Episode 13: "Why Do I Do What I Do?" | With Eden Miller

00:00 Speaker 1 How much of what I do every day really comes from within me? Not because I’m used to it, because it’s comfortable, or because of what people will say? Is it possible to do things we’ve been commanded to do, but out of choice? And how do you start over in the middle of life? Come hear Eden Miller’s extraordinary story: where she was born, what she went through along the way, and how her journey will bring you face to face with yourselves. Be prepared to want to start over—and, above all, to understand why. How do we turn our lives into lives of shlichus filled with meaning? I’m Chani Moskowitz, a shlucha in Kharkiv, Ukraine. In this podcast, we’ll meet different women who will share their shlichus in a range of fields and, through it, help each of us discover and define our own shlichus in the world. Because living the lives we were created to live is as good as it gets. Shlichus as a way of life. We’re starting now. Hello, Eden.

01:03 Speaker 2 Hello, hello.

01:05 Speaker 1 Eden Miller.

01:06 Speaker 2 Miller, right.

01:07 Speaker 1 Formerly Ravitz. And that’s all the information I’m giving about you, because this time the introduction won’t be a quick “hello, nice to meet you.” The whole story is one long introduction. One of the most fascinating stories. Okay, no more lengthy introductions. The microphone is yours.

01:22 Speaker 2 Okay, I’ll just start and let it flow. Let’s start at the beginning, you could say, with my parents. My father grew up in a nonreligious home in Haifa. He was a surfer. After finishing his army service, he went on a post-army trip to the Far East. He went to Vietnam and Thailand and started businesses there—food, jewelry, things like that. He moved around. One day he met a local Thai woman. They became very close, became a couple. He brought her to Israel, they decided to get married, and then I was born. They divorced when I was two, and I lived with my mother. When I was four, I moved in with my father in Moshav Ofer, on the Carmel Coast near Haifa. At some point, my father decided to have me go through a conversion process. It wasn’t for religious reasons at all. He knew Israelis could be racist. He didn’t want me to face discrimination or feel different, so he decided to have me convert. As part of the process, he also had to attend various classes through the rabbinate, and that gave him a little introduction to Judaism. I also had to start attending a religious kindergarten. So I came home with all sorts of concepts: Shabbos, kashrus, washing hands, mezuzahs, things like that. Little by little, we brought more of it into our lives, and, in short, I brought my father back to religious observance. He went through a process of his own too. He was Religious Zionist for a while, then Breslov, and various other things. Until one day he met a Chabad shliach who lived in the neighboring moshav, Ein Ayala, near Ofer. The shliach’s name was Rabbi Menachem Tal. Still is. And my father really connected with him—with Tanya, Chassidus, the inner dimension of Torah, the Rebbe, the Alter Rebbe.

03:13 Speaker 1 He was hooked.

03:13 Speaker 2 He was hooked. That was it for him. And he decided he wanted to be a Chabad chossid. So we started spending a lot of Shabbos meals with the Tal family. We became very close to them.

03:24 Speaker 1 All this time, your mother was living in Israel?

03:26 Speaker 2 She lived abroad for two years and worked there. Then she came back to Israel when I was about five or six. I saw her throughout that time—about once a week. I should also mention that, as I was about to start first grade, Rabbi Menachem Tal recommended that my father enroll me in the Chabad school in the Krayot. That was also the year I converted, in first grade. I went through the whole process, immersion and everything. So I started first grade. In second grade, my father entered a yeshiva in Ramat Aviv. I moved in with my grandmother in Haifa and kept going to school in the Krayot. In third grade, my father got married, and we moved to the Krayot. In fourth grade, we moved to a community called Karmei Yosef, near Lod. I started at the Chabad school in Lod. After a month, I switched to the school in Kfar Chabad. Now, try to keep track—there are a lot of moves here.

04:17 Speaker 1 Right. So, Kfar Chabad meant the Kfar Chabad school too?

04:19 Speaker 2 Yes. No. We stayed living in Karmei Yosef. For the first month I went to school in Lod, and then I spent the rest of fourth grade at school in Kfar Chabad.

04:26 Speaker 1 Wow.

04:27 Speaker 2 Now, you asked earlier: I really did see my mother once a week. We’d go to the mall, and she’d buy me clothes, candy, and surprises. I’d come back to class with bags and share things with my friends. Around fifth grade, my mother decided she wanted me to move in with her. So an unpleasant fight started between my parents. Each of them wanted me to live with them. Courts, lawyers, social workers—the whole thing was a mess. In short, it was decided that I’d move in with my grandmother in Haifa.

04:58 Speaker 1 A compromise.

04:59 Speaker 2 A compromise. A compromise, yes.

05:00 Speaker 1 Wait, your grandmother—

05:02 Speaker 2 On my father’s side.

05:02 Speaker 1 So she wasn’t religious either.

05:03 Speaker 2 She wasn’t religious. I moved in with her and went back to the Chabad school in the Krayot. That was fifth grade. I was there for a week. After a week, I moved in with my mother in Tel Aviv. I continued at the Chabad school in Jaffa. I finished—

05:22 Speaker 1 So that was your fourth school.

05:23 Speaker 2 My fourth school, right. I told you to keep track.

05:29 Speaker 1 Yes.

05:29 Speaker 2 Right. So I finished fifth grade. In sixth grade, I was also in Jaffa for a month, still living with my mother. During that time, because my mother isn’t Jewish, she knew there were certain practices I observed, and she respected that. For example, if she was cooking food for me, she knew she had to call me over to light the fire.

05:51 Speaker 1 That’s incredible.

05:51 Speaker 2 Yes.

05:54 Speaker 1 And Shabbos, for example, did you spend—

05:55 Speaker 2 I hardly spent Shabbos at her place. But when I did, I’d also stay with my teacher, who lived in Tel Aviv, Rebbetzin Bruriah Ashkenazi. She lived on Rothschild Boulevard then, so it was funny. Walking through Tel Aviv on Shabbos feels different, because everything is so secular, but it’s still different from a weekday. It’s really interesting. But I hardly spent Shabbos at my mother’s because it really was more complicated. I mostly went to my father’s. So, sixth grade: one month in Tel Aviv. Then there were more issues and turmoil—courts, lawyers, social workers. I went back to live with my father in Karmei Yosef. At one point, my father’s wife had received a piece of land from her father, an olive grove. So we lived there in this bus that was like a trailer. It was an actual bus that we lived in, and we were sort of cut off from everyone. We ran on a generator, and—

06:55 Speaker 1 Wow.

06:55 Speaker 2 At night we used candles, things like that. Yes.

06:59 Speaker 1 So many experiences.

07:00 Speaker 2 Really. And they also hosted these cool Shabbos gatherings for people who had also become religious, with tents and kids there. It was like a festival every Shabbos. It was really cool.

07:12 Speaker 1 Wait, and you have more siblings too.

07:14 Speaker 2 Right.

07:15 Speaker 1 Already at that point.

07:16 Speaker 2 At that point I had something like two sisters. Yes, I think it was two sisters. Anyway, I went back to my father’s. I continued at school in Lod, seventh grade there too. Then in eighth grade, at that awkward teenage age, I suddenly started rebelling. Let’s call it that. I felt I wasn’t comfortable enough in my own home. Suddenly I had a stepmother who wasn’t really my mother, and siblings who weren’t entirely my siblings, and I didn’t want her telling me what to do. Looking back now, I understand the difficulties she faced too. But at the time, I felt I didn’t want to live with my father or my mother. I thought about where I could live. I looked into various boarding schools in Tzfas and places like that, but I didn’t want to go.

08:02 Speaker 1 When you say you looked into them, were you actually there?

08:03 Speaker 2 I went to check them out, just to see. I didn’t actually attend. I didn’t officially enroll; I only looked. Then I thought about where I really should go to live. I thought I’d go live with Rabbi Menachem Tal—the one who brought my father close to Chabad—and his family. Never mind that he had his own Chabad House, a small home, and eight children. He agreed. So I moved in with them from eighth through twelfth grade—five years, supposedly my most stable period. But even that wasn’t exactly how it sounds. Sunday I was at my grandmother’s in Haifa; Monday with the Tal family; Tuesday with my mother in Tel Aviv; Wednesday and Thursday with the Tal family; Friday and Shabbos with my father in Karmei Yosef. So when people asked where I lived, I’d say, “Depends on the day.”

