Mom taught me to not waste time arguing with people. That’s how she got me to go to sleep early.
It was about giving people their space. Allowing for their self-expression. In this Olam, world, there is a lot of selfishness. Not Mom. Mom, always focused on the other person's needs. Those needs never included myself skipping school.

(Vayikra 25:10) "And you shall sanctify the fiftieth year, and proclaim freedom in the land for all who all its inhabitants. (Yovel) It shall be a Jubilee for you, and you shall return each man to his property, and you shall return each man to his family." And I am hoping that jerk gives me back the Mickey Mantle card he lied about when I was a kid.
In Yovel, slaves become free. Slaves are given their freedom of movement and are thus free. (Ramban). When people can move as they please, they are free.
The year of rest. The year of Yovel. The year of "Dror." Freedom. A year where kids shouldn't have to go to school.
"And man shall return to his inheritance." Returning to who you are. It is that return that gives Dror. Freedom. And my Mickey Mantle back.

Mom, Necha Bat Rav Chayim Zaydel vRiva Leah, passed away in a year of Yovel, Jubilee, after a life in this physical world of giving us all Nechama, comfort. She did this by allowing people to be who they are. By respecting what is theirs. Giving and accepting.
This acceptance of individuality gave people freedom of movement to be who they are as people, as Jews. Never wavering her commitment to Torah, she never used Torah to judge one’s personality. She used it to follow in Gd's ways, and to allow people to make very dumb decisions.
That gift of freedom and non-judgmental acceptance allows for celebration. And Rebbetzin Kilimnick gave everybody celebration.

About Taste You Don't Argue
Mommy always said "Al Taam vReyach Ein LHitvakeiach." "When it comes to taste and smell, there isn't what to argue about." She said it in Hebrew, which made it sound Biblical. Which means it's true.
Mommy and Abba always used Hebrew or Yiddish to make a point. I learned at a young age that you can't argue anything said in another language. Especially when you don't understand it.
I learned later on that it has to be said in Hebrew. In English, the saying doesn't rhyme.  
Mom allowed people freedom. She allowed people to be who they are. And that is Kadosh.

Mommy repeated it a lot. It was Mom's mantra. Whenever giving advice. And it manifested itself. I had no idea what it meant. If she would've just said it in English. As I recently learned later, it means “other people are very stupid. Don’t waste your time arguing with them.”
For years, we had arguments. "I hate soccer." "Al Taam vReyach Ein LHitvakeiach." "OK. Sounds good."
Mom thought I was getting a Jewish education. She thought I understood Hebrew. The only thing I learned in Jewish day school is that other Jewish kids also don't know Hebrew. I definitely don't understand transliteration. I now know that "Al" doesn't mean AI.
Al means "on." It might mean "about," or "when it comes to." With an Aleph it means "don't." It means too many things, and I stopped trying in fourth grade.

It was a matter of acceptance. Even when Mom came to my comedy and karaoke club, she accepted everybody. Along with Abba, she encapsulated a Yiddishkeit, a way of Jewish life, that people wanted to attach to. One in which they weren't judged for being a weirdo. A Yiddishkeit in which you could be free to serve Gd as somebody who has fondness of singing off tune.

Mom Wanted Me to Think of Others
When I think about other people, I like to think how they're wrong.
Al Taam vReyach Ein LHitvakeiach is about thinking of the other. About making them happy. About appreciating their thoughts. Nothing to do with arguments. That's why we gave gifts all the time. They start arguing with you, you give them a little trinket of a rebbe, they stop arguing with you.
I was into my own stuff. Mom wanted me to not be selfish. To not be focused just on me.​ Which is why I did not make it to the NBA. 
Mom wanted me to grow up to not be like the eighth-grade jerk who traded me Mike Greenwell cards for a Mickey Mantle and told me I was getting a great deal. How could I argue with him. He was very happy getting the Mickey Mantle. Al Taam vReyach Ein LHitvakeiach. If I only knew what it meant. The jerk had a penchant for stealing from people. Mom would've been proud of me if I had told her I gave away three thousand dollars because an eighth grader said, "You're getting such a good deal. I'm only happy, because I’m happy for you."

Mommy thought about other people, and she wanted me to think about other people. We even wrapped gifts. Half of my childhood I remember wrapping up stuff for other people. "Why do they get a Nintendo? I would like one of those." I think the Nintendo is enough. No. It has to be wrapped and personalized. A note, "This Nintendo is not for David."
It was about celebrating the other person's uniqueness, even if they liked carrots and peas in a can. To this day, I still don't know who's buying that stuff.
We would personalize the gift. Celebrate each unique person. 
Al Taam VaReaich. You get a gift you don't like, you can't argue. We thought it was a good idea. A gift specifically for you. My nephew hadn't learned that yet, when we gave him a train set for his birthday. He wanted the one with more colors. And so, he rightfully threw it and cursed out his Bubbie. 

Mom Was an Excellent Cook
Finally I moved to Israel. I realized the saying meant, "Don't argue with Sefardim about food." If they like it spicy, don't judge them.
Mom was an amazing cook. Great Taam. Loved her food. B"H my sister does a great job with Mom's food. Duck sauce chicken, amazing pies, quiches, Kugels, best lasagna, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. I can go on with the different dishes that made me fat.
The only person who argued with Mom’s taste was a Sefardi guy who made a point of saying the food has no taste. Apparently, if it's not Schug, it has no taste. I guess he didn't understand the saying, and that Ashkenazim have different taste. And he would argue about it. This guy needs Schug in everything. He needs his lemon pie Charif. The guy needs his desserts spicy. "Oatmeal cookies with Schug and Hilbeh. Disgusting. Who eats like this?! Who eats sweat desserts?! Ashkenazim."
I will say, you can argue when somebody makes duck sauce chicken wrong. Even so, Mom never made somebody feel bad for their food.​ It was their taste. Even if they are Sefardic.

Mom would bake the pecan pie for people. Because somebody wanted it. Somebody had that taste. Everybody had their taste and everybody like pecan pie with chocolate chips. Mom was a master of chocolate chip usage.
And I can't cook.

