Rabbi Peretz Chen | My son is going through a hard time, I want to help him, but it's out of my control. Is there anything I can do?

00:00 Life is full of surprises. Things suddenly come up—things we didn’t plan, didn’t imagine, and maybe didn’t want. They weren’t on our schedule either, and suddenly something happens that throws us off balance. For example, our daughter wanted to be accepted to a particular school. The school year is about to begin, and she wasn’t accepted. That leaves her feeling terrible, and it leaves us, her parents, feeling helpless. What do we do? How do we help her? How do we encourage her? What can we do at all? Our son wanted to get into a particular class, a particular extracurricular program, or a particular academic group, and that hasn’t worked out the way he wanted either. It breaks his heart and leaves us, his parents, completely confused. So what can we as parents do to try to make things better? Of course, everything is by Divine Providence. It may very well be that our daughter’s not being accepted there, or our son’s not being placed in that group or program, is ultimately better for them. Everything is completely guided from Above, and perhaps the other place is better for them than the one they planned on. We never know. Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t. And the confusion is very, very real. So today, in this class, we’ll talk about one of the things we parents can do to help. If we do it, it will surely bring some blessing, some perspective, some positive direction to this situation. Of course, I’m not claiming to offer a perfect magic solution, because which of us really knows what to do in situations like these? But there is still something we can do, something we can give, to help things reach a clearer, more settled, better place. Today’s class was inspired by something that happened last week. I’ll tell you the story in a moment. It brought home for me this point about what we parents can, with Hashem’s help,

02:10 do to help. So today we’ll look at what happened last week, and at another story about what we parents can do. We’ll also explore in depth why that help we can give as parents—the help we’re about to discuss—really has the power to make a difference. So let’s begin. Last week, on Monday, one of my children went off, thank G-d, to summer camp. For anyone unfamiliar with it, children go away to a place for about ten days, a little more than ten days, where they eat and sleep and take part in all kinds of activities. There’s a wealth of good material that fills them with positive content, Jewish content, and yiras Shamayim. They really pamper the children there; it’s a wonderful time. The son I’m telling you about had never done anything like this before. This was his first time going to a summer camp, and he was incredibly excited. He’d heard stories about it from his older brothers, who had already been and were going again this year, with Hashem’s help. He’d heard stories from friends too, and he’d always imagined it would be an amazing experience. He prepared for it with great excitement. My wife bought him the things he needed to take, and as we packed his bag, he was bursting with excitement. His brothers talked to him, gave him tips and ideas, told him stories about what it would be like, and he grew more and more excited. He went with one classmate. He traveled there on Monday morning, arrived at camp, went into his room, and began arranging his clothes very neatly in the closet, full of excitement. My wife filmed it and sent it to the whole family. There was happiness and celebration, like a Yom Tov, a great occasion. A few hours later, I got

04:25 a phone call. One of the staff members called and said, “Listen, your son is really crying. He says he wants to go home. I’m trying to talk to him, but you should talk to him too.” I thought to myself, What can I say to him? So I listened, and I heard a child who just a few hours earlier had been so happy, so overjoyed, so full of anticipation. Now his heart was broken. He was hurting, crying, and sad. “Dad, come get me. I don’t want to be here for one more minute.” I tried to empathize with him. “Tell me, what are you feeling? Do you feel a tightness in your throat?” I asked. He said, “I feel like I’m about to faint. Come get me. If you don’t come now, I’m just going to leave and start walking.” He was speaking out of complete helplessness and confusion, and I didn’t know what to say. I told him, “Listen, I’m not in the city where you are right now. Let me see when I can get there. I’ll get ready.” Then the counselor took the phone and said, “Listen, let’s see how things go. I’ll try to get him involved in an activity. Maybe that will lift his spirits.” The call ended, and as a father I felt exactly what I described earlier: confused, helpless, and awful. What bothered me most at that moment wasn’t the thought that he might come home and the money we’d spent on camp would be lost. It wasn’t cheap, but so be it. He’d be home. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He has other siblings at home to play and spend time with. What

