Most things I hear are either immediately deleted, or backed up in my long-term memory. But some things I’ll hear will germinate in my active memory for days, tumbling around and calling for attention.
It happened on Thursday evening, as I was working through Shabbat cooking. I was listening to a stimulating Torah class while my hands moved through greens and challah dough. Rabbi G. was giving a lecture to shluchot (female Chabad emissaries) about the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s vision. “We are not in the business of expert outreach,” he began, “we are in the business of passionately loving G‑d. If you love G‑d, you’ll naturally love His children. As passion tends to be infectious, if you’re into Him, the people you love will eventually share your passion.” In this organic process, we are to reach out to our fellow Jews and “share our love” of G‑d with others.
I needed to pinpoint the difference between the two modalities. After all, the end result of both was Jewish outreachThis was a paradigm shift that I needed to process, and it rested anxiously on my cerebral cortex for days. I needed to pinpoint the difference between the two modalities that Rabbi G. had described. After all, the end result of both was Jewish outreach.
Then I learned about a fascinating commandment in Deuteronomy (22:8):
When you build a new house, you shall make a guardrail for your roof, so that you shall not cause blood [to be spilled] in your house, that the one who falls should fall from it [the roof].
Like people, the mitzvot are multi-dimensional and operate on many planes simultaneously. At its primary plane, the obligation to build a rail around a roof teaches the fundamental importance of personal liability and responsibility. On another plane, this same commandment is talking of metaphysical rails and roofs. Let’s hang out in the metaphysical and explore the same commandment again.
“When you build a new house, you shall make a guardrail for your roof.”
There are houses made of wood and bricks, and houses built of effort and accomplishment. One can “build” up a friend to be a solid edifice of G‑d-centered living, or build a network that develops into an oasis of spirituality. Although these houses have noble engineers, the Torah cautions these “home builders” to make a guardrail for their roof!
Idealist drives can easily become enmeshed with self-promotion. The ego will surreptitiously enter into the psyche, camouflaging itself as the drive to help and inspire others. I may aspire to be an influential mentor or an outreach expert only in order to feel great about myself and get my name out there. So G‑d asks me to be conscious of this tendency, and advises a spiritual home builder to “make a guardrail for your roof”—to keep my ego in check. Strive for altruism.
The question is: who cares? As long as good work is being done, houses are being built, why the scrutiny? If self-promotion will inspire outreach, then perhaps it is a good thing. Addressing this doubt, the Torah writes:
“. . . so that you shall not cause blood [to be spilled] in your house, that the one who falls should fall from.”
Ego talk may speak the same words, but those words can’t penetrate heartsThe surest way to touch the life of another person is to talk to him or her from your heart, with tender sincerity. Ego talk may speak the same words, but those words can’t penetrate hearts. When the ego goes unchecked, the house that’s built is tenuous, and the people will fall off. In other words, it’s irresponsible to let your pride go unchecked, because other people are depending on you guidance, and your guidance is potent only when you can let go of your own hidden agenda.
The magic way to inspire others is to communicate from the heart, sharing what is real and meaningful to you. That’s not something that comes from outreach training, but from loving G‑d, trying to draw yourself close to Him, and inviting the people you love to join you in your process.
Based on a talk by the Rebbe (Likkutei Sichot, vol. 24, p. 137).
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