Celebrate Others
Everybody has different tastes and there is so much beauty out there. This lesson of different tastes and celebrating uniqueness had me ending up on a lot of really bad dates.
I will always remember the uniqueness of the jerk that lied to a sixth grader and ripped him off. Taking his Mickey Mantle. I truly do see that guy's uniqueness as a Ganev.
​
Mom brought comfort to people celebrating their individual freedom to be themselves and to smell bad. Come to think of it, Mom never told anybody they smelled disgustingly bad.
At camp, when I was sleeping next to a guy that smelled disgusting, she gave me soap to give to him. His name was not on it. It should've been. The soap should've been inscribed, "Shower. You smell disgusting."  
Thanks to Mom, I didn't argue with him about his smell. I just gave him soap. It was always a matter of making people feel good. Feeling good for who they are. Make them feel good for smelling disgusting.
Mom taught us all to be a Nechama. Be a comfort. Don't be an argument. And in the case of the guy who never showered, Mom taught me to be a kind solution and passive aggressive.

Lessons Learned
Don't argue, unless if somebody says something really dumb. Something political. Like, "Obama and Biden were great presidents."
When it comes to dating, "Al Taam VaReiach Yesh LiHitvakeiach."

You notice people's taste, you bring them pecan pie, you bring them happiness. People have their own thing. Their own taste. Once you understand that you can be kind. Tell that to the Sefardi guy that's still complaining about Ashkenazi food. Ashkenazim uniquely still can't handle Charif. They can taste stuff that doesn’t burn their mouth.

Mom focused on others. That's how she brought comfort. True to her name, Necha.
You felt good when you were around my Mom. You were comfortable. You could celebrate. You could be yourself. You could be free. And she had a whole community celebrating.
When you recognize what belongs to people, when you recognize their identity, their family, their needs, their uniqueness, how much they messed up, that is when you make things holy. Mom lived a holy life.
Jubilee. Sounds close enough to jubilation. By allowing all the comfort of personal expression, Mom brought joy to this Olam.

And what was Mom's freedom. Her being. The laughter, the kindness, the smile, the listening, the giving, the Torah, being a comfort to all.
I learned so much from Mom's example and Mom's teachings. And I now know people are idiots. Don't waste time arguing with them.

The Yovel year came and I did not get my Mickey Mantle card back. That guy owes it to me. That thief. 
I will not get over the Mickey Mantle.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for Rebbetzin Nechie Kilimnick נחה בת חיים זיידאל וריבה לאה ע"ה and all the unique Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life.

Yes. I cry.  Call me weak. I tend to cry when somebody I love is on a ventilator. I can't tell you when I'm going to cry. But it will happen. And people judge.

You Can't Cry in Front of People
You can cry in front of people. You just can't really cry in front of people. You can't cry and shriek in front of people. There is crying etiquette that is paramount when you're in the SICU worrying about pending death. When your loved one got hit by a car, your focus should be on decorum.
In public, you have to keep your cry at low volume. Low volume with no "Oh L-rd!!!" You can't add a prayer to your tears. And you can't get out a yowl. They'll think a dog got run over and checked itself into the ICU.

It's Not Acceptable in the Hospital
You can’t get out the full cry in the waiting room. You can’t get out the disgusting looking monster full on breakdown cry in front of others. For some reason, other people stay away from loud cries. And cries with excretion. The sinus cry is not acceptable. Snot mucus streams are still not publicly acceptable. 
For some reason, it's not acceptable to bawl in the hallway of a hospital. People are dying. You would think the one spot people wouldn't judge you for crying is the SICU. Everybody in those rooms looks like they're dying or dead. You look at those machines with the squiggly lines and numbers, and you're thinking, "I have to say Tehillim. A few Psalms." And mucus extends from your orifices. 
Psalms is the immediate response to, "I really don't think the doctors have any idea."

In private, you can scream, pray and snot all over. 
The only acceptable cry in front of other people is a When Harry Met Sally reunite cry. That's acceptable. A family member on a vent who you're hoping isn't dead, you can't let that out in front of other people. That cry is not acceptable.
Point is you need your spot. ​

The Big Cry is Going to Hit That First Week
The new group just came in this weekend. They're crying and they weren't prepared. Now I have to see this.
You've got to prepare for the cry. New people don't know this. They think they're going to show up to the hospital, see their four-year-old nephew missing a limb, on a ventilator, and they're going to head out to a dance party.
There is not one person who has a heart and doesn’t have their big cry. Your loved one is in life threat and you are crying. It happens in SICU, surgery, emergency, the car on the way home. It is going to hit you somewhere. The bigger you are, the more you cry. Those extra pounds on the waist, tears are coming out of that.

The biggest cries are the first week. You are broken. After that, you accept that life sucks. You settle into strokes, heart attacks, aids, cancer, aneurisms, pneumonia, car wrecks, no blood. Loved ones on vents becomes a regular thing. You crack jokes, watch the game, try to figure out your next trip to Disney, start petitioning the congregation about wheelchair access. You become an activist all the sudden. You develop an internal cry in your soul that lasts fifteen years. 
It's almost as bad as breaking up.

New Families are Intruding on Our Space
A lot of new people. It was a dangerous weekend on the streets of Hackensack, New Jersey. I don’t need the news to know what is going on. I see the families funneling in. I know who got hit by a car, and I can verify the shooting.
The new families are here and the new flow of crying is on. It's amazing how the waiting room culture just changed, due to five motorcycle accidents. Nobody tells these people about waiting room etiquette. Stuff they should know. Like the three couches in the room belong to the Kilimnick family.

The Cry Spot Must Be Close
Just had a cry. I wasn't prepared. Rookie mistake. I had a deep inhale cry with a "fufufufufufu." No idea how my exhale came out as a "fufufufufufu." Like somebody turned down the thermostat as emotions hit. And orifice phlegm made it into the "fufufufufufu."
You don't know when the cry will hit. That's why you need many spots. It's not like you have time to get home. It hits you fast. It's not like you can hold it in till you have your own bathroom. 
Carrying a commode with you, so you have a clean place to poo in hospitals, something else you should prepare for. We shall deal with that another time.

No Spot Makes It Weird
It's awkward when you don't have a spot. These new guys don't have their cry spot yet. I feel bad. But what I am going to do? Say "good luck"?
I just saw somebody bawling. Something to do with his daughter falling off her bike and not being able to breath. Just awkward. I don't know if he expected me to hug him. 
I felt bad. It was a painful sight. I had to be the one to tell him, "Get a spot. We all have dying people here. None of us know what to do." I wanted to help. I said, "I can see you're holding in your cry. You've got more in there. There's not one snot ball coming out of your nose. You need a real cry right now. You love your daughter. And we want to love her too. But we don't. You can't get in a good 'Oh L-rd' in front of us. You need to find a spot."
​I have a heart. I care. I want to be here for you. But you cry in the waiting room, you get nothing. You need a spot. Unless if the doctor comes. Anytime a doctor comes out to the waiting room, you have a right to cry. We all get that. No doctor has ever walked into a waiting room to let everybody know how happy they are that they got a hole in one.