08:46 Speaker 1 Wow.

08:47 Speaker 2 I was always carrying bags and things around, and you were—

08:50 Speaker 1 All that without a motorcycle or a car of your own.

08:52 Speaker 2 Without. Public transportation, hitchhiking—a little girl.

08:55 Speaker 1 So you spent most of the week on a bus, basically.

08:57 Speaker 2 Something like that. Yes.

08:58 Speaker 1 That’s incredible. Were you going to school in the Krayot?

09:00 Speaker 2 In the Krayos, yes. Now, I want to say that I’ve been telling this story for years, and I’ll tell you on what occasions, too, but I’ve never really had a chance to delve into it and think about it. So I imagine that someone hearing it at first might think, “Wow, what a poor girl, what things she went through.” And I can say, honestly, it really isn’t an ideal situation for a child to live with all those moves, the fighting between her parents, and changing homes and schools.

09:32 Speaker 1 Court cases.

09:33 Speaker 2 Court cases, right. I remember less of that. Maybe my mind has blocked it out. But overall, I can say I had a very, very good childhood, and I always felt wanted. Quite the opposite of being rejected: they wanted me, and they fought for me. And my grandmother always looked after me and was always there. Even if there was tension between my parents, in the end I felt that they loved me and wanted me. I think that’s something very important for a child to feel. Looking back, I’m not a psychologist, but I can try to think about what protected me, because today I do think I’m a healthy, happy, good, optimistic person with a healthy outlook on life, and that’s really not something to take for granted. I’ll keep telling the story later; it didn’t end there. But there’s something... I think that, ultimately, it really was hashgachah pratis, that Hashem watched over me. There are children who go through much less than I did, and their emotional wounds and scars are much more significant than mine, I think. I can’t explain it. It really wasn’t due to any wisdom of my own or anything like that. Hashem truly watched over me. And so I finished twelfth grade, at eighteen, and thought about what I was going to do next. Now, in Chabad, you know, most girls go to seminary after twelfth grade, and I didn’t feel that profession was for me. I didn’t want to be a teacher. But my teacher came up to me at the end of the year and said, “Eden, what are you thinking about for next year?” I didn’t really have any particular plans, but she said, “Listen, the Rebbe gave an instruction to study education for at least one year. After that, do whatever you want.” I told her,

11:10 Speaker 2 “No problem,” and went for an interview at a seminary in Tzfas, no less. And baruch Hashem, I was accepted. But I told Rabbi Chitrik that I was coming for only one year, and he said, “No problem, but you have to take the exams like everyone else.” He accepted me, even though that really wasn’t a given, because they don’t accept girls on that basis. And I can tell you that I was there for a year, a whole year, and... there was something there I hadn’t had in school. It was like a yearlong camp, where you really experience things and come to understand who we are as Chabad. All those Chabad and Chassidic things—I’d heard about them in school, of course, but they’d gone in one ear and out the other. At seminary, they sank in: all the farbrengens, the classes, the rabbis, the sichos, and the activities. It really brought it all home to me. Then, when I finished my year at seminary, I said to myself, “Okay, Eden, you were here for a year. What are you taking away from it?” So I can tell you that—

12:17 Speaker 1 That’s incredible at that age. You don’t...

12:18 Speaker 2 Right. At that age, you don’t always stop and think things through, take stock of yourself, and reflect like that. But it mattered to me to say, “Okay, I didn’t want to waste my time. So what did I get out of it?” And I could say to myself that I’d learned what a chossid is. Now, again, in Chabad you know what a chossid is—everyone knows what a chossid is—but suddenly I felt it was something deeper, that I understood what it meant and what it truly involved. So I finished my first year of seminary and went on shlichus to Mexico, to the Chabad House in Cozumel. And I can tell you it was truly amazing. The shluchim were amazing, and the shlichus was amazing.

12:56 Speaker 1 How did you end up there, specifically?

12:57 Speaker 2 That’s a funny story.

12:58 Speaker 1 No, it’s not exactly nearby.

13:00 Speaker 2 A funny story. Before I finished twelfth grade, a friend told me about a Chabad House in Florida that was looking for girls to come on shlichus for a month during summer vacation. It sounded really cool, and we flew there. Now, I should say first that, regrettably, I had Instagram. At some point, a woman named Chani Hasofer started following me there, and I didn’t know her. She sent me messages and commented on my posts, so I asked my friend, Rabbi Menachem Tali’s [?] daughter, if she knew this girl. She was really nice, but I was trying to figure out who she was. My friend said, “What? Chani Hasofer—Chani Kaplan. She was with me at seminary. She’s a shlucha in Mexico now. She’s really sweet. My brother went to them on shlichus.” I said, “Oh, Mexico, cool,” and followed her back. While I was on shlichus in Florida for that month, one day she posted a beautiful picture of the island—trees and a view, something pretty like that. So I wrote to her, “Wow, that’s so beautiful. It makes me want to come.” She wrote back, “You’re only an hour-and-a-half flight from me. Come.” So I did. I flew from Florida to Mexico, just for three days. It was a very, very short visit because I had to get back to the camp in Florida. The shliach gave me permission to go for Shabbos.

14:17 Speaker 1 Wow.

14:17 Speaker 2 Yes, and it was funny.

14:19 Speaker 1 Now I understand how you spontaneously came on the podcast. Okay.

14:23 Speaker 2 Yes, exactly. It was funny because I was flying to meet someone I didn’t know and had never seen in my life. I’d heard good things about her, but still, it was funny. I landed in Cozumel, and her husband came to pick me up in the car. He had their baby with him too. It felt strange to get on a plane, cross into another country, and go visit someone I knew from Instagram.

14:48 Speaker 1 Someone you sort of knew. Yes, but—

14:49 Speaker 2 Yes. And I can tell you that Shabbos there was the most amazing Shabbos of my life.

14:56 Speaker 1 Wow.

14:56 Speaker 2 It was the first time I really saw what shlichus is. Every Jew is a shliach, yes, but I saw the actual mesirus nefesh of people who live in a home unlike one they’d have in Israel, far from their families, and give of themselves. And she had a small baby, and she herself was only eighteen or nineteen then—Chani was.

15:15 Speaker 1 When you were there?

15:16 Speaker 2 Yes, the first time I came. Something like that. She got married at... yes, something like that. Nineteen. It’s amazing.

15:23 Speaker 1 Younger than you.

15:25 Speaker 2 No, I was eighteen. No, she’s two years older than me. Sorry, she was nineteen, maybe nineteen and a half.

15:31 Speaker 1 Wow.

15:31 Speaker 2 Something like that, maybe. Sorry.

15:35 Speaker 1 In any case.

15:35 Speaker 2 Right. In any case, that’s how I met them. I was there for two days—I arrived on Thursday, and by Sunday I was back in Florida—and we stayed in touch from then on. Toward the end of my seminary year, she messaged me that she was looking for girls to come on shlichus. I said, “Sure, I’ll finish seminary and come.” And I did. I can tell you that when I was there on shlichus, I already knew the place. But when you’re really there behind the scenes and see what actually goes on, you appreciate it even more, and the feeling of shlichus, of giving, grows stronger. I can tell you that more than I received—sorry, far more than I gave, I received. And I gave a lot. It was good for me, and I enjoyed giving. Not every girl who goes on shlichus arrives with a mindset of giving, of making sacrifices, of devoting herself. But there, I did it happily. Whatever you want, at whatever hours you want. And I can tell you, that’s not something to take for granted. It also really varies from one Chabad House to another, from one shliach to another, but I genuinely enjoyed giving. I remember one Shabbos, Rabbi Dudi Kaplan, the shliach there, was standing by the travelers’ table at the Shabbos meal. He began his dvar Torah with a line I often repeat. He said, “If you’re religious because you were born religious, that’s not good. And if you’re not religious because you weren’t born religious, that’s not good either. Start thinking about why you do what you do and why you are where you are.”

17:09 Speaker 3 Uh-huh.

17:09 Speaker 2 It was just—

17:11 Speaker 3 Boom.

17:11 Speaker 2 It was a bombshell. People are in the middle of their trip—leave me alone, who wants to start thinking, questioning, reflecting now? But honestly, I think it made the travelers suddenly start asking themselves questions, and it did the same for me. Because what he said was true: being born into a certain reality doesn’t mean that’s it, that’s your fate. If you were born into a nonreligious home, that doesn’t mean, “Well, this is my reality.” No, start asking questions. Start getting to know things. And he said the same thing to religious people: you were born into a religious home, and that’s all fine and good. But start understanding what you’re doing, connecting to what you’re doing, asking questions.

