To be honest, I had never heard of Charlie Kirk until he was tragically murdered. But I have since learned that he was a staunch defender of moral values and of Israel. He used his natural abilities to reason and debate in order to engage in open dialogue and conversation, something so lacking yet necessary in contemporary society.
Though not Jewish, he was deeply religious and a fierce believer in G-d. He regularly read from the Bible and took its words and messages to heart.
During his later years, he began “observing Sabbath” by not engaging in technology on Saturday and enjoying family meals together. He noted that he found it transformative and transcendent. He was so enamored with his Sabbath observance that he published a small book about it, entitled Stop in the Name of G-d: Why Honoring the Sabbath Will Transform Your Life.
Being ever curious, I purchased the book so I could read his perspective on the gift that we as observant Jews often take for granted.
The preface of the book states: “In a world that never slows down, where busyness is worn as a badge of honor and screens dictate our every move, Stop in the Name of G-d offers a radical yet profoundly simple invitation: Pause, rest, and reconnect… This book is not about escaping modern life – it’s about living it more fully, intentionally, and meaningfully.”
In the book, Kirk writes that, due to his Sabbath observance, he began to notice things he had long overlooked, like birds chirping and the warmth of sunlight. He also began to feel added clarity in his thinking and a sense of spiritual renewal.
I found it intriguing that Charlie Kirk was so fascinated with his Sabbath observance. It definitely served as a reminder to me to appreciate the gift of having a day each week to withdraw from the bustle of life and to appreciate the often-forgotten blessings of life.
But upon deeper reflection, I realized that, as special as Kirk’s Sabbath was, it does not touch the essence of what Shabbos kodesh truly is. When one learns the words of the Sfas Emes or the Nesivos Shalom, which connect every parshah of the year to the k’dushah of Shabbos, one begins to realize that Shabbos observance is not merely about retreating from the physical world. It is also about entering a different realm: a day in which the soul plugs into its source.
As elevating as he felt his Sabbath observance was, Charlie Kirk could never have experienced holding a silver kos filled with wine while reciting Kiddush on Friday night, knowing that somehow doing so partners us with the Divine. He could not have experienced the whimsical spiritual envelopment of singing Kah Echsof Noam Shabbos (“G-d, I yearn for the sweetness of Shabbos,” the beautiful words and tune composed by Rabbi Aharon of Karlin) or any of the Shabbos z’miros. He never felt the geshmak of hearing a beautiful and encouraging idea that answers a difficult question on the parshah and how it applies to our daily lives.
I should add that, in real time, we may not feel so elevated by our Shabbos observance either. We may partner with the Divine by reciting Kiddush on Friday night while simultaneously serving as referees for fighting and whining children. We may try to share a Torah thought at the table when no one seems to be listening. But if we step back and reflect on what is happening when we observe Shabbos, we will realize how incredible it is and how great a gift it truly is, even if it does not always feel that way in the moment.
This idea is also particularly applicable to Chanukah.
One day, the great chasidic rebbe, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, found his chasidim involved in an animated discussion. They were discussing how the local duke had decided he wanted to go skiing. The only issue was that it was the middle of the summer. But the duke would not allow such trivial details to stop him from pursuing his desire. He promptly called for cartloads of sugar to be delivered to his estate. His attendants created a mountain out of the sugar, and the duke spent the day skiing on the sugar slope.
It should be remembered that the common folk at that time were destitute and perhaps enjoyed only a minuscule amount of sugar on occasion.
The chasidim commented that the duke knew how to live it up.
The Berditchever was unimpressed and replied incredulously, “Does he really know how to live it up? Did the duke ever light Chanukah candles? Has he ever had that blissful experience? Of course not! So how can anyone think he knows how to live it up?”
When I share this anecdote with my students, I note that perhaps we cannot relate to the Berditchever’s unparalleled passion and excitement in performing the mitzvah of lighting Chanukah candles. However, it gives us a glimpse of the ideal and reminds us that we should strive to feel passionate and excited when performing this precious mitzvah.
My rebbi, Rabbi Berel Wein zt”l, often related the following personal story and lesson:
“When my oldest grandson was turning three, I wanted to buy him a toy that was educational and innovative and would last for years. After quite a bit of research, I purchased the toy and presented it to him. He spent the next hour playing with the box.
“That’s us. We are playing with the box. We don’t appreciate the gift that’s inside it.”
Rabbi Wein would use this analogy to explain that we do not appreciate the gift of having Eretz Yisrael today.
“How did Israel end up with seven million Jews? It’s the largest number of Jews ever in the Land of Israel. Look at Yerushalayim today. People complain about the traffic. My father told me that when he was in Palestine in 1925, studying at Mercaz HaRav, there was one traffic light at Rechov Jaffa and King George. How did it happen that a bunch of shoemakers learned to fly an F-16?!
“Maybe we play with the box because if we played with the toy, it would overwhelm us. So we allow ourselves to be distracted by all the static – nonsense and politics.”
I think Rabbi Wein’s analogy also applies to our mitzvah and holiday observance. Chanukah has beautiful customs and traditions, including delicious fried (and fatty) foods, playing dreidel, and giving money or gifts. But all those customs are the gift-wrapped box meant to excite us about the present itself. The true present is the mitzvah of lighting the menorah and the opportunity to recite Hallel for eight days straight. But we are often too busy playing with the box to truly appreciate the gift inside.
Every Shabbos and every Yom Tov is an opportunity for special spiritual focus and unique areas of growth. There is tremendous depth and beauty in each one. We should not settle for the wrapping paper.
Rabbi Dani Staum is a popular speaker, columnist, and author. He is a rebbi in Heichal HaTorah in Teaneck, New Jersey, principal of Mesivta Orchos Yosher in Spring Valley, New York, and a member of the administration of Camp Dora Golding. His writings can be found at www.strivinghigher.com. Looking for an inspirational speaker or scholar-in-residence? Contact Rabbi Staum at 845-641-5094 or at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..