Prepare Your Spot
​The problem is they don't have a cry spot yet. They didn't prepare. They didn't scout out the hospital before the accident to figure out where the best place to get out the big cry is.
This is why I suggest scoping out the hospital before family ends up in the ICU. Do it when people are healthy. I'm not suggesting you pray for your family to end up in the SICU, so you can cry together. I'm suggesting you visit a sick friend. Somebody who you don't care that much about. A community member. Visit them. Take notes of the different areas. Find out where the corner rooms are. Corner rooms are potential cry spots. Your family ends up in the ICU, Chas vShalom, you need to cry, you go in there and cry. It's a spot. Don't worry about the recovering guy on a vent who just had their heart sliced open. It's fine. He won't disturb you. He's probably asleep.

There are right ways to handle your cry. Crying etiquette, and Kilimnick couch etiquette. I can't reiterate that enough. They need signs, "Please don't disturb others with your love for somebody who might die. And the couches in the waiting room have been claimed by the Kilimnick family."

Conclusion
You need a cry spot for the real cries. The heartfelt tears. If you have no heart, and your cry is a single tear, you don't need a spot.
We have one uncle who doesn't cry. He says he has to be strong for the family. He has no heart.

I don't like the new group. They don't know which couches are ours yet. They're ruining the waiting room dynamic. We are having a sign made for our couches.

I will fight until the snot mucus monster cry is publicly acceptable. We will not have an emotionally sound society until snot mucus is accepted by all.
"fufufufufufu." Until then, I will try to find more cry spots for everybody.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-20 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

What just happened. Are these people in my room? Did the Schwartzs just pop in uninvited?  Very rude. They were always very rude like that.
 
Does it look like I can pick up a phone and call? I didn’t invite you. I can’t move. This is what Bikur Cholim looks like. Visiting the sick looks like a bunch of people pushing their way into my room.
Did the shul announce this? It’s like the rabbi to put it out there. “Visit Phillip. He won’t kick you out. He can’t talk or move. Visit him and do what you want.” I’m in the shul bulletin now. They better not be advertising this. I hope I don’t get one of those pictures of me in my bed with this gown thing they threw on me. It’s a shroud. It’s a sick shroud. I’m in the hospital and they throw this on me. I woke up this morning. I thought I was dead. In a shroud.
 
They visit uninvited. I have to watch out for these people. I didn't invite them. I'm half naked. I just peed in the bag. This isn't the time for a visit.
Since when do people just show up, uninvited?
Now they’re talking. Asking me questions. I can’t move. I can’t talk. And they’re asking my questions. Are these people idiots? Do they not see the IVs?! I have fifteen IVs flying out of me, and they think it’s time for a conversation. Just talk. Don’t expect me to answer. I’m sorry I’m not a good host.
They expect me to host them now. They’re going to go back to the congregation and tell them how rude I was. I didn’t get up and offer them coffee.

It's nice to see them. I truly like the Schwartzs. Good people. Nosy. But good people. Caring people. Yet, they do talk a lot about their new cottage. They don’t care enough to stop talking about that.
At this point, pride is not of importance. It's real now. People visiting from the community is real. I need it. I appreciate it. I’m going to write a thank you, if I can ever move again. Where is my hand? Thank Gd it’s there. Forgot I had that.
My kids’ friends do this. They pop over uninvited. I can’t play Minecraft now.
 
Stay. Why are they leaving? Just because I can’t talk?!
You guys can at least turn on the TV!!!
Nope. They just left without turning on the TV. They broke into my room. Uninvited. The nurse aided and abetted in this whole act. The nurses aided and abetted. They stole some crushed ice and saltines from my tray.
The aide probably did nothing. Didn’t even abet. That guy has changed me in two days. Can you at least tell him to clean my butt.
 
Wait. They’re back. They got coffee. Now they can’t complain about me. They stole coffee. These people came for afternoon tea. I didn’t know the Schwartzs are British.
The least you all can do is turn on my TV. You see I can’t move. And tell them to stop bringing me trays. How am I going to eat when I got a trach for an esophagus. Even applesauce doesn’t pass through this thing.
I’m not complaining. I just need my butt cleaned. They come uninvited. I would let them clean my butt. At this point, I’m chafing. Baby Wipes!!!
I’m peeing again. These people give no privacy. Is this what they’re doing now? Following people into the bathroom?! Is that part of Bikur Cholim? Did the rabbi announce that? “Talk to Phil while he’s peeing. When you see the bag fill up, you’ll know it was a good conversation.”
 
Uninvited. I hope they didn't go to my house. I didn't invite them there. And I haven't had a chance to vacuum. Shoot. The grass is probably out of control. The neighbors are probably mad.
They’re probably going to break into my house now. Next week’s announcements will read, “Phillip doesn’t take care of his house.”
 
Why is family not here. The only people who have unbarred entrance are not here.
 
They just left. Now I’m going to miss The $100,000 Pyramid.
 
Will somebody tell the rabbi to put some of this stuff in the announcements. “When you visit Phillip, please turn on the TV. Watch TV with him. He doesn’t want to hear you going off on your kids. He doesn’t care if they’re in college. Your Nachis is annoying. He likes the Game Show Network, as he likes overly excited people. And leave the TV on when you leave. As you can see, he can’t pick up a remote control if he can’t move. And please face his bed towards the TV. He doesn’t enjoy looking at walls and ceilings. When you break into his house, please make sure all the bills are paid. Tell his daughter to brush her teeth. And tell his ex he now hates her. She’s a witch. Do some prayers. Phillip likes Davening. But don’t sing. The one positive about his stroke is he doesn’t have to hear your messed up harmonies in shul. Tell his family to visit, as it kind of sucks when you can’t take care of yourself, and people decide that that’s a good time to not be there for you. Also, please tell them to clean his butt. And he apologizes if you show up and he’s mooning you. He can’t flip his sheets.” And add, “He won’t write Thank Yous. He hates writing those. He appreciates the visits. Just the thought of having to write Thank Yous is too painful. Might cause a heart attack. He’s still getting over having to write the Thank Yous to the people who showed up to his Bar Mitzvah. It was a traumatic experience. And when you visit, he might be naked. Maybe. Don't be like the Schwartzs. Ask the aide to make sure he’s decent. And ask them, to clean his butt before you go in his room. Their eldest didn’t have to see that. Probably not as traumatic as writing Thank Yous. But he asks for Mechilah.”

