Accomplishment With a Capital “A”

A few weeks ago, I attended the annual Chanuka school party for my second and third grade boys.  We had arrived slightly on the late side, and my very eager sons, pulling my husband in tow, had already disappeared somewhere into the sea of bouncing kippahs. I waded my way across the large hall to the women’s side.  Unfortunately, but not unexpectedly, all the “good” seats had been appropriately nabbed by the more timely mothers.

I stood at the back of the auditorium, craning my neck around a wide white pole to catch a glimpse of my beaming second grader, who was crooning “Al Hanissim” on stage at that very moment when I noticed the school janitor motioning to me.  “Come sit over here.  I found a better spot for you,” Rebbe Meir, as the schoolchildren fondly called him, waived and stretched a new row of wooden benches closer to the stage on the women’s side.  I watched him while he carefully arranged the benches, and worked with such great concentration to position them just right to accommodate the “late mommies.”

Nodding appreciatively, I moved toward this newly upgraded seating, and paused for a second as I caught a flash of pride glistening in Rebbe Meir’s shining black eyes.  “Mommies should be able to see too!!” he smiled scratching his grey beard and bustled away to refill the dwindling drink and cake supply along the side buffet.  As I settled myself for the finale of Al Hanissim, I thought about that twinkle of pride in the janitor’s eyes, which had warmed me for that one moment in the unheated auditorium.  For the rest of the evening, between performances, I watched Rebbe Meir – who diligently finds lost sweaters and coats; fixes the light bulbs; and always has a song under his breath and a sweet, broad smile to share with the boys.  He worked so persistently to make sure everyone could see, that everyone had drinks and snacks, and that the each boy got a sufgania (a don’t). He didn’t rest for one moment.

On the way home, I thought about how Rebbe Meir, in his unassuming way, filled the school hall that night with his enthusiasm at accomplishing literally the most routine of  tasks including making certain that I, just one of many mommies, had “good” seating with a bird’s eye view.  I then considered just how often I perform any regular task – sorting the laundry, cleaning up the randomly scattered toys, or even responding to e-mails at work – without even a trace of enjoyment (and sometimes, even with irritation).  I sighed, admitting inwardly that my approach to my daily charge, for the most part, didn’t seem to contain any notable sparks of excitement (after all, I couldn’t recall winning any special award for cleaning up the breakfast dishes).

It struck me that maybe I was measuring success with the wrong yardstick.  Perhaps the secret to living a full day was hidden in the message of Rebbe Meir’s infectious enthusiasm – to find enjoyment in the toil.  Accomplishment didn’t have to be measured on a grandiose scale.  It could simply be found in my efforts to make certain that my oldest daughter’s lunch bag contained her favorite deli sandwich, which would bring a sweet smile and a feeling of comfort into the world just as positioning that wooden bench for me had done that night in the school auditorium.  In fact, our Sages teach that every daily task that greets us is designed specifically by the Almighty for our completion and contains sparks of holiness that, if performed in the right way, elevate the world by bringing Godliness into it.  Accomplishment, I concluded, is definitely in the way I perform the job, not the type of job, and certainly not in the outcome, which is always, and totally, in the hands of Hashem.  With a similar message, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov taught that each day is infused with its own meaning, and our goal is to focus only on the day at hand in order to discover our unique purpose as concealed within it.

With new resolve, I woke up that next morning and focused deeply on “Modeh Ani” – actually eager at the thought of being blessed with another day to toil.  Instead of waking my children with the usual bright light and rushed “good morning”, I awoke them with a hug, relishing the way they rubbed their sleepy eyes and swooned in response.  I made eggs and toast for breakfast, but this time, added cinnamon to the toast and grinned while my youngest daughter squealed with delight at the prickly scent.  When my husband walked through the door from morning davening, I smiled and set a warm mug of coffee on the table for him to sip.   After carefully tucking in all of the scarves and hats around the tiny faces which were about to brave the winter cold, I closed the front door and paused for a moment with a sense of pride.  Yes, I had definitely accomplished that morning with a capital “A”, and I still had the rest of the day to accomplish so much more.