This is a tale of two bochurim, or perhaps two yungeleit, Reuven and Shimon.
Let’s begin with Reuven, because his story is, frankly, more boring. You see him in the bais medrash, but you barely notice him. He’s what you might call part of the furniture. He doesn’t make any noise; he’s just there. He doesn’t look particularly happy or particularly sad, just quietly sitting in his corner during every seder, learning consistently, day in and day out. No dramatics. No performance. He doesn’t know how to make grand hand motions when he learns. He doesn’t even raise his voice in a way that others hear when he proposes a chiddush or a sevara. He simply doesn’t have that kind of flair.
And then there’s Shimon. Shimon is a completely different story. He’s charismatic—really charismatic. When he walks into the bais medrash, you notice. He learns with a bren, a real kol Torah, loud, sweet, and fiery. He’s also there every day, learning with intensity. He’s the one who delivers the “bomb chaburah,” the one who can quote Tosafos and the Rashba verbatim. When he speaks, the olam listens. And when he pats you on the shoulder because you asked a good question, it feels like a real chashivus, because everyone sees it. Shimon acknowledged that your sevara was a good one. When Shimon says a sevara, he explains it with such clarity and geshmak that it’s almost like he’s living it.
Let’s be real. Reuven is a little jealous of Shimon. Everyone notices Shimon. Everyone is “into him.” Reuven, on the other hand, just sits quietly and learns. He doesn’t make waves. He simply toils in his learning, alone in his corner.
This scenario is not unique. It plays out among bochurim and yungeleit, girls and women alike. In today’s world, to be noticed, you need to stand out. You have to be known as a “choshuve yungerman.” If you’re a girl, you need to have “presence”—to stand out, to be noticed, not being the one who gets lost in a crowd.
To Be a “Nobody” or a “Somebody”
In the business world, it’s all about being a jet-setter, the guy closing the big deals. Just crunching numbers at a desk can make you feel like a nobody.
In the world of communications, people are starting podcasts left and right. Why? Because if no one knows who you are, and you’re not making waves, then you’re not relevant.
Being just a number isn’t cool. Being one of thousands in a yeshiva can feel like you’re invisible—like if you disappeared, no one outside of your close family would even notice.
I recently saw a bumper sticker that said, “Bais Tikvah needs every girl!” Bais Tikvah is a prominent girls’ high school, and the message was clear: If you feel like a nobody, lost in a class of 40 or 50 girls, in a school of thousands, you should know that you matter. You’re needed.
It’s a beautiful sentiment, but I’m not sure how comforting it is to the girl who already feels like just a number.
These thoughts were swirling in my head for weeks after seeing that bumper sticker. And then, a line from the famous piyut Bar Yochai, sung on Lag Ba’omer, hit me with a fresh insight I’d like to share.
The Moshav Tov of Rabi Shimon
In the second stanza of that piyut, we read: “Bar Yochai, moshav tov yoshavta — You settled in a good place on the day you fled [from the emperor]. In the cave where you stood, there you acquired your splendor and your beauty…”
The piyut refers to the fact that Rabi Shimon Bar Yochai and his son, Rabi Elazar, fled from the Roman emperor who wanted to kill them. They hid in a cave for thirteen years. And it was there, in that cave, that they acquired their true splendor and beauty.
Let’s think for a moment. Who doesn’t know the name Rabi Shimon Bar Yochai? He is mentioned throughout Shas. He’s the author of the Zohar Hakadosh, the cornerstone of Toras haKabbolah. Every year, thousands upon thousands from all the shevatim of Klal Yisroel travel to his kever to daven.
But how did Rabi Shimon become Rabi Shimon? How did he “make it”? The answer lies in that same line: “In the cave where you stood, there you acquired your splendor and your beauty.”
Yes, in the cave. When no one saw him! It was there, away from the limelight, with no fanfare, no public recognition. Just Rabi Shimon and his son learning day after day. In that cave, he toiled. He suffered. Sand filled the cracks of his body, causing unimaginable pain. No one saw it. No one noticed. But it was in that cave that he truly became Rabi Shimon.
In that quiet, hidden corner of the world, he reached greatness.
This is such an essential lesson.
Making an Impression…Without Pizzazz
Yes, it’s people like “Reuven” who show up every day, learning with quiet hasmadah, who don’t think they’re doing anything noteworthy but persevere. Even as others “make it” with flair, they keep going. They stay on course, unswayed.
And then, over the years, people slowly begin to notice. Reuven, the quiet fellow in the corner, knows everything. Ask him anything and he’s right there with the answer. Wow! All along, he was building something great. Quietly. Steadily. Purposefully.
The same applies to the man who goes to work every day because he takes his kesubah seriously. He still finds time to learn with energy, early in the morning and again at night. He dreams that his children will be talmidei chachomim, that they’ll marry talmidei chachomim. He models what it means to be an ehrliche Yid, putting ruchniyus before everything. He may never host parlor meetings at a mansion, but in his daily grind, he plants seeds that will eventually bear fruit.
What about the wife and mother who chooses to stay home to raise her children instead of pursuing a corporate career? She may not have the glitz and recognition that come with a fancy title and a big paycheck. But day after day, with effort and dedication, often enduring hardship, she follows in the footsteps of Rabi Shimon. Away from the spotlight. Quietly. Nobly.
What was Rabi Shimon’s moshav tov? The best place he ever sat—the best stage of his life—was that cave. Those long, painful years. Doing the right thing in private. That is where he became Rabi Shimon.
And that is a lesson to remember.
Based on a thought seen in Sefer Ki Ata Imadi.