It’s been a year and I don’t know what any of it means. All I have are ideas.
I’ve been saying Kaddish all year. No idea what it means. I still have no idea what "Ba’agalah" means. I said it around eight to twelve times a day for eleven months and I have no idea. I look in the English every time. Just looked at the English a few minutes ago. Forgot already. Anyways. Everything should be Ba'agalah. That sounds like a good blessing to give on a Yahrzeit.
It's been four years since I had those thoughts on my Abba's first Yahrzeit. And I still haven't figured it out

Maybe people figure some of this death stuff out quick. They're usually intellectuals. People in college who haven't lost anybody yet. But they have death down. They know Gd's plan. They sat on the quad with a buddy. I think it takes longer when it's your dad.
There's a lot I still haven't figured out. I still don't know how to get the dishwasher to work. It just sits there. If there is one reason for reincarnation, it would be to find out who broke the dishwasher. Was the dishwasher was broken before I tried using it. Why is Abba not in the physical Olam anymore. I have questions. How did it break. Maybe it was me. I will never know. 

Abba was my father. Hence, I called him Abba. Yet, to most, he was a rabbi, a rebbe. It's hard to see the rebbe when they're setting a bedtime for you, and saying you can't watch any more TV.
I read that Hasidim, a rebbe's adherents, would follow their masters in their last days. They follow them all the time. Very nosy. This is a reason to not have Hasidim. You go grocery shopping and fifty people are following you down the canned foods aisle, and not one of them offers to pay. But this specifically speaks of their rebbe's last days, as they learn from the way the rebbe lives and dies. "To record the last moments of their masters was for Hasidim a sacred task" (Jewish Reflections on Death, Riemer, p.16). These community leaders, Hasidic Rebbes, are also known as a Tzadik, righteous person. And they probably wouldn't have passed away if the Hasidim would've put down a pen and called a doctor.
I didn’t record anything as I have seen what happens nowadays with social media. However, I witnessed my father’s last days of living in Olam Haguf (I call it the world of the body, because the only thing about passing that I know is that we are not using our body for actions anymore- at least for now).
Sometimes, the only way for a rebbe to shake off his Hasidim is by dying.

Being with my father the last months of his life in the physical Olam I learned of forgiveness. He forgave. He judged not. His last words were of love. What makes a Tzadik? I would say forgiveness. If we are judged as righteous when our Mitzvot outweigh our Aveirot (sins), we are definitely righteous when we are able to help others in that process of having less Aveirot. And that is what forgiveness does.
My rebbe always thought about others. And that is what he expressed in his final days.
Other people are annoying. They mess up. My Abba always saw people for good.
In his last days, my Abba taught me that even congregants have good in them. It's hard to see that, but it's there. And you have to forgive them for being idiots. That's what I got out of it.
 
What’s the lesson that we learn when a Tzadik passes? I don’t know. I’ll give a sermon about it at some point. Who knows, somebody else may give a sermon about it. They will have no idea what it means. Even so, it will sound good. It will sound meaningful. It will sound like the rabbi knows what’s going on. Even though the guy has never lost somebody. They had a buddy who thought about death in Ancient Stoic Philosophy 101.
I do know that I wasn't trying to learn a lesson those final days. I'm still not trying to learn a lesson. Being there with my dad was life itself. Not a lesson. You tell me there is something to be learned, and I will not be happy. People don't want to learn lessons about dying. If you want to lose your job as a rabbi, start telling people it's good their parents passed, because they can learn something from it. But I learned a lot from it. Just don't tell me that.
There is always an idiot leader ready to piss off the mourners. Usually, they wait for communal tragedy to share their thoughts.

Following the rebbe in their last days has something to do with what’s truly important in life. People seem to hone in on what’s important when they’re faced with mortality. When it's my time, I’ll probably be focused on selling my baseball cards. I know I’m mortal and that’s what I’m focusing on now. I can't get rid of those things. It will just be a greater degree of urgency. I’ll probably do a flash sale from the hospital. Collecting as a child focuses the rest of your life on selling the stuff. 
We’re faced with mortality every day. Walking under the trees in my neighborhood. The trees are old. Every morning, I see countless branches on the ground. Dead. Dead branches. I’m just happy I’m sleeping when it’s happening. I can’t deal with more death right now. And I am not following the trees right before the arborist cuts it down. Though, I am sure they think congregants are annoying. And I know they hate dogs.
Those last days, when the body is weakening, are the culmination of one's true thoughts. What does one want to leave in this world. Abba wanted to make sure I trimmed the hedges. He didn't mention the baseball cards. Those were still in the house. And he wanted to know that everybody else was good. They were good and righteous in Gd's eyes.
When will I start thinking about others, like my rebbe, my Abba?!

The Rebbe focuses his life as a community leader. One who leads people in Torah. Their students follow them, as they know that the actions of their rebbe represent Torah. And then, their last days, you see the culmination of this part of their life. What they seem to believe it was all about. Generally, the culmination is represented with tubes and a lot of sedation. They’re spent wondering how a bed with so many different incline positions can be so uncomfortable. But for those other moments, you see someone’s true essence. And Abba wanted me to turn off the TV. And to have a conversation with is son. He wanted his son to know he is a decent dude, and he's proud of him. Not because his son accomplished anything. It goes without saying, that didn't happen. But because he thought his son cared about people and was a good human being. Basically, Abba knew I accomplished nothing. Loading up the house with boxes of baseball cards isn't a source of Nachis. But his son caring about Pete Rose being in the Hall of Fame, that's a source of Nachis.
Abba was proud of all his kids. Which goes to show, never trust a parent who tells you how great their children are.
Truth is, Abba did support my comedy and got Nachis from that. Not because of success. But because I cared and hopefully did something of a giving nature with it. And that is where Abba's mind was. It was focused on what is truly important. When it comes to other people. It's caring about them. And Abba taught me that throughout his life. I would've followed Abba everywhere, taking notes, but Abba was skeptical of journalists.

