What heaven smells like

Have you ever smelt heaven?

I have.

Cradling my baby as I rock him to sleep. His tiny body pressed against mine, his little fingers reaching for me, as I breathe in the scent of his freshly shampooed hair and cover his cheeks with endless kisses.

I close my eyes, fully present in this precious moment, and whisper to Hashem:

“Thank You so much for my precious gift, Meir. May he grow up l’Torah, l’chuppah, ul’maasim tovim, and may he live until 120 in good health and happiness.”

This has become my daily tefillah, one I have whispered countless times every day since he was born.

The final words, “until 120,” were added after Bondi.

I don’t take the miracle of my healthy baby boy for granted. As exhausting as motherhood can be, I am trying to savour every cuddle, every tantrum, every smile, every night tapping him to sleep with my back aching, because I know just how precious and fleeting life is.

But have you ever stopped to wonder why, at a baby boy’s bris, we bless him with the words: l’Torah, l’chuppah, ul’maasim tovim?

Why these three blessings? Why in this order?

Because hidden within those words is a profound blueprint for what it means to live a meaningful Jewish life, and I’ll explain why.

First, we pray that our child finds the way of Torah. Torah is the moral and ethical framework and guide for life. Yes, we want our child to be healthy and successful, but if a child grows up without Torah, then they have no guidance for life.

What use are all the blessings without the Torah, which provides the conduit for where these blessings need to go?

And Torah and mitzvot are so much more than just the act. One isn’t just learning Jewish texts. The Baal HaTanya explains in Tanya that when a person learns Torah, something extraordinary happens. Because the Torah is Hashem’s infinite wisdom, our minds become united with the mind of Hashem in a way that is impossible through any other experience. It is the most intimate intellectual connection a finite human being can have with the Infinite (Tanya, Likutei Amarim, Chapter 5).

Likewise, mitzvot are not merely good deeds, religious rituals or commandments. While the literal meaning of the Hebrew word mitzvah is “commandment,” Chassidic thought explains that it is also connected to the Aramaic word tzavta, meaning “connection” or “attachment” (Hayom Yom, 8 Cheshvan). Every mitzvah that a Jew does, it is as if they are hugging Hashem. A mitzvah is the very essence and Divine will of Hashem, so whether it’s helping another Jew or keeping kosher, you are connecting to the very essence of Hashem’s will. How incredible is that?

And more than that, with every mitzvah that you do, you are literally repairing this fractured world, also known as Tikkun Olam. Everything in this world has sparks of G-dliness that are crying to be exposed.

Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn writes in his letters (Igros Kodesh of the Frierdiker Rebbe, Vol. IV, p. 151):

“When Mashiach comes, inanimate matter will begin to speak and recount. The very earth will voice its complaint: ‘Why did people tread on me at times when they were not thinking or speaking about words of Torah?'”

Everything is filled with G-dliness, otherwise it would cease to exist. So when you make that brachah on that apple, or pick up rubbish from the floor, you are elevating those sparks that have been begging to be elevated (Tanya, Likutei Amarim, Chapter 4).

That’s why Chabad is so passionate about a Jew doing a mitzvah, no matter how observant they are, no matter where they are. A Jew could be leaving a place that is not an appropriate place for one to be in, and you will still see Chabad boys go up to him and ask, “Excuse me, are you Jewish? Would you like to put on tefillin?”

One action a moment before does not contradict the next moment. Every moment is a clean slate and a chance for another Jew to do a mitzvah. Never underestimate the power of that mitzvah. The light that it ignites in your soul is everlasting, and our sages teach us, “Mitzvah goreret mitzvah,” one mitzvah leads to another (Pirkei Avot 4:2).

I literally have tears every time I see those Chabad boys walking the streets, especially in Sydney now with the current climate, wearing their hats and jackets as proud and empowered Jews, asking people if they would like to do a mitzvah.

Some Jews perhaps find it embarrassing, and how sad that is. We live in a world where everyone owns their identity. We Jews need to start owning ours!

In this vein, I just have to share a story I recently heard.

A group of young Chabad boys from the school Cheder Levi Yitzchok in Melbourne were standing on Carlisle Street outside the iconic Glick’s Bakery. Suddenly, out of the blue, a man came up to them abusing them with the usual antisemitic slurs, sadly so commonplace.

“You genocidal baby killers,” and the like.

These boys were completely unfazed.

They simply looked at the man, took a breath, and kindly asked him, “Excuse me, sir, are you by any chance Jewish? Would you like to put on tefillin?”

You see, these boys had a mission and a purpose.

Nothing was about to get in their way.

Nothing. Not even an antisemite, or perhaps a self hating Jew, though I personally believe that term is an oxymoron.

Nor were these boys going to cower and run away in fear, which they so easily could have done, and understandably so.

No. They knew who they were and what they stood for. They remained cool, calm and collected because they were plugged into the Ultimate. They were plugged into Hashem. Nothing and no one was going to stop them. How inspiring!

And lastly, another part of Torah, Tefillah, prayer.

Prayer isn’t simply reciting words. Prayer is our opportunity to actually talk and connect to our beloved Creator. Hashem isn’t some lofty Being sitting only in the heavens. No. Hashem is literally everywhere, even though we are not privy to seeing Him. We can, however, experience His greatness if we choose to tap into it.

When we pray, this is our time to connect to our Creator, to ask Him for what we need, to thank Him for what He has given us, and to build a relationship with Him (Tanya, Likutei Amarim, Chapters 41-42).

Prayer doesn’t have to be limited to the prescribed prayers, although those Hebrew words themselves are immensely holy and carry tremendous weight. But prayer isn’t limited to that.

Talking to Hashem while you’re walking to the park. Whispering to Hashem in your darkest hour. Thanking Hashem while you’re driving your car. Crying to Hashem when life feels overwhelming.