17:47 Speaker 3 I think you’re saying, “They’re in the middle of a trip—what does any of this have to do with them?” But I think there’s something about the fact that you’ve suddenly stepped away from everything.

17:55 Speaker 2 Right.

17:56 Speaker 3 You know how sometimes, when you fly, there’s that moment when the plane’s wheels leave the ground and you already feel like you’re seeing everything from a different angle?

18:01 Speaker 2 Right.

18:02 Speaker 3 And maybe for you, too, being on another planet, so to speak—

18:05 Speaker 2 Could be.

18:06 Speaker 3 Suddenly you’re thinking about life from a different perspective.

18:08 Speaker 2 Could be. I can tell you that around eleventh grade, we had a matriculation exam in Tanya. To me, Tanya was just another class, like science or math.

18:20 Speaker 3 Something you appreciate less when you grow up with it.

18:21 Speaker 2 Right, because when you grow up with it, you don’t really get it. It was funny: whenever I heard about people who were becoming close to Yiddishkeit, or people learning Chassidus, they’d get so excited about it, and I didn’t understand what the big deal was. Okay, I grew up with it. It had never entered my heart. Sure, I could repeat it at the Shabbos table, read out the weekly handout, whatever. But not really—

18:43 Speaker 3 The words, the concepts.

18:43 Speaker 2 Exactly.

18:44 Speaker 3 Recite them.

18:45 Speaker 2 Exactly, recite them. But with a matriculation exam, you suddenly have to study properly. There’s no teacher there to walk you through the material; you have to sit down with it and learn it yourself. And suddenly I’m reading, and I realize: wow, this isn’t just a test that counts toward my grade. This is really something for life. I started seeing what I’d always known from a different perspective. I said to myself, “Wow, there’s an incredible toolbox here”—for how a person relates to other people, to Hashem, and to themselves. Tanya, and Chassidus in general, really give you a way to live that’s right, good, healthy, and sane. Especially in this generation. Chassidus came to us in these latter generations, when the darkness is doubled and redoubled, let’s call it that. Hakadosh Boruch Hu sent us a wonder medicine in advance. He provided the cure before the illness and told us: yes, this is a crazy generation. There are so many things happening that I don’t think people had ever even heard of before. And yet, with all these challenges, here’s another tool that can help you. It applies to every area of life: marriage, parenting, self-image, friendships, everything. After I finished that Tanya exam, I felt as though something had opened up for me. Now, I can say again that I’ve considered myself part of Chabad, or religious, for as long as I can remember. I came in at age six, but to me it was obvious, a given. I grew up in that kind of home.

20:25 Speaker 3 And when you became bas mitzvah, you also had to—

20:27 Speaker 2 Exactly.

20:29 Speaker 3 Choose.

20:29 Speaker 2 Right, I went through the—

20:30 Speaker 3 Did the thought come up: yes or no?

20:32 Speaker 2 I don’t remember, because that age is honestly a bit of a blur. I do remember certain things—

20:38 Speaker 3 It was just obvious to you.

20:38 Speaker 2 It was obvious to me: this is the path, and we keep going. I live with my father, this is the framework, I’m growing up in a religious home and continuing in Chabad and religious schools. Of course. But around age seventeen, when I started studying for that Tanya exam, something lit up for me. I think a lot of women can relate to this: even when we grow up in a particular kind of home—a religious one, or our parents are rabbis or shluchim, or my mother’s a teacher, or my grandfather clapped along behind the Rebbe, or whatever—no matter how much our surroundings are like that, it doesn’t necessarily mean we are. I saw a lot of girls in my class who were, in our language, very Chassidish. They did what they were supposed to do, made all the right gestures and everything. But inside? I don’t know what their relationship with Hakadosh Boruch Hu was, or what their yiras Shamayim was like, or what kind of people they were—whether they had Ahavas Yisroel and things like that. It could be very much about the outer layer, the externals. And around that grade, I felt that something was reaching me on the inside, too. I’m not saying the external side isn’t important. But there’s a funny Chassidic story—well, not exactly a story. In Lubavitch, where the Chabad movement began, the worst insult was to call someone a “chitzoni,” a person focused on externals.

22:01 Speaker 3 Yes.

22:02 Speaker 2 Someone who does things for show, without really meaning them. They do them because they’re supposed to, because that’s how people will see them, because of their shidduch prospects, or whatever. The word was considered so awful that they wouldn’t even say the whole word “chitzoni”; they’d say only part of it. And that’s a real fear of mine: living a life where, on the surface, people think I’m truly religious and doing everything I’m supposed to, but inside I don’t really believe in what I’m doing or feel connected to it. But there’s no need to be frightened by that, either. The external side does matter, and you need a framework. At some point, though, you also have to break away—not break away, G-d forbid, but realize that you need to connect on the inside, too. There’s a funny story about opponents of the Alter Rebbe, the author of the Tanya, who came to him and said, “Rebbe, do you know that…” They didn’t call him Rebbe, but they said, “Do you know your chassidim are hypocrites?” So the Alter Rebbe said there’s a Mishnah or Gemara—I don’t remember exactly—that says someone who pretends to be blind will not leave this world until he really becomes blind.

23:07 Speaker 3 Until he goes through it.

23:07 Speaker 2 Exactly. And someone who pretends to be lame won’t leave this world until he really experiences that. So he said, “Fine. Then someone who pretends to be a chossid won’t leave this world until he really becomes a chossid.”

23:17 Speaker 3 There’s an expression in English: “Fake it, fake it till you do it.”

23:21 Speaker 2 Yes. “Fake it until you make it.”

23:22 Speaker 3 Yes, yes.

23:23 Speaker 2 That’s exactly it. I think that’s a Chassidic saying.

23:26 Speaker 3 Exactly. The heart follows the actions, really.

23:28 Speaker 2 Right, exactly. And there’s a similar story about opponents who came to the Tzemach Tzedek, if I’m not mistaken, and said, “You should know your chassidim are fakes.” So he said, “Well, at least they’re painted the right color.”

23:42 Speaker 3 Nice.

23:42 Speaker 2 So the external side matters a great deal—how I present myself and what I project. But what’s inside matters no less. Hold on: where am I? What is my relationship with G-d right now?

23:53 Speaker 3 I think that’s also a kind of growing up. You reach an age when you say, “Okay, the actions and the outward appearance—but come on, why am I doing this?” Even outside the Jewish world, non-Jewish people reach a point in life when they stop and ask themselves, “Why am I doing what I’m doing? What are my values?”

24:12 Speaker 2 Mm-hmm.

24:13 Speaker 3 Where am I living? It’s that question of “why.” We need to live with a sense that we have an answer to it. Why do I get up in the morning?

24:21 Speaker 2 Right.

24:21 Speaker 3 Why do I do what I do? In a way, it’s the most basic question. But because we’re used to growing up with a certain way of life, I think that when the element of choice is missing—

24:32 Speaker 2 Mm-hmm.

24:32 Speaker 3 There’s also a certain lack of appreciation—

24:34 Speaker 2 Right.

24:34 Speaker 3 Everything is taken for granted.

24:36 Speaker 2 You can even start taking things lightly.

24:37 Speaker 3 Yes, and then you might start looking for places to be lenient and things you can drop, because you’re not connected to it.

24:43 Speaker 2 Right. And there’s something frightening about that, too: you start looking elsewhere for wisdom.

24:48 Speaker 3 Because you’re not excited enough about what you already have in your hands.

24:50 Speaker 2 Right, right.

24:51 Speaker 3 All that feeling of “how fortunate we are.”

24:52 Speaker 2 Right. And I can tell you that around eleventh or twelfth grade, when I was about seventeen or eighteen, I came across a book. I was at an event with Evyatar Banai. It was a gathering of Chabad Houses in Central America. They brought Evyatar Banai, and at the end of the performance there was a stand outside with all these books. One of them was called I Believe. Dudi Kaplan wrote it with Rabbi Nadav Goichman.

25:18 Speaker 3 Right, that one?

25:18 Speaker 2 Yes, that little one. You see a person with a guitar on it, and it’s really thin. And I can tell you that at the time I didn’t like reading books at all, but I picked up that book and finished it in two hours.