06:07 really bothered me was this: if he didn’t stay, he would know that as soon as things began, he had fallen apart and hadn’t carried on. How would he feel about himself afterward? What conclusions would he take to heart? “See, I can’t succeed. I’m not capable.” That was what worried me most. Who knows how that image of himself might stay with him and affect him later in life? As a father, that was what really troubled me. But I thought, What do I do? What can I do? I couldn’t talk to him just then; he wasn’t in a place where we could have a conversation. What could I do? And I could hear that the counselor, a truly sweet counselor, was doing his sincere best to help him, like a good father or grandfather would. So what could I do? At that moment I realized there was nothing I could do directly. Or was there? Do you have any ideas? I understood that in a situation like this, I needed some special help from Heaven, because, as I said, it was really weighing on me. First, I knew there was a chassan getting married that evening. I also knew—I’d been told—that the family was in a very difficult financial situation. They hadn’t even managed to raise enough to pay the wedding caterer. There were meals they still didn’t know how they would pay for. So I called the person collecting money for that chassan and donated a respectable amount, more than I would ordinarily give. Not thousands, mind you, but not a small amount either—a nice, substantial sum.

08:00 Like that. And I gave a substantial donation. After making that donation, I sat down and wrote a letter to the Rebbe, the Lubavitcher Rebbe. In the letter, I asked the Rebbe that something should open up inside my son, that he should find the strength within himself to overcome the difficulty he was facing. I mentioned to the Rebbe that, for this merit, I had given a certain amount to tzedakah. It was a letter written from the heart, because as a father, this touched me very deeply. The letter came from the heart, and the tzedakah came from the heart. I sent the letter to the Rebbe’s holy Ohel and hoped that we would truly see a blessing, and that, with Hashem’s help, there would be siyata dishmaya. Every minute the phone didn’t ring, I was happy. Yes, I thought, things are working out. After a few hours, I got a call. The counselor told me, “Listen, I took him to his group. They welcomed him very, very warmly, and he’s there now.” Then my son called and said, “Dad, Dad, I’m staying here.” That day they had a prayer gathering, and he won a very special prize there: a beautiful picture of the Rebbe. He told me, “Dad, I won a rare picture of the Rebbe at prayers.” And that same day, at Minchah and Maariv, he received another picture like it. The story had changed, and the boy slept there that night. My wife and I couldn’t believe it. I spoke to my wife, because when this happened, we were in different cities. She told me that she, too, had immediately written a letter to the Rebbe, asking for a blessing in this matter, because it touched us so deeply. And so he stayed at camp. I’ll tell the truth: he didn’t stay until the end. He stayed five days. When Shabbos came, he found it hard to spend Shabbos away from home, so we brought him back. But for five whole days, he was there, enjoyed himself and took part. And when he came home,

10:01 the songs he sang and the things he talked about revolved around those same messages, those songs he had heard them singing there. In other words, the atmosphere had seeped into him; it had become part of him. And he knew that, for the first time in his life, he had spent five whole days there. Of course, at home we encouraged him. We told him, “Well done! You’re a champion! How did you manage it? You’re amazing! Well done.” But it happened, and my wife and I felt that it was all thanks to the blessing from G-d that came to us through those actions we took—or so we believe: that substantial donation to the groom, and those heartfelt letters we wrote to the Rebbe. They helped. Because when you ask from the heart, when you ask from the very depths of your heart—especially as parents asking for your children, when it touches the depths of your own soul—it has an effect. It matters. I want to share a story that will illustrate the power of prayer in general, and particularly the prayers of parents. This story, too, has to do with vacation. A few years ago, summer vacation came around, and my wife and I decided to go away together as a couple. Those of you who heard last week’s class know that this is exactly what I spoke about: the importance of going away together as a couple, without the children. So, for the first time in our lives, we went on vacation without the children. We traveled to the town of Migdal, above the Kinneret, near Tiberias. We rented a cabin there and went for three days. It was a truly wonderful experience, very, very wonderful. It really strengthens a marriage tremendously. At the end of those three days, on the way back from Migdal in the north toward Ashkelon in the south, where we live, we stopped at the gravesite of Rabbi Meir Baal Haness in Tiberias to pray and make our requests. We came to his gravesite—not by the usual entrance, for those who know the place, but by the other entrance, the upper, rear one.

