Rabbi Ariel Mizrahi

Close the Drawer

A few years ago, when my wife and I had just moved back from Israel, our son Benny was about two or three years old. I’ll never forget one Sunday afternoon.

We were sitting together on the couch, talking, when suddenly we realized something every parent dreads: it had gotten too quiet. We looked at each other, wide-eyed. “Where’s Benny?”

We jumped up and started searching. I glanced down the hallway and saw that the bathroom door was shut. My heart started racing. I ran to the door and tried opening it, but it wouldn’t budge. Somehow, as I learned later, the cabinet drawer inside had swung open and jammed the door shut from the inside.

We started banging on the door. “Benny! Benny, are you in there? Say something!” Nothing. Complete silence.

Panic set in. Of course, a child stuck in a bathroom doesn’t necessarily spell disaster, but you hear stories where, G-d forbid, a child leans too far over the toilet or trips and cannot get up themselves. My wife and I were screaming, pounding on the door. I threw my weight into it over and over, trying to break it down.

Then, in a moment of clarity, we remembered something: Benny loves ice cream. So we began shouting, “Benny! The ice cream truck! It’s outside! Ice cream!”

A second passed. Then— Movement. A voice. “I want ice cream! I want ice cream!”

We heard the pitter-patter of his feet. He reached the door and started banging from his side. “Daddy! Daddy!” I banged back, “Benny! Benny!” We were both crying now. “Benny,” I said, “Just close the drawer. Just close the drawer and I can open the door.”

Of course, at two years old, he didn’t understand what I meant and he kept crying. We called 911, and the fire department came with their tools. They broke down the door, and finally, we were reunited. We held him close, crying, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude.

Later, my wife said something I’ll never forget. “You know, we’re all in our own bathrooms.” At first, I didn’t understand what she meant.

She continued. “We’re all locked in situations. Maybe we can’t find a shidduch, maybe we’re struggling to have children, maybe we’re sick, or in financial difficulty, or trapped in emotional pain. And we’re pounding on the walls, crying, begging Hashem, ‘Open the door!’ We’re desperate for Him to answer.

“But Hashem is right there—on the other side of the door. And He’s saying to us, ‘My child, just close the drawer. Take one step. Just one small step.’

Our Sages put it this way: “Open for Me an opening the size of a needle’s eye, and I will open for you an opening like a grand hall” (Shir HaShirim Rabbah 5:2).

All Hashem asks is that we begin and show a tiny sign of effort, of willingness to move, to grow, to change. And when we do, He does the rest. He opens the floodgates of blessing and brings us back into His arms.

As we go through Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, as we stand in prayer and ask Hashem to open doors for us—doors of success, health, blessing, forgiveness, and peace—let’s first ask ourselves: what drawers do I need to close this year? What’s the small act I need to take? What is holding me back from Hashem’s open arms?

Because He’s right there, banging from the other side, crying with us, and waiting to hold us again.

Rabbi Doniel Frank

The Two-Minute Guide

As the Days of Awe proceed and Yom Kippur looms ahead, many of us begin to feel the pressure. The Shofar blast that closes Ne’ilah is near, and the question grows louder in our minds: “Have I really changed this year? Have I truly prepared?”

There’s no shortage of resources to guide us, including classic sefarim, insightful shiurim, hands-on workshops, and inspiring emails. But for those who come in during the final stretch and ask, “Can you tell me in simple, practical steps how to change?” here it is.

Step 1: Choose a Character Trait.

The Rambam writes that repentance is not just relegated to actions, such as immorality or theft. It likewise includes our character (Hilchos Teshuva 7:3). So ask yourself honestly: what trait do I need to refine this year? Is it anger? Impatience? Jealousy? Write it down. Let’s use this example for the time being: impatience.

Step 2: Identify Your Test.

Now describe the situation where this trait most often shows up. Start with the word “When…”

Example: When my spouse asks me to repeat something I’ve already said, I grow impatient.

This becomes your personal test for the year. It becomes your avodah.

Step 3: Define the Ideal Response.

Next, write out how you would respond when you’re at your best. Make it measurable. Example: I’ll take a deep breath and repeat myself without frustration.

This becomes your concrete commitment for the year.

Step 4: Write Your Inner Script.

Jot down the thoughts that will help you succeed in the moment. These are mindset cues or your personal mantras. Example: “Just because I said it doesn’t mean they heard it.” Or, “My spouse deserves my patience.”

It doesn’t need to be poetic. It just needs to work for you.

Step 5: Make It a Conversation with Hashem.

At the top of your page, write a short note to Hashem. Tell Him why you chose this trait, why it hurts that you’ve fallen short in this area, and why this specific growth will help you come closer to Him.

Then sign it at the bottom. Make it personal.

Step 6: Make It Visible.

Tape this page to the side of your night table, so it’s the first thing you see each morning. Worried someone will read it? Find a way to encode your thoughts, or use handwriting that is uniquely legible to you.

Track your progress each day or night. Create a system that is simple, consistent, and yours. This becomes your Success Card.

