Life Is an Opportunity: Creating a Beautiful World of Torah and Simchah

Topics

• Life as an Opportunity: Seeing the Beauty of Hashem's World
• "Also a World? Only a World!"
• Is a Nazir Holy or a Sinner?
• Shimon HaTzaddik and the Young Shepherd
• Which Things Are Life, and Which Are the Tirdos?
• The Nazir Teaches Balance
• "VeAchar Yishteh HaNazir Yayin": A New Way to Live
• One Small Commitment Can Change a Person
• Simchah, Kedushah, and Changing Our Lives
• "VeHayamim HaRishonim Yiplu": Leave the Failure Behind
• The Impressions We Take into Ourselves
• A Rosh Yeshiva at the Shoe-Store Window
• "Azoi Sheine Velt": My Grandmother's Beautiful World
• Escape, Loss, and the Choice to See Good
• Living with Abaye and Rava

Transcript

# Life as an Opportunity: Seeing the Beauty of Hashem's World

## "Also a World? Only a World!"

Tonight I want to speak about something fundamental: **what is this world, and what is life all about?**

Let me begin with a story from my grandfather, **Rav Shmuel Dovid Walkin zt”l**, who was a *talmid* of the **Chofetz Chaim**. My grandfather told me many stories about his *rebbe*, but one particular story has guided the way I understand life.

The Chofetz Chaim's son-in-law, **Rav Mendel Zaks**, once said to him, "Shver leben, you have to concede that **Olam Hazeh is also a world**."

You know how we speak in *mussar*: this world is only a *prozdor*, a corridor leading to the palace of **Olam Haba**. The true destination is the World to Come. But this son-in-law was asking, surely this world is also something worthwhile!

The Chofetz Chaim answered, in the way the story has been passed down in my family: **"Also a world? Only a world!"**

Why? Because in this world you can **learn Torah**, you can **daven**, you can say a *kapitel Tehillim*, you can perform a mitzvah, and you can help another Yid. In the next world the opportunity to acquire further mitzvos in the ordinary way is gone. **This is the world of action. This is the world of opportunity.**

That is what I want to talk about tonight. How do we appreciate the world the Ribbono Shel Olam created and recognize all the opportunities in it, without losing our purpose?

Let's begin with the **Nazir** of Parashas Naso.

A Nazir separates himself from certain ordinary activities. He refrains from wine and grape products, cutting his hair, and becoming *tamei* through contact with the dead (Bamidbar 6). Chazal connect the *parashah* of Nazir to the *parashah* of Sotah: **"הרואה סוטה בקלקולה יזיר עצמו מן היין"** (Sotah 2a)—someone who witnesses the Sotah's downfall should separate himself from wine.

Why is that the appropriate response? And why should a person become more holy by limiting something that Hashem put into His beautiful world?

That question is the beginning of our discussion. We want to understand **how to live in this world**, not simply how to escape from it.

## Is a Nazir Holy or a Sinner?

Listen to the seeming contradiction. The Torah calls the Nazir **"קדוש יהיה"** (Bamidbar 6:5). He is *kadosh*, set apart for Hashem. Yet Chazal also describe a Nazir as a *chotei*, a sinner, in connection with his separating himself from wine (Taanis 11a and Nedarim 10a discuss this tension).

Which is it? Should we praise someone who refrains from the pleasures of this world, or criticize him for refusing things that Hashem created for our enjoyment?

The Gemara teaches that the Nazir is called a sinner because **"שציער עצמו מן היין"**—he caused himself discomfort by abstaining from wine. If abstaining from wine carries such criticism, what of someone who denies himself many permitted pleasures?

Think about the *brachah* we make when we see blossoming fruit trees: **"שלא חיסר בעולמו כלום וברא בו בריות טובות ואילנות טובות ליהנות בהם בני אדם"** (Berachos 43b). Hashem created a beautiful world with things from which people can benefit.