12:20 I don’t know exactly what it’s called there. Not the entrance where all the stalls are selling all sorts of things—the other entrance. In those years, there was good air-conditioning at the second entrance, while the usual entrance didn’t have good air-conditioning. So we went where the air-conditioning was. Anyway, we arrived, went in, prayed and recited Tehillim. I finished praying there, went back to the car, sat down and waited for my wife to come. Suddenly I saw an older couple, a husband and wife, standing there with a suitcase. The husband came over and asked me, “Do you know where I can catch a bus to Jerusalem around here?” He was an older man. I said, “Look, there certainly isn’t a bus to Jerusalem up here. Maybe there’s one down on the road; I don’t know. But there’s certainly no bus to Jerusalem up here at the gravesite of Rabbi Meir Baal Haness. There’s no stop for Jerusalem.” He looked a bit confused, so I said, “Look, I’m heading south now, through Lod. My children are with my parents in Lod, and I’m picking them up there before continuing home to Ashkelon. But if you like, Ramle is near Lod. There’s a central bus station in Ramle, with plenty of buses to Jerusalem. I can give you a ride as far as Ramle, if you want.” He said, “Wait a moment.” He walked slowly over to his wife and asked her. They discussed it between themselves, whether the offer would work for them. They decided it would, and came back. The older gentleman sat beside me, and my wife sat in the back next to his wife. We set off on a long drive together. And of course, when two Jews travel together, they talk and chat about this and that.

14:04 It turned out, as he told me, that he was a rosh yeshivah. He headed a yeshivah ketanah in Jerusalem. What a wonderful privilege, to give a rosh yeshivah a ride! We talked about various Torah topics. He was more connected to the Litvish community, and I’m a chossid, a Chabad chossid. So I shared some fascinating teachings from the Rebbe, and he shared things with me. It was really, really nice. One of the things he said is why I’m telling this story. He told me, “I want to share with you a Torah thought that I usually tell my students during Elul, in preparation for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, for the Yamim Nora’im.” After all, this happened in the month of Menachem Av, so Elul was coming soon. “Let me share something with you for Elul.” I said, “Please, go ahead.” So he said, “It says in the Yom Kippur prayers that one of the things the Kohen Gadol would ask of Hakadosh Boruch Hu on Yom Kippur was: ‘Master of the Universe, do not listen to the prayers of travelers.’ What does that mean? A Jew is traveling with his horse and wagon, and he doesn’t want it to rain just then, because if it rains, he’ll get wet. He’s out on the road with his horse and wagon. So, to keep Hakadosh Boruch Hu from heeding that Jew’s prayer—to block the prayer of that traveler—the Kohen Gadol would ask Hakadosh Boruch Hu on Yom Kippur not to listen to him.” The rosh yeshivah then asked, “I don’t understand. So this traveler asks that it shouldn’t rain. Because someone makes a request like that, do we need to bring such tremendous power to bear to block the—

16:00 That same request? The Kohen Gadol, on the holy day of Yom Kippur, in the holiest place—the Holy of Holies in the Beis Hamikdash—has to ask Hakadosh Boruch Hu not to listen to the prayer of that traveler. So what if he asked? A Jew made a request—so what? Why do we need to call on all the power of the Kohen Gadol on Yom Kippur to block his prayer? What exactly is going on here? He explained it like this: Look, this is not just someone walking down the road. This is someone traveling with a horse and wagon, and the wagon is loaded with merchandise. He needs to sell that merchandise; it is his livelihood. If rain falls and damages it, his entire livelihood will be lost. He will be left with nothing. When a Jew in that situation raises his hands to heaven and says, “Hashem, please don’t let it rain,” he says it with all his heart and soul. If it rains, his livelihood is gone, his life is turned upside down. He says it with all his heart, with all his strength, from deep within. So to try to block a prayer that comes from the very depths of the heart—perhaps only the prayer of the Kohen Gadol, on Yom Kippur, in the holiest place in the world, can do that. And why block it? Because although rain would be bad for that individual right now, the Jewish people as a whole need rain. There is a drought; there is no