Those last days, my Abba, the rebbe, shared with me the moments of his beautiful interactions with people. Challenges and how they were overcome. He was sharing with me what is truly important. Family, caring for people, seeing other people in a positive light. Even if they are pieces of…
 I try to now see people in a positive light. I see it something like "we wouldn’t be able to see good in the world if there wasn’t evil." That’s why I worked my last job. I wouldn’t have known hypocrisy, lies and evil if I didn’t work there.

Lessons from this Yahrzeit
Losing my Abba and rebbe in this world is hard. But I do thank Gd, as with all gifts, for the holy day of the Yahrzeit. For Kaddish which I don't understand. For being blessed with parents that were so caring, with an ability to see the blessing of people. And for those last days with my Abba. I would never trade those last months in the house, taking in my father's heightened sense of perspective before heading to Olam Haba.
In those last days of us talking, Abba turned into my rebbe. In their last days, many people project their thoughts onto their parents. They turn their parents into something they want, so that they can cope. To be blessed to take in those days with my father sharing his true feelings, learning from him. And to take in his love for Yiddishkeit and people, while wondering why the baseball cards are still in his house.

All those hours by his bedside. Those conversations in the home I grew up in, I learned so much about outlook. To not judge people. For they are all idiots. My father couldn't shake that thought from me. 
My father saw everybody as talented. As precious. As holy. And he always gave them that respect. That's what my Rebbe taught. And he taught that throughout his life. I should've written that down over the many years, instead of advocating for myself to eat hamburgers and deli at 2am.
I would've rather he just told me who broke the dishwasher.

I miss those moments in this Olam. But I feel the holy moments all the time. Todah Rabbah for passing that on. At the end, the real success is just being decent and caring, and forgiving.
I've got to start letting people know they're good dudes and I'm proud of them, even though they're idiots.
May it all be Ba'agalah. Whatever that means. I’m sure it’s a blessing.
 
***For an Aliyas Neshama for הרב ישעיה בן יחזקאל הלוי זצ"ל and all the Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life.

Beryl Horowitz. A Holocaust survivor, never married, living alone in Brooklyn. He owned a little bookstore. You would think he would be depressed. But he wasn't married, so all was fine. He would sometimes do acts of kindness, stay later in shul and Daven with Kavanah, because he didn't have anybody hounding him, constantly asking "where were you." He was even able to eat deli sandwiches every night, as nobody cared about his health. Life was good. But he cared. Beryl was a very kind soul. He was even able to own a bookstore, because he didn't have a wife bothering him with this concept of "We Need Financial Stability."
It was a Jewish bookstore. You don't move to Brooklyn to open a boutique bookstore for Mennonites.

Beryl knew a rabbi that worked in a prison. Beryl wanted to do something kind. The rabbi was shocked. He'd never heard this from a congregant. Most questions addressed to the rabbi were, "How much can I save on the hall for the Bar Mitzvah?!" To quote the rabbi's response to Beryl's, "I can't pay you for your kindness." Beryl said, "I still want to do something nice." The rabbi suggested, "Going down to Florida is a nice thing to do during the winter. That's what most of my congregants do." Beryl told the rabbi, "I want people to know they're important. I want to do a true Chesed. A true act of kindness. People are lonely. I want to help them." The rabbi was in shock. People caring is not something the rabbi was used to. This purity of kindness made the rabbi uncomfortable. The greatest act of kindness he had witnessed till that moment was a community member paying their dues on time. 
The rabbi suggested Beryl send letters to inmates. The rabbi could've suggested sending letters to women, but the rabbi didn't think very much about Beryl's needs. He didn't even shop at Beryl's bookstore. He went to Eichler's for his Judaica. This is why the rabbi was suggesting Florida. To get Beryl to close his bookstore. At least to get Beryl out of town, so he could shop at Eichler's without feeling guilty. 
Beryl would've been married if the rabbi thought for a second about his love life.

Beryl started sending letters to inmates every Friday. Letters of encouragement. Stuff like, "It's not any better at Coney Island. I'm shvitzing here. The hot dogs aren't even Kosher."
One letter reached nineteen year old, David, in Florida. David was in for armed robbery. It might have been shoplifting. Not sure. I heard something about forgetting to ring up the tomatoes at the register. Maybe he had tomatoes in his red shopping cart, camouflaged, and then he was carrying a pocket knife. That stuff will get you locked up. 
David was planning to take his own life that morning, but the letter came in. I believe the letter came in the morning. Some say it came in the afternoon. He was planning to take his life that morning, but hadn't gotten to it yet. David was a procrastinator. He saw the paper, thought about the damage a paper cut can do, and remembered he was supposed to take his life. Instead of paper cutting himself, David opened the letter.
David was down. He was locked up. I feel that explaining why David might be down is important to the story. He was behind bars. Now you understand the psychology behind why David might have been down.
The letter read, "You matter. You are more than your worst mistake. Gd believes in you and so do I... Beryl Horowitz." Beryl signed it. I am not sure if it was with a "love" or a "sincerely" or a "thank you." I do know he signed it. I believe it was cursive.
There was no return address. Just a name. He didn't want to get robbed. He wanted the guy to know he cared. He didn't want to be a victim.
David broke down. He started crying. David started learning Torah, he got out of jail and married, and became a teacher. How crying leads to Torah learning, I am not sure. I do know that David wanted the Kosher meals. When you're locked up, that airplane packed Kosher food is a joy. It gives you a reason to live.
David was touched. Somebody cared about him.

Thirty years later, now a grandfather, David was in Brooklyn. He went into at tiny Brooklyn bookstore and a nameplate was on the counter. It read "Beryl Horowitz Owner." It could've read, "Beryl Horowitz Guy Who Likes To Shop Here." But Beryl owned the place.
Standing there in a moment of true connection and gratitude, David asked, "Are you Beryl Horowitz?" Beryl was already around ninety, and he had already been through communism, pogroms, the Holocaust, losing every job because of his name. Thinking he can't get fired now, he said, "Yes. I am Beryl Horowitz." 
David asked Beryl, "Did you ever send letters to inmates?" Beryl responded, "I did. I used to do it all the time. Every single Friday. Why?" Beryl was now worried he was going to be arrested for contraband.  
David pulls out a letter from his wallet. It was his electric bill. He forgot to pay it. He said, "Thank Gd. I have to go to the post office and pay this." Then, he pulls out another letter. A faded letter. Answering Beryl's question, "Because this letter saved my life."
Beryl, filled with tears. At this point, of course he cried. This was a moment. Watch a drama. This is when you cry. Beryl said, "All of these years, I just sent them. I didn't know if any of them made a difference."