Look at fruit! So many kinds, colors, textures, and flavors. Why did the Ribbono Shel Olam create all that beauty? **He wanted people to benefit from His world.**

But then why is the Nazir praised for staying away?

The answer is that **both ideas are true**. Enjoyment is a gift, but enjoyment without guidance can destroy a person. The question is not whether something is pleasurable, but **how, when, and why** we use it.

Take a car. If somebody causes a tragic accident, does that mean the invention of the automobile is bad? Of course not. It means an instrument capable of tremendous good can cause damage when used without proper training and responsibility.

Food is another obvious example. It sustains health and life, but can also become harmful when used without limits.

The key is **balance**—not endlessly chasing more, and not automatically rejecting every permitted pleasure. One needs to know the proper measure and purpose.

And that is the *mahalach* of our *shmuess*: to look at the many opportunities Hashem places in this world, to appreciate them, and to learn how to use them properly. Real joy comes from **living with a purpose**, not from taking everything offered without thought.

Now let us learn a beautiful Gemara that reveals what the Nazir is meant to become.

## Shimon HaTzaddik and the Young Shepherd

The Gemara (Nazir 4b; Nedarim 9b) tells us:

**"אמר שמעון הצדיק מימי לא אכלתי אשם נזיר טמא חוץ מאדם אחד שבא אלי מן הדרום."**

Shimon HaTzaddik said that, throughout his life, he had not eaten from the guilt-offering of an impure Nazir, with one exception. He was concerned that a Nazir who became impure and had to begin again might regret his vow, calling its sincerity into question.

But one day a beautiful young shepherd from the south appeared, **"יפה עינים וטוב רואי וקווצותיו סדורות לו תלתלים"**—handsome, with fine eyes and locks of hair arranged in curls.

Shimon HaTzaddik asked him: **"בני, מה ראית לשחת שער נאה זה?"** My son, why have you decided to destroy such beautiful hair?

The young man explained: **"רועה הייתי לאבי בעירי"**—I was a shepherd for my father in my town. He went to draw water, looked at his reflection, and saw his own beauty. Then **"ופחז יצרי עלי ובקש לטורדני מן העולם"**—my *yetzer hara* rose against me and sought to drive me from the world.

Pay attention, *rabosai*, to those words: **"לטורדני מן העולם."**

He responded to his *yetzer hara*: **"ריקה, מפני מה אתה מתגאה בעולם שאינו שלך, שסופך להיות רמה ותולעה?"** Empty one! Why are you proud in a world that is not yours, when your body will eventually return to the earth?

Then he pledged to dedicate his beautiful hair to Hashem through *nezirus*.

Shimon HaTzaddik embraced him and said: **"כמותך ירבו נזירים בישראל"**—may there be many Nazirites like you in Israel.

Why was this case different? The young man did not reject beauty because it was evil. He recognized that beauty could become a **distraction from his true life**, and he made a commitment *leshem Shamayim*.

Now I want to examine the Gemara's word **"לטורדני."** We usually use the word *tirdos* for the burdens and obligations that interrupt our pleasures. A person says he has too many *tirdos*: children, work, household responsibilities, and problems. Those are stopping him from enjoying life.

But in the Gemara, what threatens to drive the young shepherd **out of his world**? His **yetzer hara**, tempting him to chase empty pleasures and abandon what he truly values.

Perhaps we have our definition of *tirdah* backward. Let's think about that.

## Which Things Are Life, and Which Are the Tirdos?

A person says, "I need a vacation. I need enjoyment. I need to get away from all my obligations." The children, work, *parnassah*, and responsibilities become his **tirdos**, the disturbances that keep him from what he thinks life is meant to be.

But according to the lesson we are drawing from Shimon HaTzaddik's shepherd, it can be precisely the other way around.

**Building a family, providing for people, learning Torah, davening, and doing chesed—those are life.** The empty pursuit of momentary pleasure can become the *tirdah* that distracts us from life.

That doesn't mean a person may never take a vacation or enjoy himself. We said already that Hashem made a beautiful world. The question is where enjoyment belongs in your **overall purpose**.