17:57 rain. So the needs of the community have to come first. But because that Jew is asking from the very depths of his heart, only the Kohen Gadol can stop such a prayer. The conclusion, the rosh yeshiva told me, is that a prayer, a request that comes from the depths of the heart, from the innermost part of us, breaks through every barrier. It simply pierces the heavens. And so, in our case too, when something happens unexpectedly—something we neither wanted nor imagined—and it happens to our children and breaks their hearts and ours as well, we as parents need to do something out of the ordinary. Something deep, something from the heart, an act beyond our usual habits, beyond our ordinary capabilities and the things we normally do. That can draw down a blessing. It is something that draws down a blessing, and things can work out that way. Again, sometimes things not working out the way we want is what is best for us, because we do not really know what is good for us. But it will help settle things, bring calm, do good. It will certainly improve the situation in one way or another. As I told you about my son, we simply felt—and again, we are not prophets and do not truly know what was connected to what—but my wife and I felt, as parents, that the heartfelt request, the letter in which we asked the Rebbe to intercede with Hakadosh Boruch Hu about this situation, and the tzedakah we gave to that groom that night certainly helped. It certainly made a difference; it must have opened something that had apparently been somewhat closed at that moment. This class is being filmed on 20 Menachem Av. 20 Menachem Av is the yahrzeit of the father of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson. He was a Torah genius and a master of Kabbalah, a Jew of a kind you rarely encounter. His command of Torah

20:17 and of Kabbalah, the hidden dimension of Torah, was like our familiarity with the paths around our neighborhood and home. He was also a Jew of extraordinary mesiras nefesh. He served as a rabbi in one of the large cities of Ukraine. At a certain point, the authorities there took over all the flour mills and bakeries. They wanted the matzos produced for Pesach to be under their control, made in a government factory, and they wanted the rabbi to certify matzos made by people with no connection to Pesach. He absolutely refused. But the authorities knew that without the rabbi’s certification, many Jews would not buy the matzos, and their sales would suffer. The rabbi said, “They are not kosher. I will not certify them.” So they accused him of harming the country’s economy and therefore rebelling against the state, and they sent him into harsh exile. He lived in subhuman conditions, conditions that were hardly fit to live in. His wife, Rebbetzin Chana, the mother of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, later wrote a diary describing everything they went through in those places. You read it and simply cannot believe that anyone could live that way. The conditions were as inhumane as you can imagine, and that is how he lived. Of course, it took a severe toll on him and greatly weakened him. He passed away in 5704, 1944, and his resting place today is in the city of Alma-Ata, Kazakhstan. On 20 Menachem Av, many Jews travel to his gravesite to pray. In his teachings, he explains why doing something beyond our ordinary strength and habits, something from deep in our hearts, helps and brings about new things that were not there before. It will help us understand more deeply the point we discussed earlier. The Tanya says that all the future revelations,

22:35 everything that will happen, with Hashem’s help, when Moshiach comes—the wondrous things and the lofty revelation of G-dliness, when we will see and experience G-dliness in this world—all of that comes about “through our deeds and our work throughout the period of exile.” Through our deeds and our work today, we draw down the Geulah that will come soon, with Hashem’s help. The Rebbe’s father, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, wrote notes on the Tanya, and there he says that this seems repetitive. Again, what does it say? That all the future revelations depend on what? “Our deeds and our work throughout the period of exile.” The words “our deeds and our work” seem to mean the same thing. Everything that will happen in the Geulah depends on our deeds and our work—but deeds and work appear to be identical. So why use both words? In his notes on the Tanya, the Rebbe’s father writes that to understand this, we need to turn to Igeres Hakodesh, section 12. He writes, “See there”—meaning, look there and you will understand what “our deeds and our work” means. What does it say in Igeres Hakodesh, section 12? It says that when a Jew gives tzedakah, there are two kinds of giving. There is what is called “the deed of tzedakah,” and there is what is called “the work of tzedakah.” As the verse in Yeshayahu says, “The deed of tzedakah shall be peace, and the work of tzedakah, quietness and security forever.” In other words, there is the deed of tzedakah, and there is the work of tzedakah. What is the difference? The deed of tzedakah means that a Jew comes to me asking for help. He needs something, so I open my wallet, take out one shekel, two shekels, five shekels, and give it to him. I helped him; I fulfilled the great mitzvah of tzedakah. Yes, “Tzedakah saves from death,” and the Jewish people are not redeemed