25:30 Speaker 3 Wow.

25:30 Speaker 2 Yes. The book is about a brother and sister, and the brother becomes a baal teshuvah. His sister doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, and she lives abroad, so they write back and forth. The book is written like a chat, with questions and answers about faith, Judaism, religion, Hakadosh Boruch Hu, mitzvos. Everything is written so beautifully, simply and accessibly. And I can tell you that as I read it, little by little, a lot of things clicked for me. I also want to tell you that around eleventh grade, my mother married a very, very wealthy man, who was also very well known in Israel. She was living very well—a beautiful home, cars, flights, trips, clothes, vacations. At some point she came to me and said, “Wow, Eden…” She really wasn’t challenging me; she genuinely wanted to understand. “Tell me, Eden, why are you religious?” And suddenly I thought, wow, really, why am I? Like—

26:25 Speaker 3 She put it right to you.

26:25 Speaker 2 Yes, because she was saying to me, come live with me. Dress however you want, eat whatever you want on whatever day you want. We’ll fly wherever you want, and you can do whatever you want. Why do you need all these rules that restrict you and tell you what to do, what’s allowed and what isn’t, when and how and how much and why? And suddenly I thought, wow, that really is a good question. Why am I religious? Because I could think of plenty of girls my age at the time who were doing things and hiding them from their parents, and their parents had no idea. But my mother was fine with it. I had all the permission in the world.

26:59 Speaker 3 Okay, she was basically saying, come join me.

27:01 Speaker 2 I’ll pay for it all, the whole…

27:03 Speaker 3 It reminds me of those drawings people make—you know, especially with these parshiyos now, about free choice. They draw someone standing there, with this world on one side and all its pleasures, and on the other side, a life of Torah and mitzvos. For you, that was actually your reality.

27:20 Speaker 2 Right, exactly.

27:21 Speaker 3 This on one side and that on the other, and you’re choosing.

27:23 Speaker 2 And I could easily have done whatever I wanted, and no one would have told me yes or no. So when she asked me why I was religious, I really thought, wow, why am I? And as I started reading that book, things began to click. Wait, is there a Hakadosh Boruch Hu? Yes, there is. Okay, there is a Hakadosh Boruch Hu. So what does He want from me? And why specifically this way? What is this way of doing things? What’s the meaning behind each thing? Why do we do it like this? Why are there rules? Little by little, things really started clicking and I got answers. It’s not that I’d ever had these questions, or that I’d left religion, or that I was a rebellious kid or anything like that. These were just things no one had ever really talked to us about, and…

28:02 Speaker 3 It connected for you on the inside.

28:03 Speaker 2 It connected for me on the inside. From then on, I decided to call myself a kind of baalas teshuvah. Again, not because I’d left, but because I’d found answers that I think most girls that age don’t ask about, don’t look for, or don’t find. After I read the book, I went to my mother and said, “You know what? I’m religious because I choose to be, because I want to be, because I connect with it, and because I understand that it’s right. And you know what? I don’t think there’s anything else more worth living for.” I mean—

28:34 Speaker 3 At seventeen.

28:35 Speaker 2 Yes, around seventeen or eighteen. And honestly, she respected that very much. Around that time, we were also filmed for a show called Six Mothers. It was a show about six mothers with careers, showing how they balanced their careers with parenting. There was an episode with us—there we were on Channel 2 in prime time, in Yarkon Park. I’m sitting on a bench, she’s resting her head on me, and they’re filming us. She says, “Tell me, Eden, what’s your dream?” So I told her I had two dreams, a big one and a small one. The small dream would lead me toward the big one. My small dream was to open a Chabad House, and my big dream was for Moshiach to come, for there to be Geulah. And she really respected that. So she said to me, “Okay, how many branches do you want?”

29:30 Speaker 3 Straight to the practical side.

29:31 Speaker 2 Yes. “Come on, I’ll open them for you.” I told her, “No, let’s start with one and see how it goes.” And then you see her—you know how, on these shows, they cut to the person talking directly to the camera? She’s there in a tank top and everything, saying, “Yes, she believes in Moshiach and in a world that will be good, and I support that and I’ll help her.” She came across as—

29:54 Speaker 3 Sweet.

29:54 Speaker 2 Yes, she came across as more of a shlucha than I did. I think it made a very big kiddush Hashem, too. Afterward, people saw me on the street, stopped me and said, “Wow, you moved me,” and things like that.

30:03 Speaker 3 It’s incredible to see a girl that young. Sorry, I’m not dismissing your age, but it comes as a shock to people.

30:10 Speaker 2 Yes, because people—

30:10 Speaker 3 Think about where most teenagers’ heads are at that age.

30:14 Speaker 2 Right. And that connected for me with a story Rabbi Dudi told at that Shabbos table for travelers. He told them, “If you’re religious, the fact that you’re religious doesn’t mean…” That line. Then he connected it to a story about a man whose task was to carry a sack of stones from point A to point B. It was a very, very hot day, and the sack was very heavy. So he picked it up, hoisted it onto his back and trudged along slowly in the heat. It was heavy; he took one step and then another, nearly fell, wiped the beads of sweat from his face. He was hot. Suddenly a friend of his came by on the side of the road and asked, “What are you doing?” He said, “I have to carry this sack of stones.” His friend asked, “Can I see?” He said, “Sure.” He lowered the sack, opened it and took out a stone. His friend picked it up and looked at it from every angle. Then he said, “What, are you crazy? This isn’t a stone at all—it’s a diamond. I’m a diamond dealer. This is what I do. I know it needs certain cuts, and you’ve got one enormous diamond here. Do you realize? You don’t have a sack of stones here. You have a sack of diamonds.” The moment the man realized it wasn’t a sack of stones but a sack of diamonds, not only did it stop feeling heavy—he suddenly started running with the sack and dancing with it. And Rabbi Dudi explained that if we really look at Torah and mitzvos as a sack, as stones, as some kind of burden, as something weighing us down, as something we have to check off and…

31:45 Speaker 2 And then, yes, it really will feel heavy. It’ll be hard, and it won’t be enjoyable. But if we look at each mitzvah, understand its meaning, and connect with the reason behind it, then not only will it not annoy us to do it—we’ll be happy to do it. We’ll run to do it. It’s like doing something for your father, not just ticking a box. Say your father is sick. You wouldn’t just say, “Okay, here’s some tea, you’ll manage.” We’d pamper him, bring him some herbal tea, give him a massage, bring him a hot-water bottle. We’d really go out of our way and give something extra of ourselves. And once we understand that we really love the person and want to do something good for him, we’ll give more of ourselves. That’s how it really is with our Torah and mitzvos. If we see them as a burden, then fine, we’ll get through them and tick the box. But if we really connect with them and understand them, we’ll enjoy doing them and do them with passion. And that’s something I took with me, something that really—again, it’s one of the things I gained from shlichus that I think gave me so much: doing things out of love, out of choice, out of desire, out of passion, and not just ticking a box. Okay, so I grew up. Again, I grew up within that framework, and tznius was a checkmark, and Shabbos was a checkmark, and kashrus was a checkmark, and everything was because of the framework, because of the community. And then I reached a point where I thought, you know what, I don’t want to do things because, because, because they’re demanded of me or expected of me. I want to do them because this is really what Hashem wants and what I want. I want to make Him happy, and I’m not doing it because of the—because of the—because of the framework or

33:12 Speaker 2 because they’ll tell me they’re lowering my grade, or because of what people will say when it comes to shidduchim, but because I genuinely want to do it.

33:18 Speaker 4 Because it’s the right thing.

