Articles by David Sacks
To
hear David Sacks speak go to www.613.org/sacks.html
Why I write for Farbrengen
In My Father’s Footsteps
In My Father’s Footsteps ( in Portuguese ) – external link
Becoming You
Keeping Shabbos In Hollywood:
Keeping Shabbos in Hollywood ( in Portuguese ) – external link
Mourning the Loss of A Loved
One:
The Holiness of Not Knowing
The Holiness of Humor
http://www.aish.com/family/heart/In_My_Fathers_Footsteps.asp
|
|
|
|
|
|
My father's fateful
decision opened up gates in Heaven for his future descendants. |
It's one of
those one-in-a-zillion stories. The type my father likes to say would give a
computer a nervous breakdown. It begins in 1946. My father had just finished
his military service and was living in
It was
summer time, the new term was about to begin, and my father was looking for a
place to stay. He went to the fraternity closest to campus, gave them a deposit
and began to unpack.
A short while
later there was a knock at the door. It was one of the senior members of the
fraternity. He quickly assessed the situation, and began hinting that my father
"might be more comfortable elsewhere."
This
seemed strange. My father just landed a spot as close as you could get to the
campus -- what could be "more comfortable" than that? My father
assured him that he was happy there, but the man persisted, saying that it
might be nicer to be around people "more like yourself."
By way of example, he mentioned the name of the Jewish fraternity nearby.
Naively,
my father explained that having just served in the United States Army, he had been exposed to all kinds of people, and
enjoyed -- even thrived -- on diversity.
|
|
|
|
The
man repeated that my father would feel more comfortable elsewhere, but this
time it wasn't a suggestion. They were his parting words. |
|
|
|
|
The man repeated that my father would feel more comfortable elsewhere, but this time it wasn't a suggestion. They were his parting words. He gave my father back his deposit and left the room.
Suddenly,
my father understood. No Jews Allowed.
My father vividly
recalls how as he walked down the stairs, the ping-pong game in the rec room
abruptly stopped, and everyone became uncomfortably silent. It stayed that way
until he left the building.
But the
real story begins with what happened next.
There were any number of places my father could have gone. While
anti-Semitism was still a potent force in American society, the flood gates of
assimilation were open, and tens of thousands of Jews were rushing through
leaving their Jewishness behind. It would have been a perfect moment for my
father to do the same. After all, if this is what comes with being Jewish, then
who needs it?
But my
father made the exact opposite choice. He went to the Jewish frat house on
Cut to Yom
Kippur, 40 years later. After a very unlikely series of events, I, too, ended
up in
I didn't
grow up observant, but my parents' instilled within me a strong sense of Jewish
identity. As a child, I remember my mother saying "Shema"
with me before I went to bed. As an eight-year-old, I remember reading Hasidic
stories from "Talks and Tales," the Lubavich
children magazine an observant neighbor sent my older brother as a bar mitzvah
present. As an 11-year-old I began attending
In the
years that followed, I always wanted to do more Jewishly,
but somehow I had given myself permission to stagnate.
Then came Yom Kippur.
Even
though I wasn't "religious," I wanted to go to an Orthodox shul that
I could walk to. The closest one at that time was the Chabad of Westwood. At
the end of a long day of services, Rabbi Baruch Cunin
concluded with a declaration that every Jewish male over 13 must put on teffilin every day except Shabbos,
and that every Jewish woman must light Shabbos
candles before sundown Friday nights. All I could think was -- he's right. I
owned teffilin. I had put them on during summer camp,
but that was basically it. Nonetheless, they were incredibly precious to me.
Wherever I went, even if it was for only a weekend, I would take them with me.
"Who knows?" I thought, "Maybe I'll want to put them on, and if
they're not there, what will I do?"
After that
Yom Kippur, I started putting on teffilin and never
stopped.
That
mitzvah transformed my life. Before long, I was keeping Shabbos,
marrying a wonderful Jewish woman, and sending my children to yeshiva.
And now for the part that continues to amaze me. That
fateful encounter at the Chabad House on Yom Kippur, happened at 741 Gayley
Avenue, the exact location of the Jewish frat house my father reaffirmed his
Jewish ties at 40 years earlier.
It is
astounding how precisely God governs the world. Beyond the synchronicity
though, I think there is an even deeper lesson. When we do something holy, not
only do we elevate ourselves and our past, but we open up gates in Heaven for
our future, and not just our own -- but our children's and children's children
until the end of time.
I heard
from Rabbi Simcha Weinberg that when we experience moments of transcendence, we
should use them to pray for our future descendants.
I don't
know if consciously or unconsciously, my father had me in mind when he
reaffirmed his commitment to being Jewish, but I am living proof that he opened
doors for me that I continue to walk through to this day.