Lessons of What Followed
Beryl never got a letter.
After that meeting, I do not believe that Beryl went to jail. He did think to go to jail for Shidduch reasons though. It worked for David.

For some reason, those moments of connection make you cry. Almost as much as a kidney stone.
Just the fact that somebody cared about him, helped him turn his life into one of meaning. One where he learned Torah and never enjoyed a decent cheeseburger again. One where he had to report to his wife where he was, every moment of every day. David was touched. All he needed was to hear he mattered.

Letters by hand are meaningful. They leave an impression. A high school kid heard this story, started writing a letter by hand and swore she would never do that again. She told her parents, "Nobody should have to hurt their hands that much to text a message." 

Torah allows one to see each moment as important. Even when locked up in jail or prison it's a chance to do Mitzvahs. A chance to help somebody with their contraband. Kal vChomer, even more so, when your family locks you up in a nursing home. We can learn from David to find that meaning in each moment, even in those places where it's hard to see how important we are. And we can learn from Beryl that letting those people know you love them may remind them how important they are, even if they don't have much money. Even if it doesn't look like you'll get a decent inheritance.

David made a lot more mistakes. Thanks to Beryl, he felt good about them. He started messing up crossword puzzles. He was fine, because he had that letter reminding him that Beryl and Gd believed in him. Unlike his parents who thought he was a Yutz.
Beryl then asked, "What was your worst mistake?" David said, "Getting married and having kids. I'm broke, and on a teacher's salary, having to support these people. I should rob a shop." When Beryl asked about getting locked up for armed robbery, David went on. "Wait. An even worse mistake was being a teacher. These kids nowadays need to be locked up." Then, in a moment of epiphany, David continued, "That letter changed my life. Mr. Horowitz... Thank you. Torah truly killed my plans. I was going to be a doctor." Maybe he didn't say that. I am not sure if that was their conversation. Quotes can be wrong sometimes.

I don't think David invited Beryl to Florida. Though, he did buy a book. A softcover, to save a bit of money.
If Beryl's rabbi would've shopped by him every once in a while, Beryl might have felt that having a bookstore was a good idea. Your actions are important. They do make a difference. Gd believes in you. Beryl needed to hear that too.
Is this not why we're all here in this world? To help each other. To be the most important to somebody? To let them know they matter. To remind them they make a difference. To ruin their good times the next time they're out drinking, thinking "Gd believes in me." Try taking down a few beers with that and the mortgage in the back of your mind. We all need to hear we matter, that we can make a difference, and somebody cares about us.

***Not sure if that's exactly the story word for word. To hear it in shorter, probably more correct form, check out realyaakovcohen on Instagram.

Let’s talk about gifts again. Actual gifts. We're going to talk about giving gifts. Mommy was a giver. And one thing she gave a lot was gifts. 

You Give Gifts
What else are you going to give? A cough? Let's start here. With gifts. Nobody wants you to give them a cough and a fever. Who wants to work?! That's why we're not talking about giving people jobs right now. Give gifts.
Gifts are a good way to give. Gifts are always in conjunction with "give." You don't donate gifts. Though you could do that if you don't have any leftover pasta for the food cupboard. 
When donating to the food cupboard you first want to think about stuff you don't want. Stuff you want to throw out. Then you check for stuff that's really old. Dry goods that are out of date. If you have nothing else, you can throw in a toy. Little kids eat those too.
Point is that when you think of giving, you think of gifts. You can take gifts but we're talking about giving. You go out, buy somebody a gift and take it. That's off. You buy a sweater that's your size, and then you wear it, it's not a gift. You went shopping. You bought a sweater.
I got chocolate for a girl years ago. I ate it. She never got the gift. That relationship did not pan out.
I know, many of you are mad, because Oprah says you've got to treat yourself well. And that means buying gifts for yourself. Mommy thought about others. Let's focus on giving gifts to others, and not stealing sweaters you knitted.

People Are Holy
(Bereishit 9:6) "In the image of Gd, He created man." People are created in Gd's image and they are all the best. Everybody deserves the best. And thus they get gifts. (Pirkei Avot 3:14) Rabbi Akiva teaches, "Man is loved because he is created in Gd's image." How do you show somebody you love them? You say "I love you." Point is everybody is important. Everybody is unique. And they all deserve gifts. People like gifts more than love.
The gift lets people know how unique they are. How loved they are. This is one way Mommy showed it. A gift for each person and a fight with Abba. She wasted so much money on gifts.
Mommy had a whole closet full of gifts. Always stacked. Abba thought he was going to pull out a nice new shirt and all the sudden there's a closet full of Monopoly and Bob the Builder.
Gifts make people feel special. They let people know they are holy. It reminds them they were created for a reason. And that reason is to get gifts. 
Mom was a gift champion. She had gifts for everybody, because she thought of others. That is what made Mommy unique. She thought of others. Most people are selfish pieces of... Give gifts. Don't be a selfish piece of...

Mommy Saw The Special in Others
Mommy saw people as being special. She didn't look at everybody like they were disabled. She looked at everybody like they were important.
Mommy was a star at Camp HASC for special needs. I remember Mom showing up one day and all the campers felt like they were seeing a close friend. Mommy was kind, giving, smiling, nonjudgmental. She treated them with respect. She didn't have gifts that day, so they stopped talking to her after a minute. You can get respect anywhere. If you don't have a gift, what's the point?! There are better friends out there.
The idea is to let people know they're important and loved. Godly. Give them something to let them know that. A Tonka truck. If Mommy would've had Tonka trucks, the campers would've invited her back to Camp HASC.
Mommy focused a lot on gifts. She knew people felt important when they got something. Especially a mirror with a name on it. "Rebecca." Mom bought a lot of mirrors with the name "Rebecca" on it. They must've had a sale on Rebeccas. It makes you feel good getting a Rebecca mirror, especially if your name is Samantha. It's special. Samanthas usually don't get Rebecca mirrors.
Mommy liked sales. Whenever Mommy saw a sale, she was thinking about Jewish kids. Mommy is the reason why the anti-Semites think Jews like deals.