33:19 Speaker 2 Because it’s the right thing, because this is what I was created for. Why would I waste my time on things I wasn’t created for? It reminds me of a story people like to tell about an astronaut. NASA wanted to do some research in space, so they held interviews to find the right astronaut. They found him, interviewed him, asked him questions, and really prepared him for that day and the launch of the spacecraft. It was broadcast on television, everyone came, and they counted down: ten, nine, eight, seven, all the way to zero. The spacecraft lifts off. So many days, even years, of planning went into it. The spacecraft takes off into space, and the astronaut arrives and lands on the moon. He looks around: “Wow, how beautiful! How quiet! It’s amazing here! What a beautiful view!” Then he opens the spacecraft door, goes out, and starts floating in space. “This is so much fun! Look at these beautiful rocks!” And over the communications system they ask him, “Okay, what’s happening? Tell us what you see there.” But he ignores the calls from the spacecraft. He walks around, explores, plays, enjoys himself, and forgets his mission. And it’s like, wow, what a missed opportunity. So many years of effort and thought and attention to detail. So many interviews to decide who the right person would be. And what is this person wasting his time on? A beautiful view? The fact that there’s no gravity? Yes, that’s cool, but there’s something else. You were sent on a specific mission. We need you to come back with specific findings. Those findings you’re supposed to bring back could advance humanity. And instead, the guy is floating around in space. I don’t know. Going to sleep, writing in his journal. Not really, not really carrying out the mission he was sent for. And sometimes we’re a little like that too. Hakadosh

35:09 Speaker 2 Boruch Hu invested in us and said, “This person will be born into this family,” and worked out everything that person needs to do in the world to make it better. And what do we waste ourselves on? Nonsense, Shein, shopping, vacations—and it’s not—

35:22 Speaker 4 A common pitfall.

35:23 Speaker 2 A common pitfall. And it’s not that those things are forbidden. The question is where your focus is, what you’re genuinely excited about. There’s a saying that really struck me. Stay with me; it’s a little deep. Every person has a capacity for pleasure that they have to fulfill. If they don’t find it on the side of kedushah, they’ll find it on the other side. In other words, every person needs to be excited about something. They need to feel that there’s something that does it for them, something that gives them vitality. So if I really find that on the side of kedushah, I won’t look for it on the other side, because I’ve already found what excites me. I already have—

35:58 Speaker 4 Right, there has to be some kind of passion.

35:59 Speaker 2 Right. But if I don’t find that excitement on the side of kedushah, I’ll certainly find it on the other side. Because let’s be honest, the world out there really is tempting. There really are cool and beautiful things—movies, songs, clothes, going out, entertainment, friends, parties. There really is something enjoyable about it. You can’t say there isn’t, because in every—

36:20 Speaker 4 Absolutely. And that’s the basis of the yetzer hara, the yetzer tov, I mean.

36:24 Speaker 2 Right? Because it has to latch on to some kind of truth.

36:26 Speaker 4 We’re supposed to fight it.

36:28 Speaker 2 Right, and it’s much harder to fight half-truths. When something is a lie, you know it’s a lie, and no one says, “No, it’s true.” But with a half-truth, how can you tell? If it feels good and makes me happy, it’s hard to say, “No, I want to stay away from this.” Once you understand that you truly find pleasure in G-dliness, let’s call it that—that you truly find pleasure in kedushah, in good things—then the outside world doesn’t interest you. You already understand what you’re living for. You understand what you were sent for. So fine, what do I care that there’s no gravity and that you can float around in space? There’s something very powerful here about choice, connection, and understanding what you’re doing.

37:10 Speaker 4 Interesting. Do you think maybe—I’m trying to understand now why not everyone goes through this naturally. The first thing that comes to mind is that people don’t think about it. They just live their lives.

37:19 Speaker 2 Right.

37:20 Speaker 4 And I really think it’s even more critical to think about it before becoming someone’s spouse, for example, before getting married. Because I’m building a home with a particular person. On what basis do I choose a spouse?

37:34 Speaker 2 Mm-hmm.

37:34 Speaker 4 If I’m not at peace with my values, firmly grounded in them, and happy with them—if they aren’t part of me and it isn’t clear to me that they’re an inseparable part of who I am—then my whole world is full of question marks all the time. It’s crazy to live like that. And when it comes to raising children, even more so.

37:51 Speaker 2 It can be very destructive.

37:53 Speaker 4 Yes. And I think there may be something else that keeps people from doing this. Some kind of fear.

38:00 Speaker 2 I—

38:00 Speaker 4 Or sometimes you grew up somewhere you weren’t allowed to ask questions.

38:05 Speaker 2 Right. I can even tell you about myself: I have periods when I don’t feel the G-dliness I once felt. I don’t feel as close or connected to Hashem as I did when I was so fired up about G-dliness. There are—

38:16 Speaker 4 You have to keep coming back to that point.

38:18 Speaker 2 Right. There are times like that. I can also tell you that around the very beginning of COVID, we were sitting there—I was at a seminary. I’ll tell you about that later too, but let me tell you this part.

38:32 Speaker 4 Oh, there was something else along the way.

38:34 Speaker 2 Yes, there was something else. So I was sitting with my friends in the seminary lounge, because we were in isolation. We were all there together, and suddenly I started feeling this coolness in my avodas Hashem. I can’t tell you what started it, but it was a little before Pesach, and I was saying I didn’t have the energy for all sorts of things. So one of my friends said, “What, you don’t want to leave Egypt?” I told her, “You know what? Honestly, I don’t want to leave Egypt. I want to stay in Egypt. If He wants to take me out, He can, but I’m not going to make any effort for it.” That began a period of coolness. I can tell you that maybe even today I still have some things to repair from that time. I didn’t have the excitement I used to have. I didn’t have that connection with Hakadosh Boruch Hu, when I felt like I had Him right there with me and could speak to Him freely, and I could hear—and understand what He was telling me. And there really was a time when I lived Geulah. I lived Geulah in the sense that I knew why I was alive. I lived it every day, and I felt good. In a way, it’s even a little selfish: connect with Hashem and you’ll feel good and be happy, and you’ll have good friends and feel good about yourself.

39:41 Speaker 4 It’ll completely set your life in order.

39:42 Speaker 2 Exactly. I didn’t feel it was selfish, because I genuinely felt that this was what I wanted. But there’s also an element of: if I were to convince a girl here to connect with Hashem, why would I tell her to do it? Because it would be good for her.

39:53 Speaker 4 Right. We don’t say “Ashreinu”—how fortunate we are—for nothing. When you live it, then you don’t really need to explain it.

39:59 Speaker 2 So you’re asking me why not everyone experiences that? I think, first of all, everyone has their own journey through life, what Hakadosh Boruch Hu planned for them, and their own inner strengths. We didn’t choose the cards we were dealt at birth, but we still have to learn how to play the game. One person is born into a particular home and community, with a particular personality, particular weaknesses and strengths, talents or fears or desires or hang-ups. Everyone has their own package, their own cards, and those are what we play with. I was born into the home I was born into, and maybe it was actually easier for me because I had more of a choice: I’d seen the other world. So maybe I said, “Well, that’s lousy. I want something real.” So it’s not always fair to say that. Everyone is born into a different home. When I finished my shlichus in Cozumel, I said to myself, “Okay, Eden, you were here for a while. What did you take from it?” If in Tzfas I learned what a chossid is, then in Cozumel I learned that I want to be a chossid.

40:56 Speaker 5 Wow.

40:56 Speaker 2 And that was it. I came back to Israel and entered the Ohr Chaya seminary. At the same time, I started studying for a business administration degree at Ono College in Jerusalem. And about seminary, I can tell you that, again, going from twelfth grade into that whole journey—I think the hardest thing in life before shidduchim is deciding what to do after twelfth grade. You’re literally asking an eighteen-year-old kid—

41:24 Speaker 5 For the first time, exactly.

41:25 Speaker 2 —to decide what to do with their life. Where’s the responsibility in that? What if I don’t choose right?

41:29 Speaker 5 Though maybe you’d already had to choose where to live and things like that.

41:32 Speaker 2 Yes.

41:33 Speaker 5 In general, I mean.

41:34 Speaker 2 Right. I was fairly independent, but in general, after twelfth grade you don’t know what you want to do with your life, including where you stand spiritually. You’re just emerging from a shell.

41:45 Speaker 5 At a crossroads. Absolutely.

41:46 Speaker 2 Right. Then, at Ohr Chaya seminary, I felt, wow, suddenly I’m going into classes and learning Chassidus, the inner dimension of Torah, and I’m actually taking pleasure in learning. I’d never sat down and read a maamar or a sicha or a page of Tanya and felt moved by it. And here, the class would end, I’d go out for a meal break, and I’d talk with my friends about what the Rebbe said, what this sicha means, what it says in the maamar, and what message we should take from it for our avodas Hashem. I was genuinely excited about learning. At the end of that year, I said to myself, “Okay, Eden, what did you take from here?” In Tzfas I learned what a chossid is, in Cozumel I realized I want to be a chossid, and at Ohr Chaya I said, “Okay, I am a chossid.”