* * *
Shortly
after writing this, my father, Dr. Leonard Sacks, Leib
ben Tzvi Hirsh HaLevi, left this world. May it be an elevation for his soul.
Copyright David Sacks. Not to be
reprinted without his permission.
Published: Sunday, July 16, 2006
http://www.aish.com/hhrosh/hhroshdefault/Becoming_You.asp
There is a fascinating dialectic contained within Rosh Hashana. On one hand, it's the beginning of the new year. And yet Rosh Hashana
actually occurs in the seventh month, (Nissan, commemorating the Exodus from
There is a deep secret contained in this. People reach the middle of their lives and think that meaningful change is impossible. Therefore, the Almighty put Rosh Hashana in the middle of the year to teach us that it's never too late to begin again.
In the most obvious sense, Rosh Hashana is all about making God our king, for whom we have awesome respect and commit to following His instructions.
But there's an even more primary step. The Kotzker Rebbe once observed that some people come to him in search of assistance to reach God. But their efforts are for naught, for "[God's] glory fills all the earth" (Isaiah 6:3). Rather, the Kotzker taught, for whom must people search? For themselves.
The Midrash (Kohelet Rabba 1:3) comments that "one who grows old is like an ape." The Kotzker Rebbe explains that the nature of an ape is to imitate. "Just as it is the way of an ape to imitate humans, so too, a person, when he has become old, imitates himself, and does what was his manner previously." In other words, most of us, at some point in life, either consciously or not, become satisfied with who we are and what we've become. As such, we cease to strive toward attaining greater spiritual heights. We are content to live out our remaining days as a mere imitation of ourselves!
From this we see that the Torah perspective on "growing old" is not a function of age, but rather on whether we remain committed to spiritual growth.
Therefore, the question we all must ask is: Have I become an imitation of myself? And if so, when did it happen and what factors are to blame? Is it malaise, a crisis in belief, anger at God, or simply laziness? Unless we find the root of the problem, how can we hope to uproot it?
But there's another, perhaps bigger, question: Who do I want to be? As Hillel says, "If not for me, then who?" (Avot 1:14) In other words, if I recognize the need to go beyond the "me," because I am no longer content with who I am now, then "who" exactly would I like to become?
Rosh Hashana is the most ideal time to contemplate this. Because on Rosh Hashana the DNA for the year is being formed, and God looks to us as partners in its creation.
Rabbi Akiva Tatz gives the following example: Imagine you're an architect sitting in front of a blueprint. Think about how much easier it is to change the position of the windows before you construct the building than it is after the house has been built!
Rosh Hashana is the time when we make the blueprint for our new selves. The power to envision what we want to become is exponentially greater now, than it is once the year has already been built.
Using this as a framework, let's go deeper. Every situation, or "scene" we find ourselves in life -- whether as seemingly trivial as standing on line in the supermarket, or deciding whether or not to lose our temper -- is a uniquely designed opportunity for us to grow spiritually, to become more "God-like." On some level, we are like actors and God is the Ultimate Playwright.
Now imagine the author is about write the next act, but before he does so he gives you the opportunity to discuss who you'd like to be, and what role you'd like to play in the new production. This is what the prayers of Rosh Hashanah are all about. The Almighty is about to create the new year, but before He does, in the ultimate sign of love and respect, He looks to us for input.
Take the time to dream the greatest dream of yourself,
and then chart the course to realizing it. Ask yourself: Am I constantly
striving to be a better parent/spouse? Am I making an effort to learn Hebrew
and observe Shabbos? Do I empathize with the plight
of Jews around the world, and the devastating terror in
Now structure a timetable for achieving your goals. For some reason, we never think in terms of deadlines when it comes to spirituality. But why not? As Hillel concludes, "If not now, when?" "Now" that I have envisioned the new me, "when" will I bring it into being?
Great days are coming. Let's use them to make a big breakthrough, for ourselves and our world.
This
article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/hhrosh/hhroshdefault/Becoming_You.asp
http://www.olam.org/treasure.php?issue=8&id=230
Keeping Shabbos In
My
Name is David Sacks and I am a sitcom writer
Shortly after I first started keeping Shabbos,
I got my first job as a staff writer on a sit-com. It was the ninety-ninth
rated show out of ninety-nine in prime time. Not that this has anything to do
with the story, I’ve just always thought that was cool.
There wasn’t much to do the first week, and it was August when the sun
sets relatively late, so we finished work before there was any conflict. The
second week was different. Friday rolled around and we were finishing just in
time for me to be able to make it home for candle lighting. I lived close to
the studio, so as long as we wrapped it up quickly, I’d make it home by the
skin of my teeth.
