Three Profound Life Lessons from my Three Year Old

                                                 
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Dear Hank,
      I know I promised you, and my thousands upon thousands of readers from across the globe a Part Two on my Waze blog, but you will have to wait a bit longer. What I wanted to address on this warm summer evening was not one, heck, not even two, but three profound life lessons I recently learned from my three year old son, whom I affectionately refer to as "The Dude." Sometimes I ask him if I can call him "Little Buddy," but he gets upset and says no, I want you to call me "Dude." So Dude it is. Anyways, we were in the middle of our road trip from Denver to Cleveland, and we were stopped for lunch at the Indianapolis JCC mini cafeteria. The food was exceptional, and I thoroughly enjoyed my quesadillas. But as you know, this is not a food blog, so we will just leave it at that. Anyways as my wife was doing my baby's diaper, and everyone was finishing up in the bathroom, my oldest son, who we will call "Little Buddy" was looking at the indoor swimming pool. You see, the door was set up such that about four feet up, was a window, looking into the indoor pool. As Little Buddy was looking in there, the Dude, also was looking in. But he was very upset, since he couldn't see in the window-- he was too short. He told me, "Tatty, pick me up, I can't see!" Being in an unpleasant mood as a result of driving for the last 12 hours, I told him he aint' missing much, and not to worry about it. But the Dude persisted, and I lifted him up so he could see what was going on beyond the door. When I put him down, I myself squatted down to his level, and looked ahead, and lo and behold, I just saw a blue door. No window, and certainly, no indoor swimming pool. I then stood up, and saw through that magical window a whole new world, totally invisible to The Dude. This experience taught me not one, heck, not even two-- but three deep life lessons:

1) Empathize- It is critical in any relationship-- be it a parent-child, husband-wife, or peer-peer to be able to empathize with someone and to see things from their point of view. The Talmud teaches in Pirkei Avos, Ethics of our Fathers, that a person cannot judge their fellow until they arrive in their place. It was easy for me to judge The Dude and to be annoyed at him for kvetching from my point of view, 6.12 feet above the ground. But if I were him, 3 feet off the ground- unable to see the excitement beyond, while everyone else was enjoying the views, I might also very well be a little more than upset. It was only when I bent down to see the view from his vantage point that I well understood the meaning behind one of my favorite bitmojis: The struggle is real. We need to be able to see things from different vantage points--doing so will make us better spouses, better parents, and better people.

2) Be Happy with What You Have-- Cuz' You Might not be Missing Much
Another point that I learned from this exchange with The Dude, was that G-d gives us everything we need at any given time, and we shouldn't be longing for more. We are not missing out on anything. You see dearest Henry, The Dude thought that he was missing out on something special. But the reality was, that beyond those doors, the only thing that was going on was folks swimming laps, or doing water aerobics to help with their arthritis. Honestly, it is a tremendous achievement, and a very important thing when human beings are able to get out, and exercise-- it truly is a beautiful thing. But after life guarding for over five years during my high school and college years, I can confirm that watching them do their water aerobics in the indoor pool is about as interesting as watching the paint on the door leading to the indoor pool.  You see, The Dude, in his slight immaturity at age three missed this point-- he figured that if Little Buddy was looking into the indoor pool, and had access to something he didn't, that he was missing out on something deep and profound. The reality is, however, that he was just as well off watching that bulky door leading to the indoor pool. We should be happy with the situations in which we find ourselves-- and not be jealous of others who "appear" to have more than us-- since in reality they are simply watching people floating on noodles.

3) Don't use Tunnel Vision-- its a Grand Universe out there
To take a different angle, however, sometimes it is easy for us to feel stifled, as we can only see the world from our perspective, with our limited vision. We just see a door-- we don't realize that beyond the door is a whole new world. There lies a pool, that is very deep, filled with water. But we can't perceive it, and that can be frustrating. If we look up though, we see the window, and understand there is more to the picture than we are seeing from our human perspectives. There is a plan, a bigger picture. I also came to this realization one day as I was walking in Manhattan. As one walks the streets, and looks to his left and right, he sees, in addition to dog feces on the sidewalks and heaps of garbage, countless shops, stores and restaurants. But then if he looks up he realizes there is so much more-- the shops he sees at street level are simply but one floor of 100 floor structures. It is literally just the tip of the iceberg. In life, we need to look up-- to understand that there is a much larger picture, of which we have the privilege of being a distinct part.

