Divine Breadcrumbs
Last week, one line caught me.
And somehow, it brought me back to the Rebbe.
To Gimmel Tammuz.
To what it means to be made by Hashem, with purpose.
And to what it means to be a man, with heart.
—
Every morning, I thank Hashem and say שֶׁלֹּא עָשַׂנִי אִשָּׁה.
Not because I’m better. Because He didn’t make me for it.
I can’t hold what the feminine holds.
Not in the body. Not in the soul.
Not the way a woman holds pain. Or love. Or life.
Not the way my wife carries our world, quietly, fiercely,
with more depth than I’ll ever fully understand.
And not the way the Shechina holds Presence.
Feminine. Infinite.
Settled just beneath the surface of everything.
I say the bracha with reverence. Because I’m not meant to hold all that.
I’m meant to honor it. From where I stand,
in a masculine body, with a masculine soul.
As one who tends to the fire, not one who becomes it.
And slowly, through my wife, and through my own unfolding,
I’m learning to meet Her.
The Divine presence behind it all.
The spark of Shechina inside my wife.
The flicker of feminine soul inside myself.
Not to chase. Not to copy.
Just to notice.
And hold, in grounded, steady ways.
And when I do, when I stay open without overreaching, something quiet and holy shows up.
The ultimate She leaves me crumbs.
Tiny ones.
A song request from my son.
A last-minute order of sushi.
A license plate I didn’t choose.
Not fire. Not thunder.
Just something small enough to miss,
but deep enough to feed me.
These aren’t insights I own.
They’re שֶׁלֹּא — not mine. Not earned.
They’re שֶׁלָּהּ — Hers.
Offered, not owed. Not because I chased, but because I stayed close.
Because I showed up with presence, and didn’t try to take.
And She gave them anyway. Not to keep like trophies.
But to carry like whispers. To walk with. To live with.
To let them bake into me, until they changed how I speak, how I stand, how I serve.
And in those moments, they became שֶׁלִּי — mine.
Not forever. Just long enough to shape me. To let me rise. Slow.
Because at the end of the day,
we’re all שֶׁלּוֹ — His. Hashem’s.
—
Yesterday was Gimmel Tammuz.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe’s 31st yahrtzeit.
A day of quiet longing. Of deep listening.
Of walking forward. Longing for Geulah.
Listening for my part in bringing it,
even if my role is holding a flashlight for someone already carrying a torch.
Even if all I have to offer is Lechem.
A small light. A gentle crumb.
We just finished the year of לא — of “not.”
And are stepping into the year of לב — of “Heart.”
And maybe it’s no coincidence that I think about שֶׁלֹּא עָשַׂנִי אִשָּׁה each morning — and now, it lands deeper.
Because those three words—שֶׁלֹּא. עָשַנִי. אִשָּׁה.—hold their own spiritual map.
The Rebbe didn’t make me - שֶׁלֹּא
He didn’t invent me. He didn’t own me. But he reminded me who I was
He looked into the world and said, you belong. You’re needed.
Hashem made me - עָשַנִי
With will. With precision. With love.
But sometimes, even when you’re made, you need a Tzaddik to light the match.
To awaken the fire Hashem already placed inside.
Aleph, Shin, Hey - אִשָּׁה
.the fire of God - אֵשׁ ה’
I wasn’t made to be that fire. But I was made to respond to it.
To honor it. To carry it forward.
Not by becoming Her, but by becoming me.
A man.
Who doesn’t need the crown,
because he’s busy carrying the mission.
And as we begin this new chapter, we’ll also read this Shabbos:
Perek 5 of Pirkei Avos, with Mishnah 10,
שֶׁלִּי שֶׁלָּךְ, וְשֶׁלְּךָ שֶׁלָּךְ – חָסִיד.
What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is yours — that’s a Chossid.
My birthday is 5/10.
And maybe those numbers are not random.
Maybe it’s been my assignment all along. My personal Avoda.
To become a man — an אִישׁ חָסִיד, not just with strength, but with surrender.
Not by taking, but by tending. Not by fire alone, but by heart.
But how?
As Pirkei Avos 4:1 taught us this past Shabbos:
אֵיזֶהוּ חָכָם? הַלּוֹמֵד מִכָּל אָדָם.
אֵיזֶהוּ גִּבּוֹר? הַכּוֹבֵשׁ אֶת יִצְרוֹ.
To become the kind of man who learns from everyone, without needing to be the expert.
Who receives without grabbing, and serves without needing the stage.
Who walks softly with God in my heart, and carries each crumb with care.
That’s how I want to walk into this year.
With humility. With presence. With Chein.
Not chasing fire — but carrying it forward.
Not with noise. But with light. And love.
With a whole Lev.
By choosing to be Hashem’s Chossid.
And trusting the crumbs will be there when I need them most.
And even though its not in the Siddur Nusach I use, or instituted for men at all,
saying Thank You Hashem, every day : שֶׁעָשַׂנִי כִּרְצוֹנוֹ
That He made me exactly as He willed.
And that, somehow… is perfect.
–Berke איש חן
Some tasty crumbs: