I’m sorry. I hear you.

77% Weekly Newsletter

I’m sorry. I hear you.


The child whose day it is to empty the dishwasher did so before going to school today.

Hooray.

(It doesn’t always happen.)

And I decide, before I disappear into ROTB work—in the spirit of everyone putting in a little extra effort—to load the contents of the very crowded sink into the machine and start it.

I leave the knives and wooden cutting board that need to be hand washed.

Maybe I’ll do those at lunch time.
Maybe Jane will see the effort the kids and I put in and she’ll do them.

I’m answering emails in my basement office when I hear Jane from upstairs, “You don’t need to defend yourself, but I know I’ve repeatedly asked you and the kids to get the food scraps out of the bottom of the sink. It’s disgusting.”

I want to say, “Do I not get credit for clearing out the sink?”

But I don’t.

Jane continues from the kitchen, “All you need to do is say, ‘I hear you.’”

I swallow and do my best to say, “I hear you, Jane,” without any snotty tone.

It’s easy to defend ourselves.
Far easier.
But that doesn’t always mean it’s the right thing to do.

Let’s all try this week to not always defend ourselves, depending on the situation. It gives other people dignity. Sometimes “I hear you” is enough.

“I love you” x 3

For reasons a team of psychoanalysts might have been able to crack, my dad couldn’t get the three-word phrase “I love you” to come out of his mouth. I knew he loved us. It’s just he couldn’t say it. I rationalized that I didn’t need to hear those three words, but it hurt anyway. This is the story about how

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Truth Matters

I am standing in Kenya, with my left foot in the Northern Hemisphere and my right foot in the Southern. A line on the ground indicates the equator. Young men—asking for nothing, but hoping for tips—entertain and educate tourists, like me, about the Coriolis effect. They pour water into bowls with small holes at the bottom and let the water

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Stuff Gets To Me

✧✧✧ As I pack up to leave after my workout, someone asks me, “Hey, Rabbi, how are things going?” I’m not one for small talk. Especially after being called by my title. “Well,” I reply. “I’m sad.” “Why?” “I’m thinking about the girls who went to school in the morning in Minab, Iran—over a hundred of them—killed by a bomb.”

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77% Weekly Newsletter
77% Weekly Newsletter