Looking back at this amazing road trip with my family, during which we spent forty hours of car time together, we felt American and Patriotic as we crossed the Mississippi, we lip-synced to songs using a Red Bull and baby bottle as a microphone, we spent wonderful time with family,  and we were able to say thank you in person to the heroic doctors who helped treat our baby, there is no doubt that one of the highlights was gleaning deep wisdom from my three year old Dude.

Forever Yours,
Danny Wolfe
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It's a Long Road Ahead-- Don't Lose Your Waze: Part 1

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Dear Henry,

      This past week I had the distinct pleasure of attending a conference for rabbis such as myself-- 300 strong were in attendance from all over the planet. One rabbi in particular, a man named Rabbi Mindell mentioned something so brilliant it literally blew my mind.

       But before I spill the beans and explain to you what he said, and how it was so profoundly ingenious, let me preface by telling you one of my biggest pet-peaves. More then when someone sneezes on his hand prior to shaking mine; heck, more than when someone coughs out loud seconds before my golf swing, it annoys me tremendously when ones' Waze GPS system suggests the person proceed one way, when the person decides he/she knows better than the GPS and proceeds to deliberately ignore it altogether, and opt for a different way. I never knew why this phenomenon so greatly troubled me, but it truly did. And the truth is I am not the easily-annoyed type. I like to think of my self as rather laid back and chilled out--more chilled, in fact, to quote the late, great, Stuart Scott, than the other side of the pillow. This however gets to me--and I never knew why...that is, until this past Tuesday when Rabbi Mindell explained it in a manner clearer than the pristine Hudson River.

       When people choose to ignore their GPS, they do so for one of two reasons. The first reason is that people of the older generation tend to ignore the GPS, because, as we say in Yiddish, they don't really "chap" (ie understand) how to use it, and why it's so helpful, when they have been going the same way for over sixty years. These folks I don't blame, and I have no problem with their neglecting the GPS. However, for the younger generations among us, who know darn well about the GPS; who used Waze for Morgan Freeman's comforting voice to guide us to far remote destinations; for those of us Waze users who harmonized along with T-Pain as he soulfully sang us how to get around a roundabout, we have no excuse to ignore our GPS. And when we do, articulately explains Rabbi Mindell, we are basically, perhaps unknowingly, proclaiming one undeniable fact: Forget the help of the scientifically brilliant technology which uses global positioning satellite-- I know better. I don't need no help in getting to where I need to go-- I know precisely where I need to go, and I know precisely how to get there. Please don't help me, because I know how to do it all by myself. But says Rabbi Mindell, and I now quote, "it takes anavah (humility) to follow Waze." Following Waze means that I understand that as skillful as I am, and as knowledgeable as I am about these roads I have been maneuvering for the last 15 years, perhaps there is another way to go that would be more effective. According to Alan Morinis, who has written books on mussar, or the act of acquiring positive character traits, based on the Talmud, a Jewish definition of humility is, "limiting oneself to an appropriate amount of space while leaving room for others." Yes, As a fourth generation Denverite I know darn well how to get from point A to point B. But perhaps there are other approaches as well, and perhaps I can even learn from them to get around more efficiently.
        And this, dear Henry, explains my epiphany from this past Tuesday. Namely, the reason why I get so annoyed when people don't listen to their GPS-- because more than any character flaw, the one that bothers me the absolute most, is when I perceive arrogance in other people. That annoys me to no end. It makes sense, therefore, why folks not listening to their GPS-- a seemingly innocuous crime troubles me as much as it does. We need to learn from others. We need to understand that we do not have all the answers. As the Talmud says, "Who is wise? The one who learns from all people." Who is wise? The one who has the humility to listen to his or her Waze.

Forever Yours,
Danny Wolfe

PS. We are only scratching the surface on the brilliance of WAZE. Stay Tuned for Part Two, in where we take Waze's profound life lessons to a whole new level...