And when the year is over, take that card, tuck it into your machzor, and show Hashem what you’ve done. If you’ve followed these steps with sincerity, you’ll have made real progress. It will not be perfect, but it will be full of effort and heart.

Then tell Hashem, “This helped me come closer to You. I’m ready for my next challenge.” Because that is what this season is really about. Not perfection, but progression; not guilt, but growth.

And that is the simple, practical way you can identify and implement real change for your upcoming year.

Rabbi Avrohom Ebstein

Feelings Will Follow

A young man once approached Rav Gershon Edelstein zt”l with an earnest question. He recalled how, as a bachur, he used to daven on the Yamim Noraim with relatively undisturbed concentration and raw emotion. He would cry throughout the tefillah and experience the day as something transcendent.

But now, as a married man, he no longer felt that same emotional pull. He tried, really tried, to stir up the same intensity, to cry, to feel, to reconnect. But nothing. The tears didn’t come. The fire wasn’t there. He asked Rav Gershon: “What can I do to get it back?”

Rav Gershon looked at him and said, “That’s exactly your mistake.”

“You’re trying to force yourself to feel. But you can’t force emotions. It doesn’t work that way. Human nature is such that the more you push yourself to feel something, the more you recoil. The harder you try to manipulate your emotions, the more distant they become.”

Instead, Rav Gershon gave him a simple tidbit of advice. “Just focus on the simple meaning of the words. That’s all. Don’t push for emotion; just be present with the davening itself. The words will do the work.”

The yungerman took the advice to heart. That Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, he focused solely on understanding the words, with no drama, no pressure, no attempt to recreate his past. And something remarkable happened.

After Yom Tov, he returned to Rav Gershon. “Rebbe,” he said, “for the first time in years, I cried during davening. I felt that special connection again, just like I did when I was younger. But this time, it came naturally.” Rav Gershon nodded.

That is the secret.

When a person stops chasing emotion, and instead simply lives—focusing on the words, their meaning, and the sincerity of the tefillah—the feelings will come on their own.

Let your words speak, and your heart will follow.

Dr. Meir Wikler

Up to Heaven, Down to Earth

As we approach the Yamim Noraim, this sacred and introspective time of year, we are called to engage in teshuvah, in honest self-reflection, and cheshbon hanefesh, a spiritual accounting of where we truly stand.

Over fifty years ago, I heard an idea from one of my Rabbeim, Rav Besdin zt”l, that has carried me ever since.

When we want to measure anything in life, we need a frame of reference. We can’t describe something as “big” or “small” without comparing it to something else. A dog may seem large next to a mouse, but small beside an elephant. Without a point of comparison, any measurement is meaningless.

The same is true when we attempt to measure ourselves. If we’re making a sincere spiritual assessment, we must ask: compared to what, against whom or by what standard am I measuring?

Three times a day we recite a Pasuk in Aleinu, at the close of the first paragraph: “You shall know today and take it to heart that Hashem is the G-d in the Heavens above and on the earth below; there is none else.”

It’s a curious Pasuk. Why does the Torah need to tell us that heaven is above and earth is below? Even a young child can point up and say, “that’s heaven” and down and say, “that’s earth.” Why the seemingly unnecessary detail?

Rav Besdin zt”l explained that the Torah is teaching us how to assess ourselves and how to find the appropriate frame of reference.

If you're measuring yourself in matters of ruchniyus, spiritual growth, look upwards. Look to a standard that is currently above where you are in spirituality. Let that aspiration inspire you, stretch you, push you higher. That is the meaning of Shamayim Mima’al, heaven above. Look up when measuring your spiritual progress.

But when it comes to gashmiyus, to material or physical matters—whether it’s parnassah, comfort or possessions—the Torah advises us to look downward: aretz mita’chas, the earth below. Look at that which is below you and recognize how much you have. There is always someone with less, and when we look in that direction, we cultivate gratitude, humility, and contentment.

This, Rav Besdin taught, is how to approach the Yamim Noraim. When it comes to spiritual growth, look up, and yet when it comes to material circumstances, look down. With this clarity, we can make a meaningful cheshbon hanefesh, self-appraisal, and set genuine goals for growth.

Rabbi Yaakov Moskowitz

The Thinking Flight

I recently heard an extraordinary story from Rav Avraham Shor about the famed Uri Zohar. Uri, as many know, was a celebrated Israeli actor, comedian, and director who later became a baal teshuvah, dedicating his life with remarkable intensity to Torah and dveikus. His journey touched countless souls and became one of the most powerful inspirations in the teshuvah movement. But what, in truth, sparked such a dramatic transformation?

Rav Shor explained that it began in the most unexpected way. Uri was boarding a flight, and as was his habit, he planned to bring along a book to occupy himself during the journey. Yet on this particular occasion, he forgot. Left without entertainment or distraction, he was forced to sit alone with his thoughts. For the first time in years, he began to ask himself difficult questions: What am I doing with my life? What have I really accomplished? Am I living with meaning and purpose? That simple moment of stillness gave birth to a powerful wave of reflection, which ultimately ignited his path toward teshuvah.

The answers lie within us. To discover them, we must dare to stop, reflect, and listen—just as Uri Zohar once did on that fateful flight.