What is your main life, and what is only supposed to support it? The young shepherd recognized that admiration of his own appearance was starting to pull him out of the life he was meant to live. He made a deliberate change.

I want you to take this Gemara home and learn it again. Ask yourselves what **"ובקש לטורדני מן העולם"** means. The *yetzer hara* did not offer him the whole world. It threatened to take away the world that was truly his.

## The Nazir Teaches Balance

The Nazir has three central restrictions: wine and grape products, cutting the hair, and *tumah lemeis*. Why these restrictions? In particular, why is **wine** the focus?

An explanation attributed to the **Alshich** emphasizes that wine has tremendous potential in both directions. We use it for Kiddush, for celebrating Shabbos and Yom Tov, and in the *avodah* of the Beis HaMikdash. Yet misused wine can produce terrible behavior and spiritual decline.

Wine therefore represents a powerful example of worldly pleasure. The Nazir steps away from it temporarily, not because wine is inherently evil, but so that he can learn to control his relationship to it.

And after the *nezirus*, does he remain forever forbidden to drink wine? No. The Torah specifically says **"ואחר ישתה הנזיר יין"** (Bamidbar 6:20)—afterward the Nazir may drink wine.

But listen to those words. It still calls him **"הנזיר"**! If the period of nezirus has ended, why refer to him by that title?

Here is the thought: **he is a different man now.** He returns to wine, but not with the same lack of discipline that might once have ruled his life.

He has learned to use Hashem's gifts with proper measure and purpose. The object of *nezirus* was not simply to endure thirty days of abstinence. It was to become the kind of person who can return to this beautiful world and live in it properly.

I want to show you how far this idea goes in the words of the *pesukim*.

## "VeAchar Yishteh HaNazir Yayin": A New Way to Live

The Torah says **"ואחר ישתה הנזיר יין"** (Bamidbar 6:20)—and afterward the Nazir shall drink wine.

The **Alshich**, in the approach I am presenting, draws attention to the wording. The person finished his period of *nezirus*, yet the Torah still calls him **"הנזיר"**. Why?

Because the purpose was not merely to avoid wine for thirty days. It was to learn how to **drink wine properly** afterward. The Nazir emerges with a different understanding of enjoyment. He knows that he does not have to surrender to every appetite.

There is a beautiful *Chassidishe vort* attributed to the **Beis Yisrael**, the Gerer Rebbe, on the expression **"ואחר"**, as distinct from an ordinary way of saying "afterward." The word hints that the Nazir has become an **acher**, a different person. This is *derush*, not a new grammatical law, but listen to its message: **the man who returns to wine is not the same man who began his nezirus**.

He looks the same. He has the same face and the same home. But his relationship with the world has changed. He is more thoughtful, more disciplined, and more aware of what the Ribbono Shel Olam expects from him.

And look at the Torah's words describing the end of the period:

**"וזאת תורת הנזיר ביום מלאת ימי נזרו יביא אותו אל פתח אהל מועד"** (Bamidbar 6:13).

What is **"יביא אותו"**—*he shall bring him*? Who is bringing whom? Ordinarily you would say the Nazir **comes** to the entrance of the Ohel Moed. Why speak of bringing **him**?

An explanation I bring from the **Meshech Chochmah** sees here the **new person** who has emerged. He brings that changed person to the service of Hashem. The exact comment should be checked inside before assigning the formulation verbatim.

Do you hear the *yesod*? It isn't only a technical period of abstention. The mitzvah is designed to **transform the person**.

Now you might ask, how much can a person change in **thirty days**? Can a person become someone else in such a short time?

I want to show you a still more remarkable idea: the transformation may begin **the moment he makes a real commitment**. Let's examine the other laws of Nazir, and what they tell us about change.

## One Small Commitment Can Change a Person

The **Sforno** discusses the distinctive restrictions of the Nazir. He does not separate from every pleasure the world offers. He accepts particular restrictions: no grape products, no haircutting during *nezirus*, and no *tumah lemeis*.