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I will not Forget

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Dear Henry,
     With the advent of apps like "Time Hop", and with Facebook's copy cat, "On This Day," we are now able to easily recall what we were doing at this time last year, and beyond. This morning, Facebook brought to my attention that one year ago today, we were in Bloomington Illinois, on our way to move to our new home in Denver. The picture shows my older children splashing away in a park that featured a water playground intended to provide its users much needed relief from the brutal heat and humidity. I was reminded of an unpleasant phone conversation I had with our moving company, where I was trying to understand how our actual costs were more than $5000 than what they estimated they would be. And then, I remembered what the next two days had in store for us.
       Unbeknownst to us, at that time, my baby daughter was suffering from meningitis, as the terrible disease was making its way to her brain. (For more on this, I wrote about it at the time here.) I am reminded how she only wanted to lay in her car seat, being tremendous irritated anytime we attempted to move her. I remember my 30th birthday, suffering through the gut-wrenching unknown of what would be, as my wife took her to the hospital in Kansas City. I remember tossing and turning the entire night, simply unable to fall asleep. I remember being paralyzed with fear of what could be wrong with her. I recall greeting the day with the confirmation of our worst fears-- that instead of finishing the last leg of our trip, we would be spending the foreseeable future in a hospital room in downtown Kansas City. I remember driving downtown to spend the day with my older children as my parents came as fast as they could on a 9 hour drive to pick them up. I will never forget getting on the highway at 9:00 AM with tears in my eyes, observing the darkest rain clouds I have ever seen in my entire life. I cannot forget spending what seems like an eternity putting on a happy front for my older three children as we played for hours at the Lego Museum and the Aquarium. I recall the last hour before my parents arrived, as we waited for them in the blistering heat at the hospital playground, which was equipped with a piano in the cement floor that played music when you stepped on the notes, and I recall the traffic light on the playground that turned colors, complete with a pretend cross-walk. It's funny, the little things you can remember. And I will not forget the 5 minutes I sat crying my eyes out in the parking garage of the hospital, before being reunited with my wife and precious baby. I will not soon forget the fearful days I spent in the hospital, the feeling of dread that accompanied my every breath, and the terrifying MRI's my child had under general anesthesia.
     Nor will I every forget the absolute closeness that I felt to the Almighty, as I pored over the Book of Psalms all day, every day. I will not forget the feeling that King David wrote those beautiful poetic psalms specifically for me, at this very moment. I will never forget the heroic doctors who worked tirelessly to treat my daughter with brilliant care. I will not forgot their sensitivity and their burning desire to help her recover. I will not forget our dear family friends who are doctors who with super-human sensitivity, helped us understand what we were dealing with. I will never forget the feeling that these people are the real heroes of our country. Nor will I forget the Jewish community of Kansas City, who despite not knowing us or having any connection to us, saw to it that our every need was taken care of, driving twenty minutes to the hospital to deliver us enough food for three meals a day, a crock pot, and a microwave. I will not forget the tremendous desire to pay them back for their kindness, and the tremendous frustration for not quite knowing how I ever can. I will not forget the emails, calls, and text messages from close friends, and from people I never met in my life. I will never forget the feeling that our distress, was the distress of the entire Jewish people. I will not soon forget the feeling that despite the fact that we were theoretically alone in a foreign city, I never felt so un-alone in my entire life. I will not forget feeling the loving embrace of the entire Jewish People. I will not forget my daughter's miraculous recovery. I will not forget her first smile in two weeks, as I was about to go back to Denver. I will not forget how the Kansas City Royals visited her, and my prediction that they would win the World Series. I will not forget the first time she said "Daddy," nor will I forget her first steps. As she continually thrives, spending her days showing off her gorgeous dimples, dancing, running around and playing, I will NEVER forget how fortunate and blessed we truly are.