42:31 Speaker 5 Wow.

42:32 Speaker 2 That was it. I was done for. I’d taken it on myself. That was it—I belong to the Rebbe. I’m now an ambassador for Hakadosh Boruch Hu, and I’m going all in on that role. I want to tell you a story that happened to me. It scares me a little every time I tell it, but I have permission. A friend invited me to her wedding. A few days before the wedding, she told me she had another friend who would need a ride to Tel Aviv afterward, because I had a car and she didn’t. So I get to the wedding and see the girl she’d told me about. Her name was something like Raizel, but she really didn’t look like a Raizel. She was wearing a minidress, with earrings all up her ears and hair dyed pink, blue, and green. Earlier, when my friend—the bride—had asked me to give her a ride, she’d said, “Talk to her on the way. She’s religious—she’s only recently left religious life. Maybe you’ll have an interesting conversation.” So the wedding ends, I go over to her and say, “Come on, let’s go,” and we head to the car. I was really curious to understand her story, because she’d come from a religious home, but you wouldn’t have guessed it to look at her. I remembered that in Cozumel, when the shliach wanted to get to know someone—a traveler or whoever—really deeply, he would say, “So, you were born. What happened next?” So I said to her, “You were born. What happened next?” She asked me, “How long does Waze say the drive is?” I said, “Twenty-five minutes.” She said, “Okay, then we have time.” And we started talking. She told me she came from a very extreme Chassidic community

44:07 Speaker 2 in Jerusalem. A home with lots of children; her parents neglected them. Her grandfather had abused her too. She’d gotten divorced not long before. In short, every good thing in the world, all in one girl. I looked at her, at the short dress and the piercings and the dyed hair, and asked, “Okay, so what’s your relationship with G-d like right now?” She said, “You know what? I don’t even think about it. I’ve moved to Tel Aviv. I have an apartment and a roommate I love. I have a boyfriend I’m in love with. I’ve started taking care of myself. I’m happy, things are good, I found a job.” And I said to her, “You know what? Assuming G-d exists, I think He’s pleased with you.” She said, “What? What do you mean?” I said, “It’s really not something to take for granted that a girl like you, after such a hard life and everything you’ve been through, is happy, doing well, taking care of herself, and even wants to live.” And I told her, “I really think He’s pleased with you.” She said, “What? What do you mean? Do you really think so?” I said, “Of course. Maybe that’s your avodas Hashem right now: to be happy, to want to live, to take care of yourself, to be well.” She was really moved by that. We reached our destination. I had the book in my car—

45:27 Speaker 6 The twenty-five minutes were up.

45:29 Speaker 2 The twenty-five minutes were up, and I got out of the car. I had her book, I Believe, in the car, so I gave it to her. We hugged and all that. I didn’t know her. I don’t know whether it affected her at all. I don’t know what’s happening with her now, but it affected me deeply. And honestly, for several days I walked around wondering: Were those the right things to say to her? Maybe I should have said, “Turn back. You’ve strayed from the path. You’re not doing what you should. Have you lost your mind? What are you doing? Look how you’re dressed.” At one of the classes at Ohr Chaya, I had a chance to speak with Rabbi Notik, z”l, about it. I told him what had happened, really in tears, and asked, “Was that what I should have said to her? Did I say the right things?” And he said, “Of course.” There was one class with him that I remember especially vividly. It was a very small class, just a few of us girls, and he started talking. I felt like some of what he was saying was almost heresy. It was a Tanya class, but I was thinking, Wait a second. He said, “Joy is not a mitzvah, and sadness is not a sin, but no mitzvah will lift you as high as joy will, and no sin will bring you as low as sadness will.” Then he said, “If a person eats pork and is sad that he ate pork, that sadness itself is worse than eating pork.” In other words, he was saying that the sadness over the sin was worse than the sin itself. We all protested: What do you mean? Where’s the moral compass? Where’s the—

47:05 Speaker 2 Where’s the soul-searching? Where are reward and punishment? Where’s fear of Heaven? So he explained that in Tanya, the Alter Rebbe describes the difference between sadness and bitterness. If a person sins and falls, sadness can take him to a bad place: Wow, I’m such a failure. I’m so pathetic. How could I have fallen like that? That’s not me. And then he goes and buries himself under the bed with a tub of ice cream: That’s it, this is too much for me. I don’t belong. Hashem must be disappointed in me. Bitterness, on the other hand, says: Okay, I fell. I did things that aren’t right for me. Yes, that’s not good. I’m a little disappointed in myself, but come on, let’s move forward. Let’s try to do better anyway. Then he said that the Rebbe introduced something new for our generation: the work of teshuvah should be done not out of sadness, or even bitterness, but only out of joy. He said this generation is so weak that it doesn’t know how to do the work of teshuvah through bitterness. So only joy.

48:07 Speaker 6 Wow.

48:07 Speaker 2 Yes, it’s a little tricky, because then you could say to yourself, Wait, so I can fall as much as I want, commit as many sins as I want, and be happy? But no. It comes from understanding: How is it that I, the smallest of the small, who betrayed Hakadosh Boruch Hu, who did something against His will, who fell, who didn’t carry out the mission He sent me to do—how is it that He, the greatest of the great, still gives me an opening for teshuvah? How joyful is that? It’s incredible when you think about it—

48:34 Speaker 7 That’s a joy you have to reach through contemplation. It’s not a matter of feeling happy and lighting a cigarette.

48:37 Speaker 2 Of course, of course. It’s a joy you have to contemplate. Wow. How did I merit this? So it really is a joy that says, Okay, I fell. Let’s move forward. Now I’m going all out, doing things I hadn’t done before. Yes, I fell here, but all right, let’s keep going. Let’s do more, let’s spread the word, let’s inspire more people. That’s an approach, a way of thinking that Chassidus brought: Hashem loves us. We’re also coming up to the month of Elul, and most groups, let’s call them that, look at Elul as, “Oh, woe is me!” They jokingly make “oy li va’avoy li”—“woe is me”—into an acronym for Elul. Judgment Day is coming. What will be decreed for us after this whole year, with all the sins we committed, the lashon hara we spoke, the narrow-mindedness and jealousy, and the times I didn’t help my parents? Each person has their own things and knows where they stand spiritually. But people really see it as a frightening month, like the time before a trial. In Chassidus there’s a funny chassidic story about a chossid and an opponent of Chassidus walking along and talking. The opponent says, “Listen, I’m very afraid. Judgment Day is coming. We’re almost at Elul.” And the chossid says, “What’s there to be afraid of? The judge is my father.” It’s a very sweet story, because ultimately the aim of Chassidus isn’t to make you take mitzvos lightly. It’s the opposite. If you do things all the time out of fear, because you feel forced, because of what people will say, then you’re not really serving Hashem; you’re serving yourself. There’s no real connection there. Now, it’s very, very tricky, and it’s something we need to explore for a long time, and we—

50:15 Speaker 2 Also, Shabbos is coming, so we have to finish.

50:17 Speaker 7 If the podcast cuts off, you’ll know it’s because Shabbos started.

50:20 Speaker 2 If you hear a siren in the background—

50:22 Speaker 7 Yes, exactly.

50:24 Speaker 2 But yes, there’s a very important idea. It’s called “particular, general, particular.” When the Jewish people received the Torah, they simply said, “We will do, and we will hear.” First we’ll do it, and then we’ll hear why, when and how much. First of all, Hakadosh Boruch Hu commanded us, so let’s do it. That’s a very powerful approach. It’s the foundation of our service of Hashem: kabbolas ol.

50:44 Speaker 7 The first stage, really.

50:45 Speaker 2 The first stage is kabbolas ol.

50:47 Speaker 7 Whether I feel connected to it or not, first I do it because I have to.