Anything.

That is connection.

That is a relationship.

Will it always be easy? Absolutely not. It will undoubtedly be filled with ups and downs because, boy, does Hashem work in mysterious ways. Nevertheless, He is always there.

Every time you connect to Hashem and learn His Torah, fulfil His commandments and do mitzvot, you are connecting with the very essence of Hashem. Your life becomes infused with meaning and purpose, from the moment you wake up until the moment you go to bed. You are living a Hashem conscious life, always connected to the Source of creation. Every time you do a mitzvah, the will of Hashem, you are repairing the world. Since the sin of Adam and Chava, the world became a broken place, and it is our job to repair it. Every mitzvah that you do is fulfilling Hashem’s will and adding goodness and kindness into the world.

Try it sometime. When you’re feeling low, go and do an act of kindness for someone else. Give charity. Visit the elderly. Call someone who is lonely. Trust me, you will receive so much more than you ever gave. When you give, you get back tenfold.

Another understanding of Torah is that when one has Hashem in their life, they should always feel fulfilled. Technically, one can never truly be unhappy because they have such trust in Hashem and realise that everything in this world is ultimately good and Divinely orchestrated. Nothing happens by mere chance or coincidence. Now, obviously the world is filled with so much pain and suffering, and that pain is very real. Judaism never asks us to deny that. It doesn’t mean that one won’t struggle, cry or feel broken. But to truly live a meaningful and fulfilling life is to live a life of Torah, knowing that even when we cannot understand what Hashem is doing, He is always with us.

Okay, now the chuppah, the marriage canopy. Why that? Well, what’s the purpose of it all if we can’t continue it? In Judaism we believe in the sanctity and holiness of marriage and of having children. In fact, in our own way, we become creators. What an incredible privilege and miracle that is. When a person gets married and builds a faithful Jewish home, they are ensuring that the covenant that began thousands of years ago between Avraham and Hashem continues and remains everlasting.

But I’d like to take it one step further. Perhaps it may seem a little far fetched, but I’m going to take that leap because, hey, when does Judaism not? The Talmud states that finding your soulmate is as difficult as splitting the sea. I was thinking about that. There are so many things in life that feel as difficult as splitting the sea. Not just finding your soulmate, but marriage itself. Marriage is hard work. It requires compromise, patience and growth. But it’s also true of so many other things. The daily pressures of life. Navigating difficult relationships. Mental health struggles. Physical illness. Losing someone you love. Trying to rebuild after trauma. The list, sadly, is endless.

When you’re in the thick of it, it genuinely feels as though it’s as difficult as splitting the sea. Literally. And yet, at the bris we bless this tiny baby with the words, l’chuppah. I wonder if what we’re really blessing him with is not that life will be easy or rosy. Even once you reach the “goal” of marriage, life won’t suddenly become perfect. There will still be challenges. But know that the light is there. Literally, the light is at the end of the tunnel. It may feel as impossible as splitting the sea, but with Hashem, you will get there.

And lastly, maasim tovim.

Interestingly enough, it doesn’t say mitzvot, the commandments of Hashem. It says good deeds.

Our goal isn’t just to live in a holy little shell, immersing ourselves in Torah and doing mitzvot. Our goal is to take that Torah into the physical world, to inspire, uplift and empower other Jews and all of humanity. We need to take on social justice initiatives, increase in charity, help others and make this world a better place. We need to do maasim tovim, good deeds, because it shows that we aren’t just selfishly benefiting from the Torah, but are using it exactly how Hashem intended, to help another Jew and another human being.

The Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chassidic Judaism, explains that a person’s soul can come down into this world for one simple mission, just to do a favour for another person. Think about that. Your entire existence could be for one seemingly small act of kindness that changes somebody else’s life forever.

For very learned people, it can sometimes be difficult to leave their world of Torah. They love learning, they love the beit midrash, and understandably so. Yet we still pray that they perform maasim tovim, good deeds for another Jew. After all, what gives Hashem the greatest nachas? Seeing His children getting along, loving one another and helping one another. That gives Him the greatest joy of all.

So, l’Torah, l’chuppah, ul’maasim tovim isn’t just some nice, fluffy expression that we say at a baby boy’s bris milah. Far from it. It is our heartfelt blessing that Hashem should bless every single Jewish child, both boy and girl. We say these words specifically at a baby boy’s bris because the bris is the physical manifestation of the original covenant between Hashem and Avraham. But the blessing itself is one that we wish upon every Jew.

We pray that every Jew finds the ultimate happiness by connecting to Hashem through Torah and mitzvot. That they then take that Torah into their own life, build a faithful Jewish home and pass it on to the next generation. That they find the strength to overcome the inevitable challenges of life, challenges that at times may feel as difficult as splitting the sea. And that they use all of those blessings as fuel to help another Jew, to illuminate the sparks of G-dliness in this world, and to fill it with goodness, kindness and light.

As I finish writing this, I’m looking over at my beautiful baby boy sleeping peacefully.

I smile.

I close my eyes and whisper my tefillah once again:

“Thank You, Hashem, for my precious gift. May Meir grow up l’Torah, l’chuppah, ul’maasim tovim, and may he live until 120 in good health and happiness.”

And perhaps that’s what heaven really smells like.

Not just the scent of a freshly shampooed baby’s hair, but the hope that one tiny Jewish soul will fill this world with more Torah, more mitzvot, more maasim tovim, more light, more love and more G-dliness.

What a blessing that is.

May we all merit to live lives of l’Torah, l’chuppah, ul’maasim tovim, until 120 in good health and happiness.

Shanah Tovah.

Chavi

Chavi Block-Israel is the founder of The Empowered Jew.