Think about that. We have been speaking of becoming a different person, a person of *kedushah*. Yet the Nazir doesn't commit himself to fasting or abandoning the normal world entirely. He makes a focused decision.

The *mussar* lesson is tremendous: **you don't need to change everything at once in order to begin changing yourself**.

Maybe a person realizes that he speaks *lashon hara* too easily. Maybe he needs to work on the way he speaks to his family. Perhaps there's one *taavah*, one habit, or one attitude that he knows is pulling him away from the kind of person he wants to become.

Take **one thing** and make a real commitment. A person can make tremendous progress through a focused *avodah*.

And look how quickly the new identity begins. He is called a Nazir when he accepts *nezirus*. The commitment gives a direction to the coming thirty days. He has already chosen what kind of person he intends to become.

Now let me ask about the third restriction. **Why may a Nazir not become tamei through the dead?** The Torah says **"על נפש מת לא יבא"** (Bamidbar 6:6). What is the connection between a vow concerning wine and this prohibition?

One obvious explanation is the Nazir's special **kedushah**. The Torah separates him in certain respects like a *Kohen*. There are specific exceptions and distinctions in the halachah, but the basic idea is that his special status imposes restrictions.

The **Baal HaTurim** is also cited in this *shmuess* with an unusual explanation involving a Nazir's spiritual closeness and a concern that someone seeing him near graves might misunderstand a spiritual revelation as *doresh el hameisim*. This is a striking attribution. I am reporting the teaching as it was said, but **the exact printed Baal HaTurim text has not been verified**.

Why bring it? Because it expresses the possibility that a person who genuinely dedicates himself to Hashem can reach an extraordinary spiritual level.

And there is a third approach that I want to emphasize, associated here with later *mefarshim*, possibly the **Haamek Davar** or another commentary: the Nazir is supposed to protect the atmosphere of **simchah** and *kedushah* in which he is growing. Mourning and death can bring a person into *atzvus*.

We have to verify the attribution before quoting it as a commentary's precise position. But as a *mussar* thought, it leads to something extremely important: **what part does simchah play in becoming a different person?**

Before answering, let me tell you a story.

There is a *maaseh* told about **Rav Yehoshua Leib Diskin**, the Maharil Diskin, who heard a child crying in Yerushalayim. Instead of dismissing the noise, he said that the cry reminded him how a Yid ought to call out to his Father in Heaven while in *galus*. [The historical source of the anecdote needs confirmation.]

Even an ordinary experience can awaken *avodas Hashem* when a person chooses to hear it the right way. That's the kind of attention to the world I'm talking about.

## Simchah, Kedushah, and Changing Our Lives

We have discussed the Nazir's unusual *kedushah* and the different proposed explanations for the restriction on *tumah lemeis*. I want to develop the approach that places emphasis on **simchah**.

Chazal teach **"אין השכינה שורה ... מתוך עצבות ... אלא מתוך דבר שמחה של מצוה"** (Shabbos 30b)—the Shechinah does not rest through a state of sadness, but through the joy associated with a mitzvah.

A person who wants to draw closer to Hashem must cultivate a healthy inner life. That doesn't mean we deny suffering, or that sadness is a personal failure. But it does mean that **simchah** is not merely an optional luxury. It is a powerful element of *avodas Hashem*.

People sometimes chase pleasure after pleasure because they feel something missing inside. They hope the next experience will fill the emptiness. The Nazir steps away from one particular pleasure and discovers that the measure of a meaningful life isn't how much pleasure he can consume.

He is learning to live in a world of **purpose, connection, and kedushah**.

And that brings us back to change. A person says, "I want to improve, but look at everything I've done before. I've failed so many times. I'm stuck in the past."

The Torah gives him another way to think. He can decide, **right now**, which direction he wants his life to take. The past may require accountability and *teshuvah*, but it does not have to define the entire future.

That's the extraordinary idea I want to show you in the next pasuk about a Nazir who becomes *tamei* before finishing his *nezirus*.