50:51 Speaker 2 Right. Because I have to, because that’s what Hakadosh Boruch Hu commanded me, and that’s that. I don’t ask questions. Now the second stage is like a sandwich: particular, general, particular. First comes kabbolas ol. In the middle you have understanding, connection: Okay, now I’m doing it. Why am I doing it? Why Shabbos? Why kosher? Why washing our hands? Why a mezuzah? Why tznius? Why the prohibition against lashon hara? Why honoring parents? Why family purity? Let’s start asking. Let’s start connecting to what we do. And there are answers to everything. Ultimately, Hakadosh Boruch Hu isn’t a sadist. He didn’t come to torment us: This is permitted, this is forbidden, now live by it and suffer. No. Everything has meaning; there’s a reason for everything. On the contrary, it’s for our benefit, in a way we can actually see. Not only spiritually—physically, too, it’s truly for our benefit. Once we understand that, that’s the middle stage. And even after we understand and connect, we still do it because we were commanded, not because we understand. In our generation that’s a very slippery, tricky thing, because this generation tells us: Do what feels good to you, what’s comfortable, what you love, what you connect with. Ask your body what it thinks. Now, I’m not dismissing that, G-d forbid. It’s very important. But in serving Hashem there’s also the idea of bittul, of putting yourself aside and asking, What does Hashem want from me? And understanding that He isn’t trying to torment me, make things hard for me, or tell me to do things I don’t connect with. Because again, yes, we need to act with kabbolas ol. That’s the first stage. But after I act with kabbolas ol, I need to understand—

52:26 Speaker 2 What I’m doing, connect with it and learn. And after I connect and learn, I still do it because I was commanded, because Hakadosh Boruch Hu—

52:34 Speaker 8 Yes, like they say about the mitzvah of tzedakah: Don’t give just because you’re so compassionate and sweet. Hakadosh Boruch Hu—because that’s your role in the world; Hakadosh Boruch Hu commanded you to.

52:42 Speaker 2 Right. Speaking of tzedakah, there are many beautiful stories about it. There’s a story about a wealthy man whom the Rebbe asked to donate to a soup kitchen. He said, “No, I don’t want to donate, because afterward I feel proud, with my name displayed there and all that.” The Rebbe said to him, “What difference does it make what you feel? At the end of the day, will that person have eaten?” That’s it. Afterward, work on that trait—on your pride and your humility. But come on, the world needs you.

53:13 Speaker 8 Yes.

53:13 Speaker 2 what you’re saying. That’s it. I have so much to say, but I think we should focus on this matter of choice, because something that really, really struck me was that line about the potential for pleasure: getting yourself to delight in G-dliness, to delight in holiness, to be happy with what we have. Another powerful story that stayed with me is one Rabbi Dudi Koppelman told about a farmer who grew up in a village. All his life, all he knew was working the land. He worked hard, and one day there was a lottery in his town. He bought a ticket and, thank Hashem, won. He collected his prize, a whole chest full of rubles, and he had a dream to fulfill: to travel by train to a big city. He had never been on a train in his life. So he gets to the station and goes up to the counter, and the clerk looks at him and thinks, well, he probably has no money. Suddenly the farmer puts his suitcase full of money on the counter, and the clerk says, “Wow, okay, all right.” And as we know, trains have different classes: there’s tourist class, business class, freight, and all kinds of carriages. This train was very, very special. Someone with money would go in business class, where there were all kinds of treats, a bar, food, massages. I’m exaggerating, yes, but there were

54:37 Speaker 8 For the sake of the story.

54:38 Speaker 2 For the sake of the story. There really were all kinds of luxuries. And when someone was well-off, he got a proper ticket, too: a piece of silk fabric with his name embroidered on it in gold thread. That was his ticket for that class. Fine, he takes his ticket and goes to the platform. Now, he’s never been on a train, so he doesn’t really know what to do. Then he sees this mischievous boy. The train pulls into the station, and the boy slips into a cattle car. The farmer thinks, well, that must be what you do, so he follows him. He sees the boy hiding under a bench, so he follows him there too. He thinks that’s how you ride a train. Suddenly, in the middle of the journey, he feels someone tugging at his leg. He sees the conductor, who says to him, “Thief, thief! How dare you get on this train? Get out of here at once!” He says, “What do you mean, thief? Look, I paid for a ticket,” and he pulls out his ticket for—

55:32 Speaker 8 Business class.

55:33 Speaker 2 Yes, the silk fabric with the gold lettering. And the conductor can’t understand it. “Then what are you doing here in the cattle car? You have a whole carriage just for you, with all the luxuries and delicacies, and you’re sitting here in this filth?” And it reminds me a little of ourselves sometimes, because in the end, as you say, how fortunate we are to have what we have. We don’t know what we’re holding in our hands. We’ve missed the—we miss the point, we miss our shlichus. We have a carriage full of luxuries and abundance.

56:04 Speaker 8 We live right beside it.

56:04 Speaker 2 Exactly, we live right beside it. And we choose Shein and Instagram. Again, I’m not saying those things are forbidden. It’s about where your focus is, where your sense of responsibility is, what excites you. We really need to live with this choice and with the understanding that Hashem didn’t put me here in this world for no reason. I also have—I’ll say again, because I believe most of the listeners are religious, I want to say something about being religious. I have another story that connects to this, so I’ll tell it and then say what I mean. There was a young man whose dream was to conquer a very, very high mountain that no one had ever climbed. He was an athlete, so he trained for days, prepared himself, bought the necessary equipment, and got the food, all the climbing gear, the tents, the right shoes, coats, and shirts ready. The long-awaited day arrived, and he started climbing. It was a very tough mountain, but he had a dream: “I’m going to conquer it. I’m going to conquer it.” Days passed, and hours passed, through rain and sun and snow. You know, some nights he pitched his tent and slept there, but he kept going with real self-sacrifice. He had this desire to conquer the mountain. He climbed, getting scratched by branches and sometimes injured, but he remained very, very focused on his goal. Then came the day when he could see the summit right there. He took his final steps, looked up, and suddenly saw a baby crawling around. He thought, “What? How can that be? I’m an adult. I prepared, bought equipment, did everything necessary to conquer this mountain and be the first person

57:43 Speaker 2 to reach it. And suddenly I see a baby here who doesn’t even understand what this view is, or how much effort people have to make to reach the summit. And here the baby is, moving around as if it’s nothing.” What did he realize? He went over and discovered there was a village or something up there. He realized the baby had simply been born there. And often we can look at ourselves the same way: “I was born religious. What’s the big deal?” I don’t understand why people become baalei teshuvah, why they make such efforts, leave their old lives, break off relationships. What do I have in my hands? What do I have in my hands? Exactly. I don’t even know what people are so excited about. I’m in it, and I don’t understand. And it really is frustrating, because there are people on the outside looking in, and there are also people on the inside looking out. I think the goal is to realize: I’m already at the summit. Let me start to understand what I’m doing up here. I’ve already been given this privilege. I’ve been spared a lot of heartache, a lot of work, a lot of—everyone has their own work, yes? I’m not belittling anyone, whether they’re a baal teshuvah or religious from birth. But I’m already here. Let me start thinking about why I do what I do. And you, the fact that girls are listening to this podcast at all—I believe it’s because this matters to them. If, through this podcast, we’ve managed to switch on a few more lights and inspire a few more girls to get excited about G-dliness, let’s call it that, we’ve done our part. That’s it. I really believe that, in the end, serving Hashem should come from a place of delight, not struggle. That’s it, we’re no longer in that generation. We’re no longer in a generation of survival. We’re in a generation

59:13 Speaker 2 where everything is abundant. And on the contrary, it’s much harder to serve Hashem in a generation where everything is right before your eyes, all the pleasures of the world. You don’t have to struggle to hide your beard or save up margarine for months to light a menorah. You already have everything, all of it right before your eyes. And today our mesirus nefesh is giving up our own will, as Rabbi Yair Babach[?] says. It means surrendering what you want for what’s truly right. And that’s what I wanted to say with this story: let’s appreciate what we have in our hands. Absolutely. We were born into a certain place, but some people can go their whole lives without ever reaching that place. Right. And we’re a week before Rosh Hashanah. Mm-hmm. So, all the more so. New beginnings. Yes. Actually, I wanted to say—choose, choose. I think that in the loop of everyday life, most people, most girls, don’t really get a chance before Rosh Hashanah to stop and say, “Wait.” Right. “A new year. Maybe we’ll do things a little differently. Maybe we’ll come into this year from a different place.” Not necessarily do different things, but do the same things from a different place. Right. In fact, the scariest thing is to make sudden, drastic changes—that’s what the yetzer hara wants. Extreme changes. I mean, if I say now, “Wow, I want to serve Hashem with joy, I want to be stronger in Yiddishkeit, I want to be more religious, I want more”—at first you have that burst of enthusiasm, that “Yes, I want to!” But then the yetzer hara—maybe it works for a day or two, but afterward you think, “Okay, this is too much for me.” So the trick is really to be like a tightrope walker in a circus, walking on a very thin rope with the ground far below. The key is to take the steps

