind we’re called to bring into our lives: giving that’s not confined by comfort, but inspired by G-d’s infinite generosity.

Sukkot in Bellaire has been one incredible marathon of feasting and rejoicing with hundreds of you in the Sukkah and around town in the mobile Sukkah, and we are just getting started.

We have finally received the long-awaited news, two years in the making: the imminent return of the 48 remaining hostages. (Yes, it is complicated and bittersweet, coming alongside Israel’s painful agreement to release convicted terrorists. May G‑d protect us.)

As Simchat Torah approaches, the knowledge that so many families will soon be reunited with their loved ones, and that others will finally have the dignity to lay their dear ones to rest, brings immense relief and hope.

This year, please G‑d, Simchat Torah will be unlike any other. In every Synagogue around the world, the dancing will reach new heights of joy. Knowing that our fellow Jews, the hostage families, have received the greatest gift imaginable, we will celebrate with the Torah and with them as if they were our own family.

One of the central Mitzvot of this season is taking the Four Kinds: the Lulav, Etrog, Hadas, and Aravah (palm branch, citron, myrtle, and willow). Each represents a different type of Jew, yet all must be bound together to fulfill the Mitzvah, a powerful symbol of our unity. Each kind also carries its own message of togetherness. The Lulav’s leaves are tightly bound. The Etrog reflects the fullness of all four seasons. The myrtle’s three leaves rise from a single stem. The willow goes even further, growing naturally in clusters and intertwining with its neighbors, a living expression of communal connection.

For two years, we gathered with one prayer constantly on our minds, the safe return of the hostages. We were bound together with them throughout this grueling process. And now, with their impending return, our hearts overflow with joy for these families and for Klal Yisrael as a whole.

Let us make a special effort to be present in Shul this Tuesday for Simchat Torah, to celebrate together with our brothers and sisters everywhere. Though separated by miles, the entire Jewish world will dance as one great circle, linking hearts, souls and spirits.

May this renewed joy restore the pep in our collective step that was taken from us two years ago, and bring us ever closer to the ultimate redemption, speedily in our days, Amen.