{Originally posted to Rabbi Weinberg’s website, The Foundation Stone}
“Mr. Weinberg,” opening a call is usually an indication that a Jewish charity is calling. “Reverend Weinberg,” is the typical beginning of a political solicitation. “Semitcha,” means a survey. “Is this Robert Weinberg,” with a foreign accent, is a sale’s call. An emphatic, “Simcha Weinberg,” meant my mother was upset with me. “Simcha,” in an unfamiliar voice, is either someone who refuses to acknowledge that I’m a rabbi, or someone who believes that everyone should be on a first name basis with everyone else. Some of my children call me, “Abba,” some, “Pa,” and others, “Pops.” I am called so many names that sometimes I wonder which name to use in certain moments. It just doesn’t flow when I open my prayers and say, “Hi God! It’s Simcha Leib Yosef Gad Ezra .” Perhaps I have too many identities and play too many roles.
I remember asking a caller, “Who’s calling,” only to hear “Yaakov Kaminetsky.” Not “Rabbi,” “Reb,” or, “This is one of the greatest rabbis of the generation,” just, “Yaakov Kaminetsky.” I had a similar experience with Rav Moshe Feinstein zt”l, although, Rav Hutner zt”l would say, “It’s Rav Hutner.” I became very sensitive to how people introduce themselves on the phone. It’s not just the name; it’s how we use it.
In the day school classroom, where I did well, I was Simcha. On the dreaded Lag BaOmer picnic, the one time each year we played ball, “Weinberg,” was consistently the last name chosen for a team. I preferred being the Simcha of the classroom to the Weinberg of the local park. While everyone else looked forward to Lag BaOmer with anticipation, I was filled with dread.
Lag BaOmer is the anniversary of the death of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, the teacher of the Zohar, the Book of Illumination. He was one person who knew exactly who he was in every situation. He didn’t hesitate to speak his mind about the Romans, and had to hide in a cave for twelve years after the government heard his political views. He was the same person in the cave as he was when teaching Torah to hundreds of students. He knew his essence, and because of that, he became one of the most powerful voices in Jewish history.
“If you behave casually with Me, then I, too, will behave toward you with casualness (Vayikra 26:23-24).” I prefer “disconnected” to “casual.” How does one behave in a disconnected way with God? By being disconnected from himself, by not knowing who he is when observing God’s commandments and studying His Torah. A person with one identity in synagogue and another in the office is disconnected from his essence. We behave differently in different situations, but should always be consistent with our essence. Our spiritual lives should imbue all the different roles we play as boss or employee, teacher or student, parent or child. It’s not the name we are called by others, but the name we call ourselves.
The way we act toward other people reveals our nature, as does which religious principles we emphasize over others. Our relationship with God can do so much more than express our character; it can shape that character. Properly understood and practiced, it nurtures our strengths and empowers us to overcome our weaknesses. It helps us grow into ourselves, expressing all our potential.
The Zohar is not so much the Book of Illumination, as “The Book That Illuminates,” a book that describes how our spiritual actions illuminate our essence, so that we can clearly see it. Torah and Mitzvot are meant to help us nurture a strong sense of our intrinsic nature. They are a process to develop a clear sense of identity. Once we know who we are, we can approach God with loving intimacy, so that He will say, “I lead you walking tall with pride (26:13).”
I wish you a Shabbat of self-illumination so that you can see yourselves as God sees you; with love, confidence, and a shining essence.
Shabbat Shalom