The Right Kind of Small

By Rabbi Moshe Krieger, Yeshivas Bircas HaTorah (www.bircas.org)

What is the difference between anavah — humility — and low self-esteem? They look alike from the outside, but they are completely different things. One leads a person upward; the other pulls him down. In the parshios that we are reading both last week and this (Parshas Behaaloscha and Shelach) we see both sides of this picture, and the contrast could not be sharper.

In Behaaloscha we have two stunning examples of true anavah. The pasuk tells us that Moshe Rabbeinu was “more humble than any person on the face of the earth” (Bamidbar 12:3). His sister and brother spoke against him, and he said nothing. He did not feel the need to defend himself or to even attempt to set the record straight. The Ruach Chaim (on Avos 1:1) says that because of his great anavah Moshe was zocheh to the level of prophecy that no one else ever reached. He was so humble that he didn’t even think about his own honor.  He only thought about HaKadosh Baruch Hu. When a person is totally dedicated to Hashem he is able to receive prophecy at a higher level than anyone else.

The same idea appears with Eldad and Medad, also in last week’s parsha. When they were chosen to receive nevuah along with the other elders, they held back. “Who are we?” they said. “Let others go. We are not worthy.” They were willing to give their place to someone else entirely. The Gemara in Sanhedrin (17a) tells us that because of this anavah, they actually received a greater gift than the other elders — a permanent, steady power of prophecy that stayed with them continuously. Their willingness to give it away is exactly what earned it for them.

In parshas Shelach we are shown where anavah can go dangerously wrong. The meraglim — the spies — came back from Eretz Yisrael and spoke against the land. The Chofetz Chaim explains what their thinking was: they knew Hashem was very strong and powerful and that He had promised to bring them in. But they said, “That was when we were worthy. After Chet HaEgel, we are no longer fitting. We won’t merit miracles and we won’t succeed to conquer the land”. They looked at themselves and decided they were too small for what Hashem was asking of them.

This is not anavah. This is low self-esteem — and it is a serious problem. True humility means not needing honor, not needing credit, being happy to give your place to someone else. But when Hashem commands you to do something and you say, “I cannot” — that is not humility. That is a failure to believe in the kochos — the strengths — that Hashem put inside you. The meraglim even say outwardly that they felt tiny and worthless. “We were like grasshoppers in our eyes and so we were in their eyes”. (Bamidbar 13:33)

The Torah teaches the opposite. The pasuk in Divrei HaYamim (17:6) says, “Vayigbah libo bedarchei Hashem” — his heart was lifted up in the ways of Hashem. When a person is walking in Hashem’s ways, doing what Hashem commands, he must feel elevated and capable. Hashem does not give a person a mission without giving him the koach to carry it out. If Hashem commanded it, that is itself proof that he can do it.

Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz brings a powerful example. The Ramban (Shemos 35:21) says that when Hashem commanded Klal Yisrael to build the Mishkan, the people were not craftsmen or architects. They had no training and had never done this kind of work before. But the Ramban explains that they said to themselves: if Hashem commanded us to do this, then He will help us find inside ourselves the kochos to do it. And they succeeded. They brought out abilities they never knew they had.

The Mishnah in Avos (5:20) says “be strong as a leopard to do the will of your Father in Heaven”. The Chassid Yaavetz comments that the Mishna didn’t say strong as a lion, even though a lion is stronger than a leopard. But a leopard always finds some way to win its battle. This is the example for us to follow. When it comes to doing mitzvahs, even if we don’t feel that we have the strength to do them, we should try to do the mitzvah and trust that Hashem will help us find the way to succeed.

There is something else that helps a person develop this kind of inner strength, and that is having a rebbi — a teacher or a mentor. The Meshech Chochmah (Parshas Bechukosai) points out that the Jews in Mitzrayim did not change their names or their dress — even though everything around them pushed them to assimilate. How did they hold firm? Because they had the example of Yaakov Avinu. Yaakov had insisted on being buried in Eretz Yisrael. That act said clearly: we are not Egyptians. We belong somewhere else. We are a different kind of people. His children and grandchildren drew strength from that example for generations.

The same was true for Yosef. When he was tested by eshes Potifar, the Gemara says “niglah lo demus aviv bachalom” — the image of his father appeared to him. Rav Boruch Ber explains this to mean that Yosef had his father’s example alive in his mind. “How can I do this? I know who my father is. I know what he stood for.” That image was enough to stop him.

This is what a rebbi does for a person. He gives you a picture of what you can become. He shows you how to draw out what is already inside you. He lifts your sense of what is possible. The deeper the connection you have with your rebbi the more effect he will have on you. Often the rebbi is your teacher or Rosh Yeshiva. But sometimes a rebbi can be just a close friend, or an older bachur, or simply someone whose example speaks to you. You feel his Torah and avodas Hashem very strongly and you want to follow his ways.

I once heard a story that illustrates this beautifully. A kollel man was traveling by bus during bein hazmanim. It was a long trip. Sitting nearby was a young bachur, a Gemara open in his hands, completely absorbed. He did not look out the window. He did not speak to anyone. His eyes never left the page the entire trip. The kollel man was stunned. When the bus arrived, he went over and asked: how are you learning like this, even during bein hazmanim? The young man seemed almost surprised by the question. “I have a daily seder of learning,” he said simply. “I had to travel, but I still needed to complete it.” That was all.

The kollel man said those words changed his life. He thought: if this young bachur can do it, I certainly can. From that day, he stopped treating bein hazmanim as a break from learning and became serious about his Torah in a new way. He later became a Rosh Yeshiva. And he said: that young bachur was my rebbi. He did not know it. They never spoke again. But the example reached him at just the right moment and pulled something out of him.

May we be zocheh to true anavah and to bring out all our inner strength to do the will of Hashem.