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe
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The Rose & The Garbage Bin

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Dear Henry,
     This past Friday afternoon proceeded as most Friday's do. The unreal divine aroma of Shabbos wafting in the kitchen. Sampling in excess the gourmet, extremely delicious foods that would be served on Friday night for Shabbos dinner. And of course, the typical trip to the garbage dumpster on the side of the house where I fulfill one of my essential husbandly duties by taking out the trash. But this particular trip to this particular garbage bin on this particular Friday, dear Henry, was different. As I lifted the lid to the garbage bin with my tan right hand, I held my nose with my stubby left fingers, trying to avoid the inevitable stench of week old diapers filled with fecal matter from my 18 month old princess. I understand, dear Henry, that this was probably too much information, and for that I apologize; I'm just trying to convey an accurate picture of the day's events for the sake of my thousands upon thousands of reader across the expansive universe.

          As I put the lid back down, out of the corner of my eye I saw something that made my mouth drop. I saw a glistening shining rose that was as gold as the metals that the United States Olympics teams are going to be bringing home to this magnificent glorious country. And unlike the roses that I was accustomed to purchase for my wife when we lived in Washington Heights, Manhattan, this rose was not dyed fluorescent colors. It's beauty was breathtakingly natural. And it stood at about 5 feet tall, weighing in at 1.5 Ibs. I had quite frankly never seen anything quite like it. So I did a double take: right in front of me was my large smelly garbage bin- and behind it was one single magnificent golden rose. 

       Over the course of the Shabbos which immediately followed this discovery, I did some self reflection and came out with not one, not two, not even three, but four profound life lessons that this rose taught me about the most deep secrets of life.

1) Sometimes in life, if you look a little harder, you will uncover tremendous beauty, meaning and depth. If one of the tens of thousands of cars who drive on my street every day looked toward my house, they would observe an ugly garbage bin. But if only they looked a little deeper, if they gazed a little more carefully they would have discovered the beautiful rose nestled behind it. So too in life, many times we are quick to make negative judgments about other people or about situations-- but if we held off on judgment, and dug a little more, we would see the beauty behind what is really going on. We know that G-d not only created the world, but He continues to sustain it and run it every single day. Everything that happens in our world around us is latent with meaning and purpose. Sometimes it appears very smelly and ugly-- but we need to remember that He has a plan and behind the mess and the smell lies tremendous depth and purpose.

1a) Additionally, in our superficial world, people are very quick to dismiss potential life partners because of what they see with one quick look on the outside. But perhaps if they would dig in a little bit deeper, they would uncover a perfect rose beneath the surface.

2) Our happiness is up to us. Life can be a matter of perspective. And unfortunately, there is a lot of garbage going on in the world at large, and also in our own individual lives. However, there is also tremendous amounts of good that is happening-- again, both in the larger world, and in our own individual domains. The choice of what we will focus on remains up to us: We can either by Debbie Downers and Negative Nancy's and focus on the smelly garbage. Or, we can choose to focus on the remarkable flowers in our lives. The choice remains up to us.

3) G-d, in His infinite kindness, showers us with blessings we don't even deserve. I moved into my house a year ago. I like to think that as a new home owner, I am becoming more handy, and I have learned a lot of new sweet skills: like nunchuck skills, bow-hunting skills, computer hacking skills. And, I can now rake some leaves. I can hire a lawn-mowing service, and I can even kill some weeds and dandelions. One thing I cannot yet do, since I have never done it, is plant flowers. My golden rose did not blossom because of the toil and effort I put into my garden. It blossomed because someone before me planted it, leaving it for me to enjoy its beauty. I did nothing whatsoever to earn it, or deserve it. So too, In G-d's immense kindness He grants us enormous blessings in our daily lives, even if as a result of our own actions and individual merit, we don't deserve it. It is our duty to acknowledge these gifts, and to be grateful to the Almighty for them.

3a) On a similar note- we also must acknowledge, as the Talmud does in a similar vein, that our actions have massive ramifications for the future generations. The Talmud relays the famous story of a man who asks an elderly farmer why he is planting a tree when he for sure will not be able to enjoy its fruits. The man wisely responds, perhaps I will not be able to enjoy its fruits, but my children undoubtedly will. We must choose our actions carefully and deliberately, as they will have a tremendous impact on future generations.