The Torah says **"והימים הראשנים יפלו"** (Bamidbar 6:12)—the earlier days fall away. The immediate *halachic* meaning is that those earlier days do not count toward the required period and he must start again.

But a *Chassidishe vort* reads the words as **mussar**: if you fall, do not surrender your entire future to the fall. Make a new beginning.

A Nazir may have to restart the count, but he does not have to give up the commitment. And that's what each of us should learn from him.

## "VeHayamim HaRishonim Yiplu": Leave the Failure Behind

The Torah says about a Nazir who became *tamei*: **"והימים הראשנים יפלו"** (Bamidbar 6:12).

In the *halachah*, those earlier days of *nezirus* no longer count. But the **Beis Yisrael**, as I heard his *vort*, points to the very wording: **the earlier days fall away**.

A person who failed says, "Now I've ruined everything. I am exactly where I started. I may as well give up." That itself can become the greatest obstacle.

The lesson is: **acknowledge the mistake, begin again, and look ahead.** Don't let the fact that yesterday went wrong become the reason for throwing away tomorrow.

Now let's return to the rule that **"כל הרואה סוטה בקלקולה יזיר עצמו מן היין"**. The man has seen a terrible moral failure. Why isn't seeing the consequences enough? Shouldn't he say, "I've learned my lesson; I won't behave that way"?

The *mefarshim* explain that **seeing wrongdoing itself can affect a person**, even if he knows it is wrong. An experience leaves an impression. A person must sometimes make an active positive commitment to counteract what he has absorbed.

That is a profound *yesod*. **What we choose to watch, what we listen to, and what we become accustomed to seeing can shape us quietly over time.**

I want to tell you a story attributed to **Rav Baruch Ber Leibowitz**. There was a fight outside, and young people wanted to run and watch it. Rav Baruch Ber urged them not to go. He recalled that when he was a child, his father warned him not to watch such a fight. He disobeyed, and the sight stayed with him and affected him for years. [The original source and details of this story require checking.]

What's so terrible about looking at a fight for a few moments? The answer is that impressions remain. Violence can slowly begin to feel normal if we turn it into entertainment.

So the Torah tells us that when a man sees **kilkul**, he should not only turn away from it in that moment. He should do something to **raise himself** and reinforce his values.

That's why I keep emphasizing the Nazir as a model of positive change. He takes what could have left a negative mark on him and uses it as the motivation to become a better person.

Now I want to give some examples of the messages we absorb without even noticing—and then tell you a story about how a *gadol* deliberately sought out positive impressions instead.

## The Impressions We Take into Ourselves

Let me show you how quietly a person can become accustomed to things around him.

I heard two *bachurim* discussing hockey. One commented on the unusual sight of a player who still had all his teeth! They explained the physical nature of the sport and how injuries had become part of its public image. To me that was startling. What another person considers normal, somebody else may find shocking.

Now, I'm not giving you a *psak* about watching sports. I'm asking a different question: **what messages do we gradually absorb from the things we treat as entertainment?**

In sports people talk about **stealing a base**, **stealing the ball**, and fighting. Of course these are sports expressions and not the halachic act of theft. But language and repeated experiences do have an effect on the way we think.

Even at the Seder, some call the children's custom **"stealing the Afikoman."** There are *gedolim* who preferred different language or practices, out of sensitivity to the impression made on children. I recall an objection attributed to **Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach**, though the exact source and context would need checking.

My main point is not to issue a prohibition every time somebody uses a familiar expression. It is that **we cannot be indifferent to the impressions we choose to receive**.

A person can watch conflict or cruelty repeatedly and begin to feel that it's ordinary. That was the concern illustrated by the story of Rav Baruch Ber. And Chazal's instruction to one who sees a Sotah's *kilkul* is not simply, "See it and learn the lesson." It is, "Respond by elevating yourself."

So let's learn to choose our influences carefully. The Ribbono Shel Olam created an extraordinarily beautiful world. There are acts of kindness, patience, love, selflessness, and devotion all around us. Why shouldn't we deliberately look at **those things** and let **those impressions** shape us?