24:53 But with tzedakah, I did that. I gave him tzedakah. But giving him one shekel or five shekels often doesn’t feel like a great effort to me, like, “Wow, I really worked hard to give tzedakah.” No. That is called an act of tzedakah, because I did something, but there was no great effort involved. “The work of tzedakah” means giving something beyond what I normally give, much more than I’m used to or had planned. When I give an amount like that, I feel it a little inside. I think, “Did I just give that much?” It takes effort for me; it’s work for me. Because the very idea of work is connected with effort. The Hebrew word for work, avodah, is related to the processing of hides. The Gemara speaks about the craft of a tanner, someone who processes hides. Processing hides is very, very hard work. So the word avodah points to effort. When I give an amount I hadn’t thought of or imagined giving, it’s significant for me. Of course, this is very individual. For one person, the work of tzedakah might mean twenty or fifty shekels; for another, it might mean half a million. It depends on the person. But the work of tzedakah involves effort. It goes much, much further. And this is what the Rebbe explains is meant by the statement in Tanya that all the future revelations depend on “our deeds and our work.” In other words, to bring about the Geulah, we need to do good deeds, but we also need to work—to go beyond, to make an effort. Why is that? The Rebbe explains in a wonderful maamar that in the future Geulah, new things will come into the world,

26:56 new powers, powers unlike any we have seen until now—things beyond the world’s usual way. They are beyond what we know today: in this world we will see Hakadosh Boruch Hu, we will see holiness, spirituality, G-dliness. Since there will be such tremendous power in the Geulah, we can bring it about by doing something powerful now. To achieve something, you have to take actions that lead toward it. A soccer player won’t play chess before a game. What does chess have to do with soccer? He’ll run and warm up, doing things suited to the game he’s about to play. It’s the same here. The Geulah is coming, and new and powerful things will happen in the world. For that to happen, we need to do new and powerful things within ourselves. That is the meaning of avodah, of work: making an extra effort. When we go beyond ourselves, we draw down something beyond. That is what the Alter Rebbe says in Tanya: all the future revelations depend on what? On “our deeds and our work”—on our regular performance of mitzvos, and also on the things that require effort. Our effort, our going beyond, will, with Hashem’s help, draw down something beyond from Above in the Geulah. And the same applies to what we discussed earlier. We want to bring about something beyond the ordinary. A situation has arisen, and we feel we need something beyond the usual to come and help, because the usual approach won’t really work. We as parents probably need to do something beyond. Again, what that means and what kind of effort it takes vary greatly from one person to another. But the point is to do something beyond what we normally do—to make a decision that takes effort for us. “I’m taking it upon myself to strengthen my commitment in an area that’s difficult for me, and I’m going to make the effort.” When we make an effort, they will surely make an effort for us from Above, too. And we write, and we pray

29:05 with all our hearts. We write a letter to the Rebbe from the depths of our hearts, from our innermost selves. “Master of the Universe, help us with this difficulty, with this unpleasant situation that has just happened.” Our going beyond will draw down something beyond and open up possibilities beyond what we had planned. This is one of the things we as parents can do and are called upon to do, and there is no doubt it will bring only good. So may we be blessed in raising our children and see much, much nachas from them. And if surprises do come up—and life is full of surprises—may they be only pleasant, good surprises that bring us joy. With Hashem’s help, may we merit the Geulah soon and see all the future revelations that come through us, through our deeds and our work. And may we walk together with our children into the true and complete Geulah. And hopefully, with Hashem’s help, in the coming year, everything you’ve planned, everything we’re planning for our children, will happen in a good and pleasant way. Again, without unpleasant surprises; may everything be good in a way we can see and feel. And most important of all, may we merit the complete Geulah and the Beis Hamikdash. May we merit it already this year, [unclear], and may we merit, this coming Yom Kippur, to see the Kohen Gadol on Rosh Hashanah and hear his prayers there. May all this happen very soon. Thank you very much. Much, much nachas, good news, and all the best.