4) Out of the garbage sprouts beauty and life; out of the ashes brings forth hope. I believe that the rose appearing specifically alongside the garbage bin conveys a lesson embodied uniquely by the Jewish people for thousands of years. Generation after generations nations rise up to destroy us. And tragically, they cripple us in immensely painful ways. But time, after time, after time, we rise up again anew, and we continue to spring forth life. 

     
       

Forever Yours,
Danny Wolfe

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Let's not Fight: Life Lesson's from Parsha's Korach

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Dear Henry,

In this week’s Torah portion we read about the disconcerting efforts of Korach and his followers to challenge Moshe’s authority, accusing him and his brother Aaron of monopolizing all of the power over the Jewish People. Why, wonders Korach, are Moshe and Aaron better than anyone else, and more fit to lead? He therefore rallies a group of people against them and rebells, which ultimately leads to he and his followers downfall in which they are literally swallowed alive by the earth. Interestingly, in the immediate aftermath of their demise, the Torah records how Elazar, Aaron’s son, is given the charge of taking the copper fire pans that Korach and his people had used, and to hammer them into a covering that would be used for the alter. At first glance it seems strange that we would use such an item for the cover of the alter—an item that symbolizes a failed, inappropriate rebellion against Moshe and Aaron. The Torah itself tells us the reason these copper fire pans should be used as a cover for the alter is because it will serve as a reminder “that no alien who is not of the offspring of Aaron should draw near to bring up the smoke of incense before Hashem… that he not be like Korach and his assembly…”  The Talmud, and the Mishnah Berura, the decisive halachic volume for Ashkenazic Jewry worldwide, rule that based on this verse, we are not allowed to engage in machlokes, in quarreling or fighting. It appears that avoiding fights is not just a piece of good advice—it seems like it is brought as an actual Torah Prohibition. While it is true that there exists the concept of a machlokes l’sheim Shomayim, arguments for the sake of Heaven, like the arguments that Hillel and Shammai had where their motives were simply to seek the truth in clarifying the Torah’s laws, arguments for other purposes, not for the sake of achieving truth, are forbidden.

While it is true that sometimes we have every right to maintain a dispute with someone when we are doing it for the sake of Heaven, the reality is that when we are involved in any type of argument, we are playing with fire. Rabbi Chaim Morgenstern quotes the Chofetz Chaim who writes that a person involved in a quarrel is at risk of violating a plethora of Torah commandments: The prohibitions against slanderous speech, baseless hatred, anger, hurting the feelings of others, revenge, bearing a grudge, and, G-d forbid, desecrating G-d’s name. When faced with the scary consequences of what can come out of maintaining a dispute, one comes to an undeniable conclusion: It’s just not worth it.

The Chofetz Chaim comments further that just as Jews often spend large amounts of money on ritual items such as mezuzahs, lulav and esrogs for Sukkos, homemade shmura matzahs, so too we should be willing to spend money for the sake of peace. The Mishna in Pirkei Avos teaches us to, “Be like students of Aaron: Love peace, pursue peace, love mankind and draw them close to Torah.” Peace is something to be pursued, even at a financial cost. The Chofetz Chaim suggests putting money aside into a “Shalom/peace Fund” every year, to be used to compensate for monetary loss, or to spend to avoid fights and to maintain peace among family and community members. A few weeks ago my oldest child was running down the stairs at Coors Field to try to catch a baseball (Baruch Hashem, a successful endeavor). The problem was, in the process he knocked over another dude's beer. Needless to say, the poor guy was not so happy. Understanding the necessity to avoid conflict, my father on the spot diffused the situation, by simply buying the guy a new beer, and they became fast friends. On another occasion, I once observed on a long bus ride in Israel, a poor American tourist get on the bus at an isolated bus stop in the middle of the Jordan Valley without his transfer slip. He told the impatient bus driver that his previous driver whom he paid 50 shekels, told him on these buses, transfer slips were unnecessary; you just pay the first bus you are going on. The bus driver was unmoved, demanded payment, and a passionate argument ensued. Sitting toward the front of the bus was a young man who understood that avoiding fights is worth spending money on, and he offered to pay the tourist’s fare. Touched by the gesture, the bus driver refused the payment, was cheered up, and continued on his merry way.