See the Specialness
I will never forget doing a show and I didn't understand why a comedian was getting laughs. Mommy was laughing and she said, "Everybody has their thing." Mommy taught me that day that everybody is great. They all have their thing. You just have to see their godliness. You see that, and you can laugh, no matter how bad a comic is. 
I thought I knew comedy. I thought I understood it. I had seen beyond enough performances to understand. I didn't understand the person. Their soul. Their lack of effort they put into their routine. 
Mommy saw the uniqueness in that comedian. The specialness. She didn't have a gift for him. Though, she did give the gift of laughter. Ever since then, I laugh no matter how bad a show is. And I have seen many uniquely bad shows.
Mommy should've given him a prop. That would have been a nice gift for that comic. Something to help him with a joke. A joke that was not dependent on seeing his godliness.
Through the acceptance of the godly soul of each individual, I learned to give. I learned to accept that some kids are just not very artistic. It is for this reason, my siblings still hang their kids pictures on the fridge. They're pathetic works of crayon on construction paper, but they're holy. Holy works of... At least they have all stayed away from canvas.
You give the gift of laughter and you let a comedian know you appreciate that they haven’t connected with their godly self. You give a platter as a gift to somebody and you let them know they should be presenting dinner more elegantly. You give gifts and you let them know they had an oversight. They overlooked stuff and they are created in Gd’s image.

You give a gift and you let somebody know you were thinking about them. I wish I would've not eaten that Toblerone that Tu BAv. I would've been married. 

Lessons Learned
People who got the real gift from Mommy learned to give. Giving is the action we emulate as those created in Gd's image. Mommy truly reflected His image.
That is a life well lived in this Olam. A life focused on caring for others. And she was a happy person, because she was focused on others. That is how you feel good about yourself. You focus on how messed up other people are. You do that, and you can laugh. You give gifts and make them feel better. You let them know they're important, even though their family hates them. You give them a gift and you don't have to spend an hour and a half listening to them complain about their kids. 

Give gifts when you can, especially when you find them on sale.
Mommy taught me to think about others. Give to them. Anything can be a gift, but nothing is more meaningful than “buy two, get one free.” We're focusing on the physical manifestation of an actual gift. I gave somebody a hug the other day. They didn't appreciate it. They invited me for dinner and I forgot to bring wine. I thought the hug would be sufficient. They said they would’ve rather hugged a cabernet. I did think to bring chocolate. Though, I ate that before I showed up to dinner.

Givers make people feel special. Takers make people feel special and broke. So, make people feel special and go broke on gifts. From now on, I will try to show my appreciation of others by saying "thank you."
Everybody is created in Gd's image, and thus holy. Holy people deserve gifts, even if they're not Kohens.
We can all be the most important person in the world. Each one of those people that got a gift felt that way, because my Mom made herself important to them.
 
You can give to anybody. Even if their comedy is off. You focus on others, you can see their uniqueness. You can laugh. I am still trying to figure out what that comics "thing" is. What's a thing? Maybe it was an ungodly thing. Nonetheless, I laugh at other people's things now. Especially, when it’s illness. As I learned from Mommy, laughter is a form of giving.
Don't focus on you, even if Oprah says to. A gift must be focused on the godliness of the other person.
It's how you give a gift. I remember I once gave somebody a gift and I said, "Enjoy it. I'm broke. That was my paycheck."

It sounds cooler to say "Mom." If you want people to mock you, say, "Mommy” at forty-eight years old. Forty-eight and a week. I still count my weeks. But that is my uniqueness.

Gifts are about letting the other person know you see the special in them. Bringing wine for dinner is thus not a gift. In my books, it's a necessary. It's a thank you. Thank yous are also part of giving. But a thank you is not a gift.

Why did Mom feel good seeing the others happy? Because we're all connected in Gd's image. This is why we feel good when we're kind to others. When we give a gift or a laugh, or some wine so that you get the dinner invitation again. Because we're connected with One. In a sense it's kind of selfish to be nice. A little wisdom I pass on to you.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for נחה בת חיים זיידאל וריבה לאה ע"ה and all the Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life.

The family is here today. It must be a Sunday.
It's not a Tuesday. People do not come on Tuesdays. Law and Order is on Tuesdays. And they don't come Wednesdays or Thursdays. Law and Order is on.
Chas vShalom, Gd forbid, they should take off of work for a loved one who almost died. But I wouldn't want them to feel any guilt.
It's been three days and nobody has been here. Just the nurse. The nurse is not related to me, which is why he comes. He gave me a sponge bath. Which isn't really even a bath. He thinks he's cleaning a dish. I was like a very heavy piece of porcelain. He sponged me till he saw suds, then he shined my forehead. He even looked at my foot to see if it sparkled. He did a breath on it, then rubbed it with a towel.
I'm guessing the bath would be more enjoyable if it was not given to me by Bob. Even so, I do feel clean. Kind of like fine china.

Maybe it was the trach that got me down. Just got that put in yesterday. I hope the family was praying. I like when people pray for me. Focusing on me in their relationship to Gd. 
Maybe they didn't see me because they were sitting in the waiting room together, praying. Or doing what our family does and waiting in the waiting room. We wait. That's what we do. We like to sit there and wait, and worry. We worry while not looking at each other and focusing on our phones. As long as we're worrying in the waiting room and texting, we feel like we're doing the right thing. Family member gets out of surgery and we leave. We did our thing, we waited. We leave. That's what Engelmans do.
We are very good at leaving. We do not wait around after we've waited. My mom left my dad at a wedding with no ride. She waited five minutes and left. She looked around, noticed it wasn't a waiting room, nobody was in surgery, she asked why she was waiting, she left. Dad was stuck in the Five Towns, trying to find a way back to Hackensack.

So now, I'm kind of feeling good today. I'm still out if it, but people are here. And that makes me feel good.
They're talking about me again. It feels good to have people around focusing on me. They're not praying. When they're here, I would rather them talk. I like prayer, but it's not good for discussion. I can't hear what they're saying to Gd. It's not a good conversation when they're mumbling incoherent Hebrew sentences to me.
They're just focused on me. But not praying. Thinking about, right now I can use some prayers. There's a huge tube coming out of my neck. I need the prayers right now. When you see a tube coming out of an orifice that was not created at birth, that's a good time to pray.

It's good to have the focus on me. I don't think I've got a birthday call for over a decade. At least the stroke got people thinking about Phillip.
I feel like I'm doing a Mitzvah, taking their focus off their daily grind. I'm bringing family together. That's what my stroke is. A family unifier. Our family comes together for sickness. Nobody shows up for Bar Mitzvahs. They show up for strokes and cancer. We unite for sickness. Our family connects with illness.
We love ailment. We need invitations for this stuff. "Thelma had another heart attack. Please come. We have pizza, lox and good schmeer in the waiting room. Please come and sit with us as we worry and text as a Mishpuchi."