I heard an unforgettable story about **Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz** from **Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel**, the Rosh Yeshiva of the Mir. It captures exactly what I mean.

## A Rosh Yeshiva at the Shoe-Store Window

Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel, despite tremendous illness, devoted himself to Torah and to sustaining the Mir Yeshiva. I heard him speak to a *kollel* in America, and he related a story about **Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz**.

Rav Chaim used to take walks. As he passed a particular shop, he would stop at its window and look inside for a few minutes. It was a **children's shoe store**.

His *talmidim* noticed this. They wondered if the Rosh Yeshiva needed shoes for his grandchildren, but perhaps did not want to go into the store himself. They offered to buy whatever was needed.

He told them that he was not shopping. He stood there because he saw **mothers caring for their children**—helping them try on shoes, giving attention, and showing such selfless devotion.

"That," he said in the story as I heard it, "is something beautiful. I want to take it in."

Do you hear? He went out of his way to look at **goodness**.

He knew he could see such acts of human care **here**, in this world. He wanted to witness them while he had the opportunity. Why should a person be so eager to take in ugliness when the world is full of love, *chesed*, and devotion?

That is the world I want us to appreciate. We have to train our eyes to recognize it.

Now I want to tell you something very personal: a lesson I received from **my grandmother**, who had every reason, from her experiences, to look at the world with bitterness.

## "Azoi Sheine Velt": My Grandmother's Beautiful World

I hear people say, "It's a crazy world—*a meshugene velt!*" A person reads the newspaper first thing in the morning, fills his mind with every terrible event, and then says the whole world is depressing.

I always wonder, why does he choose to fill his day that way? Nobody forces him to make every tragedy and ugly story the center of his inner life. There are things we must know and responsibilities we must face, but we can choose what dominates our attention.

My **Bubby, aleha hashalom**, used to say the exact opposite: **"Azoi sheine velt!"**—What a beautiful world!

Now, listen carefully. This was not a woman who had known an easy life. She had lived through terrible persecution and the upheaval of the war years. She saw loss, danger, and cruelty.

She was raised in the small town of **Trab**, in what is now Belarus. Her father was a *rav* there. She had three small children, one of them my father, who was still a baby.

Shortly before **Shavuos**, the family learned that they and others in the community were on a list for deportation to **Siberia**. Under the Soviet authorities, even the slightest suspicion could bring terrible consequences.

Her father arranged for a driver and a possible escape across the border. In the telling of this family story, on **Shavuos morning**, before dawn, he woke her and told her it was time to leave.

She had to take her three children and whatever she could carry. Among the possessions she took were her **leichters**, her candlesticks. In the memory passed down in our family, there was snow and bitter cold even though it was Shavuos.

She begged her father to come with them. But he answered that he was the **rav of the community**. If he escaped, the authorities might take revenge on the people who remained. He felt an obligation to stay with them.

That was **the last time she saw her father**.

Before they separated, he took off his boots and gave them to her for the journey.

I want you to imagine that moment: a daughter leaving her father behind, carrying her little children, with danger all around them, and the father giving her the boots from his own feet.

That is the sort of life my grandmother knew. Yet she said: **"Azoi sheine velt."**

Let me finish the story, and then you'll understand something about the beautiful world she chose to live in.

## Escape, Loss, and the Choice to See Good

The family was not safe simply because they left their home. According to the account my grandmother passed down, the authorities learned that people were trying to escape and sent pursuers with dogs through the forest.

At one point the driver proposed a desperate plan: send the horse and wagon in one direction to draw the pursuit away, while the families fled on foot another way.

My grandmother ran with her children. Not everyone managed to escape. She spoke of families who lost their lives, including people connected with a family later known to us in Queens. I cannot reconstruct every name and circumstance accurately from this recording, and those details deserve separate historical verification.

Her journey continued through extraordinary difficulties, eventually including the route through **Shanghai**. There is so much more to tell, but that is enough to understand the depth of what she endured.