1:00:49 Speaker 2 Slowly, slowly. You took one small step. Great, let’s keep going. Don’t start going at it full force, because you’ll end up falling. That would be a shame. Right. Look at the goal—that’s important—but also know yourself. See what’s within your capacity. If you do it without really taking your circumstances into account... There is a place for doing things lechatchila ariber—going beyond the usual limits—throwing yourself into it, being like Nachshon ben Aminadav. But there’s also a place for being measured. There’s lechatchila ariber, and there’s recklessness. Right. If we’re looking at the course of someone’s life, then generally we’re talking about a process, about taking measured steps so that things will last, so that... Right. Wow. And that reminds me of another story. This whole thing about having all the pleasures of the world before our eyes: Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev came to Hakadosh Boruch Hu with a complaint. What do You want from the Jewish people when they sin? You put all the pleasures of the world before their eyes, and the truth in books, in the fine print. If You’d done it the other way around—put the whole truth before their eyes, and all the pleasures of the world in books, in the fine print—it would have been much easier. But that’s our task in this world. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be much of an achievement. There wouldn’t really be free choice. If all I see before my eyes is the truth, then there’s no real choice here. So I... How do I find it? Right, and sometimes we might even see that the very people who aren’t doing what they should seem to have it good. But that’s not... That’s not necessarily true. There’s the phrase people like to say, “A righteous person who suffers,” but

1:02:19 Speaker 2 that’s only one of five categories. Yes. There’s a righteous person who prospers, a righteous person who suffers, a wicked person who prospers, a wicked person who suffers, and a beinoni. That’s in Tanya. But there are different kinds of good. There was a story about Reb Zusha that... I won’t get caught up in the details. I don’t remember the whole thing, which is such a shame. But there were some chassidim, I think, who were going through a hard time. So their rabbi told them, “Go to Reb Zusha. He’ll explain to you how to serve Hashem through hardship.” Because Reb Zusha really had suffered a lot and had a difficult life. When they got to him, they said, “Our rabbi sent us to hear how to serve Hashem despite all the hardship.” And he said, “What hardship?” He didn’t see it as hardship at all. He had no idea what they were talking about. Even though he’d had a very, very difficult life, he didn’t focus on that at all. He served Hashem with joy. I really love Reb Zusha, you know. It’s funny, because he’s someone I’ve only heard about in books, but I feel a connection to him. There’s another very beautiful story of his that I repeat to myself a lot. Reb Zusha said, “When I reach the World of Truth after 120 years and they ask me, ‘Zusha, why weren’t you Moshe Rabbeinu?’ I won’t be afraid. What will I be afraid of? That they’ll say to me, ‘Zusha, why weren’t you Zusha?’” Because ultimately, Hakadosh Boruch Hu asks me to be Eden, and you to be Chani, and each person to be herself. She can’t be Moshe Rabbeinu. She can’t be something she isn’t. But with the tools she has—again, everyone with the cards they’ve been dealt. There were even days when I’d say, “You know what? Today I was

1:03:45 Speaker 2 seventy percent Eden. You know what? Today I was ninety-five percent Eden. Today I was one hundred percent Eden.” And really, not out of pride, but from a feeling of, “Wow, I think Hashem is pleased with me today.” And there are days when I’ll say, “I could have done more.” And it’s really not about comparing myself to the most righteous girl in the class or to some great rebbetzin. No. It’s comparing myself to myself. Focusing on our own shlichus. Exactly. I’m not being asked for one hundred percent. I’m being asked to do five percent more than I did before, each time. That’s it. And it makes the whole thing feel much lighter, because if I keep saying, “Oh no, I’m not enough, I’m not enough, I’m not enough,” then I never really will be. And we’re asked to keep working all the time. There’s someone who serves Hashem who’s already finished, and... Sorry, there’s “one who has not served Him,” and there’s “one who serves Hashem.” “One who has not served Him” is someone who’s already reached his level and finished his work, while “one who serves Hashem” is someone who keeps working. Adding a little more. Yes, that’s a beinoni too. Oh, that’s it? Wow. Wow. Listen, I feel like you’ve come straight from a farbrengen. Wow, wow, wow. And above all, I’m saying these things to influence myself. I’m telling you the truth. Yes, it always works that way: what you give... Right. It obligates you too. It does. It really does. And may Hashem help me live up to that commitment, but I truly believe in it. If I didn’t believe in it, I wouldn’t do it. Because I think it’s also a kind of sin to say things you don’t truly believe in. But you have to really live it and remind yourself all the time. Sometimes you learn something, or you listen to a podcast, right? And you’re

1:05:13 Speaker 2 completely inspired. A week later, who remembers what was said? Right. And you really need to... I think everyone here should have had paper and pen and actually written down points—so many tools for life. Really. As with any farbrengen, each person takes away a different point. I don’t want to tell you what to take away, but something that really struck me, I think, out of this whole podcast is this idea that our potential for pleasure has to be fulfilled. You can’t live without—without, I don’t know, without really living, without feeling excited about something. So it’s either in holiness or on the other side. There’s no third option. Completely. It’s either holiness or the other side. It’s either the yetzer tov or the yetzer hara, necessarily. There’s no middle ground. And if we all fulfill our desire for pleasure in a spiritual way, I’m sure the world will look completely, completely different. Completely, truly. And may we merit to begin a new year—Amen—with a connection to ourselves, with an understanding of why we do what we do, and with... new good resolutions too. But again, within our capacity. Baby steps. The most... It’s funny, because the Rebbe actually says that when you make a good resolution, choose the smallest possible thing and set a time limit for it too. For a limited period, yes. Exactly. Because when you tell yourself—wow, a month. Say I tell myself now, “That’s it, from now on I’m going to spend hours every day davening, forever.” No. It’s like a diet: “From today, I’m never eating—” No, it doesn’t work. Right. But when you set a period of time... Right. Something within... Yes, within your capacity. Something measured, something concrete, something you can actually do. Then it’s much easier, less intimidating, and you feel much more like moving forward. And ultimately, Hashem opens the way too. There’s a saying from the Kotzker Rebbe: “Open

1:06:46 Speaker 2 for Me an opening as narrow as the eye of a needle, and I will open for you an opening as wide as the entrance to a hall.” Why a needle specifically? Because a needle hurts. When a person does something that hurts a little, steps a little outside their habits and their nature, and does things they’re not necessarily used to doing—when they leave their comfort zone—Hashem opens up for them too. And ultimately, this work is sweet. There’s joy in it; there’s pleasure in it. I’m not just saying that because people say, “What, now I’m supposed to be a tzaddik? I’m supposed to do what a tz— Come on, I’m used to being in my bubble, in my mud, and I’m fine with this mediocrity.” We’re afraid to commit. But I think that once we feel the pleasure in it, we’ll want more. Like, wow, I just learned a sicha, I just learned a Torah teaching, I just learned the weekly parsha, and it really makes me want to get excited. It’s about getting past that barrier of fear. Some people think it’ll never happen, because this really is how they grew up for twenty, thirty, forty— You can live an entire life like that, I promise you. But if you don’t stop for a second and ask yourself, wait—even with all the pretending, being religious is comfortable in a way. You have your community, you have your framework. Why delve deeper? Right, you have your family, your standing in the community. That’s it. Why ask questions? We’ll live like this, get married like this, die like this. And in a way, it’s comfortable. But no. We... How does Rabbi Dudi put it? Stop being religious robots. Start being religious people who are in love. Start falling in love with what you do. Start understanding what you do, instead of doing it just on autopilot. You really have to

1:08:12 Speaker 2 leave your comfort zone. It works that way with love, too: you— Right. You work for it— Absolutely. And you attain it. Right. And now it’s the month of Elul: “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine.” That means I really have to take the first step, and Hakadosh Boruch Hu is just waiting for it. Just waiting. He opens an entrance as wide as the entrance to a hall. Okay. Wow. Gut Shabbos. Gut Shabbos. I managed— Friends, it’s less than an hour until Shabbos—but we’re going into Shabbos properly this time, that’s for sure. Absolutely, baruch Hashem. Thank you so much for the opportunity. Thank you, Eden. Wishing you success in your shlichus. It was fun. Shanah tovah. Shanah tovah to you too, and may it be sweet. Amen.