And they're being decent and kind. Even my brother-in-law hasn't said anything stupid yet. Wait. He just mentioned the trach. It would take this fool to get everybody thinking about the trach. I thought nobody noticed. I was trying to be discreet about it. I tried telling the doctor the tube is too big. I knew people would notice the plastic coming out of my neck.
Now they're all talking about the trach. My cousin can't stand the trach. She just left. Can somebody tell her I'm disgusted by her too. Still using gel like it's the '80s.
And they are still not praying. Can't they tell I need prayers? Tefillah? Isn't a huge tube and human dissection a sign that they should start praying? What does my family need to start Davening to H'? Do they need to see the actual blood squirting at that moment? That is the one moment they would pray and not help. They would let the blood go and ask Gd to somehow stop it with a tourniquet. The Engelmans are a useless people. I would probably also stand there and start praying that somebody useful would come and take care of it.
And they are still talking about the trach and how I look like I have another limb coming out of my throat. Looking like a mouthclops. It was cute that my nephew came up with me looking like a dinosaur that he created. How about Tehillim?!

Why is nobody talking about Pesach? When is Pesach. What are we going to do? Who is cleaning the house?!
Shoot I just pooped. I hope they didn't notice. They're leaving the room. They know.

Now I’m alone again. I was doing good till they all started focusing on the trach. They all saw the trach. The thing coming out of me. It's embarrassing. If they were saying how cool it looked, I would've been good with it.
I know they're all talking about it on their way home. How do you see a trach and not talk about it. It's not like I dyed my hair and now they can't see the greys. It's an orifice that is now closed with a digital monitor.
Is the nurse coming? If they know I pooped, why are they not getting the nurse. Nurses don't come for poops. It's not like my poop shows up on the screen next to my oxygen level.

Thank you to all who see the beauty and goodness H' gives us in this world. 
People are beautiful and special. I learned this from Mom when she insisted on me dating girls that I was not attracted to.

Last Mishna of Menachot. I finally learned something. I hope my Mom and Abba A"H are proud.
Be it a burnt-offering of cattle or a bird, or a meal-offering. By all of the offerings we say אשה ריח ניחוח 'A fire-offering, a pleasing aroma.' Why? 'To teach that whether one offers more or less, it is all one if he directs his mind to Heaven.' LShamaim. For Heaven.
If you have the right Kavana, it's all the same. All is holy if you have the right intent. All is pleasing to Gd if you have the right intent. This is why, when I'm binge-watching, I always have H' in mind.
Mommy always had the right intent. LShamaim.
In additions to all of Mommy's pleasing ways, she followed in H's ways and let others know they were a pleasing aroma. LShamaim.

Some People Offer Very Little
As long as their mind is directed to Heaven it is a pleasing Aroma.
Mommy treated all people the same. With respect. With dignity. With love.
As countless people shared over the Shloshim, they all felt loved by Mommy. They all felt important. I can tell you, as a member of the shul, they are not all very important people. Many of them you have to chase down for their dues. When they flip over the tab on the Yom Kippur appeal card, that's a good half a year of chasing. I don't know if that's what H' had in mind as 'pleasing' and 'Kavana.'
Mommy followed in H's path. She saw the pleasing aroma of all. She was a nurse. She dealt with people who smelled disgusting. Yet, she made them feel holy. She let everybody know they were loved by Gd. They were respected. She had the right Kavana. In turn, she allowed for them to have the right Kavana. LShamaim.

She Made People Feel Special
Be it her congregants, her kids, her kids' friends (how many people felt special because they had a pecan pie made for them?- chocolate chips- done right), coworkers, friends, residents at the nursing homes, aides, campers, random people taken back from the Kotel for a Friday night Seudah on their Israel visits because my father thought he knew them, people at the comedy club in Jerusalem that showed up for Karaoke, the cashier at Kohl's taking back the weekly thirty returns because Kohl's Cash will do that to you, they all felt like they were unique when Mommy interacted with them. Smiling when possible, even in the worst of times. My Mom even smiled when the mechanic charged her. That is how much good Mommy saw in people. 
I have never smiled at a mechanic. The only way I have made a mechanic feel special is by allowing them to rip me off.
Everybody felt special. Everybody was special. Not greater or worse than anybody else. Everybody was respected. They were special and holy. LShamaim. They were respected as themselves by our Mother. Not judged. Loved and appreciated for who they were. A pleasant smell. A congregant who didn't help out with Kiddish.
All loved the same. All given a smile. All shared her laugh. Some people weren't even funny. But they tried. So, Mommy laughed.
And somehow, they all felt special. Like they were the most important person. It was LShamaim. And now they know that everybody else was also important. That kind of kills that feeling of being special.

All of her Mitzvot done with no ego. LShamaim. It was because of her unselfish way of living that everybody felt special.

Some People Give Nothing
The different offerings cost different amounts. Some people just give a bird. You're invited over to their house expecting brisket. They give chicken for dinner. It's a letdown. Then there are those that just give you some flour. You're hoping for meat and then you find out it's vegan night, and you're eating quinoa, and you are not pleased.
The members of the shul that don't even pay their dues. Mommy made them all feel important. And the shul board resented that.

Lessons Learned
Be nice to people and shower.
Know you're special. My Mom would've treated you that way.
Treat others as if they're special, even when they are not. Let them know they're special by paying attention to them, even when they're sharing jokes you've heard before. The way you treat others is in turn the pleasing aroma you offer.
Don't have an ego. Your ego is not for Heaven. It doesn't allow you to treat others as special. The selfish ego is the lack of Kavana that does not bring a pleasing aroma to Gd. That sounds like a good rabbi message.
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. As Mom always taught BTaam vReiach Ein LHitvakeyach, there is no arguing with taste and smell. We all have our own taste and smell. However, we can all agree on ugly. She didn't teach that last part. I read between the lines. Why Mommy insisted I go out with that girl. I hope one day I will get over it.
If it's LShamaim, you will see the beauty in others. Though, from experience, you may not want to date them.

Do it all LShamaim. Everything Mommy did was LShamaim and with intent. And Mommy had Kavana when she Davened. There are some lessons I didn't learn. At least I shower before I pray to help with the stink.

Wait: Just got this one. אשה ניחוח. Necha נחה. Mommy was the epitome of pleasant.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for נחה בת חיים זיידאל וריבה לאה ע"ה and all the Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life.