This week begins the month of Tammuz, during which we commence the Three Weeks, leading up to the destruction of the Temple. Our rabbis famously teach us that the Temple was destroyed because of baseless hatred. They also teach that every year it is not rebuilt, it is as if that generation destroyed it. Let us take heed from the lesson of Korach, and avoid machlokes, literally at any cost.

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Ignorance is NOT Bliss

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Dear Henry,
     This past Thursday, June 30, I was in very high spirits. I found myself sitting on an outdoor patio meeting a friend, on an uncommonly cool day in Boulder, Colorado, nursing an ice cold half liter of beer at 11:30 AM. There was a slight breeze that I was savoring, and the excitement of July 4th weekend was tangible. After my meeting, I felt a buzz in my pocket, and saw that an old friend had sent me a Facebook message, asking me to read an article she should just written for The Times of Israel. In that article I was shocked to read about the previous night's events-- namely that a Palestinian Terrorist savagely, cowardly, stabbed to death a precious, pristine thirteen year old Israeli girl in her sleep. Reading this left me in a state of denial-- How could this happen when everything is so hunky-dory here? How could this have happened, and only now I am finding about it? Usually, I see disturbing news as it happens on Twitter. But then I remembered, as I wrote about a few months ago, that I removed Twitter, Facebook, and Safari from my smartphone. And I reflected that in general that has been an excellent move. No longer am I reading about mindless political tweets from the candidates, useless sports information, or other downright slanderous speech.
        However, at that moment, when I heard about this vicious attack hours after it happened, I realized getting rid of my Twitter had a downside as well. Because when tragedy happens to my dear brothers and sisters in our precious Holy Land, I want to know about it. I want to mourn with them, to feel their pain. I want to cry with them, to grieve with them. I don't want to be far away, oblivious to the unbearable pain they are going through. And the truth is, this is one of the things I miss most about Israel. Yes, of course I miss feeling the holiness every breath I take. And yes, I miss the food, and interacting with the colorful Israeli personalities. But I also miss crying with my nation during times of crisis. I miss the feeling that I am grieving alongside all of Am Yisroel, not in isolation in America, as everyone else is shooting off fireworks, celebrating this amazing country's independence. It is almost cruel how in America life just marches on, totally unfazed by the horrific tragedy in Israel. But I am shaken. Because the Jewish People are like one body. When the left foot is wounded, that affects the entire being. When part of the body is in pain, the whole body feels it as well.
        When a person is injured, he can take medication to numb the pain, to enable him to forget his misery. When it comes to the Jewish People, I don't want any medication to deceitfully hide the pain. I want to feel it.
        May G-d end our pain for good, and bring us all back to the Holy Land, speedily in our days.

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe

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#StayAtHomeDad

3:34 AM

Dear Henry,
      By all accounts it's the middle of the night. My 16 month old princess is snoring away like a Malaysian tapir. The others are sleeping soundly like little lion cubs. But not me- I am wide awake.

I am literally so excited I cannot sleep. Not because I am going to a Backstreet Boys Concert tomorrow, nor because I am going on a swanky vacation to the Congo. I am too excited to sleep because in 9 hours I get to go to the airport and pick up The Better Half, after ten very long days.

9:45 AM

      These past ten days, as I've manned the ship as a Stay at Home Dad, tending to the house, my four delicious children, laundry, dirty dishes, dirty diapers, you name it, I have learned an awful lot. I have learned that there is no wrong way to boil an egg, though there are a heck of a lot of wrong ways to strap in a child into her car seat. I learned, after a year in our house, where the measuring cups can be found. I learned that my youngest son is the only one of my children who cares for these snacks called "fruit leathers," and I learned that my 16 month old Tzippy loves being tickled while she has her diaper done. I also learned that either our brand new dryer needs replacing, or I shouldn't dry three loads of laundry at once. I learned that olive oil is a great way to remove gum from one's hair, and I also learned that it is not a good idea to throw a ball in the vicinity of a glass picture frame. I learned how to make a burrito in 10 seconds, and how to make a bowl of oatmeal in a minute and a half.