Now listen to the contrast.

One man opens his newspaper, reads about terrible things, and declares: "What an awful world!"

And here was my grandmother, who had seen the worst cruelty and danger firsthand, who could still say, **"What a beautiful world!"**

How is that possible?

I think the answer is that the ugly events around her were not allowed to become **the whole of her inner world**. She recognized what existed outside, but she chose to build a world of Torah, family, kindness, *emunah*, and goodness within it.

A Yid can live **in** a troubled world while belonging inwardly to another world, a world filled with beauty and purpose.

Remember the shepherd in the Gemara: **"מפני מה אתה מתגאה בעולם שאינו שלך"**—why are you proud in a world that is not yours? The plain meaning is that this world belongs to Hashem, not to a person's ego. But perhaps, by way of *derush*, we can hear something more: the empty world to which the *yetzer hara* is pulling you **need not be your world**.

There is another world available to you. You can create a beautiful world inside the world around you.

And how does a Yid do that? My father taught me something wonderful: **he has a refuge in Torah**.

Wherever he is physically, he can open a Gemara and enter the world of **Abaye and Rava**, of **Pumbedisa** and **Nehardea**. The streets around him may be filled with confusion, but the world he is living in through Torah is a world of eternal meaning.

This is not physical escape from responsibility; it is a way of protecting and cultivating one's inner life. You are still here, with your family and obligations, but your mind and heart are connected to something higher.

I want to end with one story about that connection and then a beautiful line from **Rav Yehudah HaLevi**.

## Living with Abaye and Rava

My father explained to me what it means to live with a Gemara. A man may be physically sitting in one place, but when he learns deeply he is transported into the *beis medrash* of the *Amoraim*. In his mind he is with **Abaye and Rava**, in the sugyos of **Pumbedisa** and **Nehardea**.

He is not merely reading an old book. **He is living in the world of Torah.**

I heard a story about the great Mir Rosh Yeshiva **Rav Shmuel Berenbaum**. A distressed parent once came and asked him to *daven* for a sick child. At first the Rosh Yeshiva was hesitant; he saw himself as someone dedicated to learning Torah, not as a person who regularly dispensed promises of miracles.

But the parent pleaded, and the Rosh Yeshiva took the pain seriously. According to the story, he offered a heartfelt *tefillah*, and the child later recovered. People came back amazed, calling him a *baal mofes*.

He rejected that description. In the account as it was told, he explained that he had spent his life learning **Abaye and Rava**. Their Torah had become his constant companionship. He had appealed in *tefillah* from within that closeness to Torah and its *chachamim*.

I am sharing the story as an oral recollection; its exact wording and circumstances require independent verification. But hear the point: **a person can live in the company of Torah**. That is the world that matters to him.

Rav Yehudah HaLevi expressed this longing in unforgettable words:

**"לבי במזרח ואנכי בסוף מערב"**—My heart is in the East while I am at the far end of the West.

A Jew can be standing physically in one place while his heart belongs to **Yerushalayim**, to Torah, and to the Ribbono Shel Olam.

So now let us return to the Nazir and to the world around us. His *nezirus* teaches that a person can step back from one thing, make one sincere commitment, and become a different person. He does not need to spend his days absorbed by ugliness, resentment, and empty pleasures.

**Look for the good. Take in the good. Build your own beautiful world through Torah, chesed, and emunah.**

You don't have to change everything at once. Start with **one thing**. Perhaps refrain from speaking *lashon hara*. Choose to say a kind word. Look for opportunities to help somebody. Take a negative experience and answer it with something positive.

Hashem has given us a world of extraordinary opportunity. That was the Chofetz Chaim's lesson at the beginning: **this is the world where we can accomplish**.

Don't surrender the world that could be yours to the *tirdos* of emptiness. Use the precious time you have to live a life that is truly beautiful.

May you all be *zocheh* to genuine **simchah**, *brachah*, and *hatzlachah*.