    But I also learned a few deeply profound life lessons-- lessons deeper than the Hampden Heights Swimming Pool deep end. Right now, oh Henry, I will discuss three of them with you. The first of these lessons is that human beings have such tremendous G-d given potential, it is truly astonishing. The great Mussar master, Rabbi Nosson Tzvi Finkel, the Alter of Slabodka teaches of the concept of Gadlus Ha'adam--the greatness of man. We are created in the image of the Almighty, and as such have incredible potential and capabilities. It is our job in this world to tap into that wellspring of talent we each were gifted by G-d. If you would have asked me 10 days ago how I would fare running the home for 10 days by myself, I would laughed at you. What do I know about running a home? I haven't done laundry since I was in college, I am not the most talented diaper changer, I don't know how to run the Dishwasher, and I cannot cook or bake. How was I expected to do all of this in addition to maintaining my patience with my four young children, and enable them to continue to thrive on a daily basis? But as my wife left at 5 AM in the morning, I realized that I was left with no choice-- I would have to dial into these previously untapped resources within me, and do the best I can. And by golly, I think I did a pretty decent job. In life, if we all felt an urgency to get a task done-- if we felt like we had no choice but to accomplish the job-- it is amazing how much we could truly achieve by utilizing talents and abilities we never knew we had.

   The second lesson I learned came as a surprise. You see, going into this adventure I already knew The Better Half was the epitome and embodiment of what a woman and wife should be. I thought that my absolute respect and admiration for her could increase no more-- it was already at the ceiling. After this trip, my respect, admiration and love for her is, as hard as this is for me to fathom, even greater than what it was before. I have concluded, without a doubt, that women in general, and my wife in particular, are possessed with super-powers. It is unreal what she does on a daily basis. Me getting a small taste of it for the last ten days was immeasurably valuable. I was faced with the dilemmas she is constantly faced with: One of our daughters is not yet in school. What do we do when she takes her morning nap? Should we ourselves rest, so we can be at our best later? Should we blogg, as I have opted to do at the present moment?  But there is too much still be done! What about starting the laundry load? Or emptying the dishwasher? Or maybe cleaning up the toy room? The dining room needs some vacuuming maybe I should do that? But,the kids are going to be hungry when they get home from school, maybe I ought to prepare them a snack? Speaking of food-- I am hungry, maybe I should eat now!  What about obliterating my festering dandelions? There also are a number of emails I need to respond to... These dilemmas my wife deals with on a regular basis, and she also takes care of me, and manages a job on top of all of that-- and does it all with such immense grace. How she does it, honestly, can only be attributed to the super human powers that the Almighty has given to her.

   And finally, the third lesson I learned: It really comes down to this blogg I wrote a few years ago when The Better Half went away to a conference for three days. At the time, that was the longest she had ever left, and I was at home with two children. I reflected in that blogg that my wife is my true inspiration, who motivates me to no end. In the days leading up to the trip, what gave me the most anxiety, was how I would manage the daily tasks of running a home without my wife there to help. I was most nervous about getting the kids off to school, feeding them, and getting them to bed, while maintaining order in the house. But, after ten days of doing exactly that, I can tell you that the hardest part was not the mundane routine that I had to perform on a daily basis. The hardest part of the last ten days was operating with a feeling that I wasn't fully present-- part of me was certainly absent. Ten days without having my wife by my side were in fact the ten longest days of my life. Every day I had a clear number in my head of how many days we had left until I could see her again. The feeling of incompleteness consumed me each of these 10 days. A natural lack of motivation permeated my entire being. On the rare occasion I was able to speak to her without being interrupted by my children I felt renewed with life and vigor that carried me throughout the day, and gave me a high for hours. In this week's Torah portion of Emor, the Kli Yakar describes a man's wife as his sustainer. He quotes the Talmudic passage that notes the fact that while a man might bring wheat home, is he the one who turns into bread? If he brings home flax, is he the one who turns it into clothing? A man's wife takes his abilities and potential, and turns him into a man. As the Kli Yakar says, she lights up his eyes, and stands him up on his feet.

As I am about to set out to pick up my wife from the airport, how true these words ring: I have no doubt that as soon as I see the Better Half, my eyes will once again be lit up, and I will be back on my feet. I truly can't wait.

Forever yours,
Danny Wolfe