It was one of those meetings that wanted desperately to end. However,
each time it was about to, someone invariably raised another point. And then
another. I was sitting in front of a large picture window watching the sun get
lower and lower in the sky. It finally came to the point that if I didn’t leave
right away I wasn’t going to make it.
I didn’t know what to say or do. Having had no previous experience
keeping Shabbos in the work place, I hadn’t thought
of raising it with my Executive Producers earlier. This much I knew, several
minutes before sundown was not the time to launch into a discourse about my
religious beliefs. In other words, I was stuck. So, I did the only thing I
could think of. I got up, and without any ceremony, I left. They must have
thought I was going to the bathroom. But I never came back. Running to the car,
I remember thinking that for a day of rest, this was
causing a lot of anxiety. I had to talk to my Executive Producers, explain my
situation, and hope they’d be supportive.
After the weekend, I went in with my partner, and asked if I could
leave a few hours early Friday night so that I could keep the Sabbath. They
said, “No”. Then they asked if I still wanted to do this, because if I did,
they were going to replace me. In other words, work on Shabbos,
or you’re fired.
When I got home, I called my agent. He asked me what I wanted to do. I
told him that I wasn’t going to work on Shabbos. He
told me that if that was the case then I wasn’t going to work in television
again.
This was an amazing moment.
The next day I told my partner I wasn’t going to work. He understood,
but he told me that he was going to try and stay on the show without me. I
didn’t blame him. After all, he wasn’t even Jewish. Not only that, but people
try for years to break into sitcom. This was a big break for him too, and he
had every right to see what it might lead to.
In many respects this was the most critical moment of my life. I had
been extraordinarily blessed. I had achieved my goal of going to
Relating to this, I heard a teaching that for years I thought came from
a great nineteenth century Hassidic Master. Later I learned it was from a
tattooed biker in recovery. Not only doesn’t that take anything away from the
insight, I think it makes it even more relatable.
He said, “all of us are created with a G-d
shaped hole inside of us”. We try to fill it with career achievements, drugs,
relationships, money, but none of these things fill it except G-d, precisely
because it’s a G-d shaped hole.
Modern society cynically views religion as a crutch, but nothing could
be further from the truth. The quest for spirituality is an expression of a
longing built into us by G-d Himself. For some us that inner voice becomes
loudest during tragic times. For others, me included,
it becomes clearest during times of plenty. It says, all these opportunities
are great – but there has to be something more to life!
I no longer had confidence that blindly climbing the ladder of success
was going to lead me to better and better places. I needed to know where
“success” was taking me, and perhaps even more importantly, where it was
stopping me from going. I realized then that if I couldn’t take my soul along
on the journey, then no matter how far I got, it was ultimately a dead end.
The pressure was definitely building. I was about to lose my job, my
partner, and I was told that I wouldn’t work in television again. But somehow,
despite this I remained calm. Maybe I wouldn’t work in my chosen field, but in
my heart, I knew that nothing bad was going to come from keeping Shabbos.
My agents marched in, and met with the studio head, and the Executive
Producers. To my amazement, behind closed doors, all of the parties actually
turned out to be respectful and supportive.
Now before I accept a job I always discuss Shabbos.
Despite the stereotypes people have of the entertainment industry, I’ve been
consistently touched by how positively both Jews and non-Jews alike respond.
Judaism teaches that when you’re in the middle of a hardship you’d give
anything to have it go away. But if you get through it successfully, you
wouldn’t exchange the experience for anything. G-d gave me a great gift. He
could have made the entire process easy for me. But instead, He gave me the
opportunity to take a stand for what I believe in. Perhaps for this reason,
this remains for me the proudest moment of my life.
Since then, life has never been the same. Come sundown Friday, no
matter what’s going on, no matter how busy I am, everything disappears and the
only thing that remains is Shabbos. Holy Shabbos.
David Sacks was a writer and producer on “The Simpsons” and “Third Rock from the Sun”. He is also the
creator of “Game Over”, an animated series that can be seen on UPN.
http://www.olam.org/treasure.php?issue=4&id=145
Mourning the
Loss of A Loved One:
The
Place
Anyone who's lost a parent, or any loved one, goes through the inevitable
process of wondering whether they've been abandoned by G-d.
Part of an answer comes in the words of consolation we say to someone
in mourning. "May G-d console you among the other mourners of
Interestingly, the Hebrew word used for G-d here, HaMakom,
literally means "The Place." May "The Place" reach out to
console us. There are many different names for God in
Jewish prayer and Torah, each of them opening our eyes to a different aspect of
His light and reality. But the name HaMakom,
"The Place"- or perhaps better, "The Omnipresent One" - is
rarely used. Why this special name at this most sensitive time?
Before we can answer, let's look at another expression of the concept
of place in Jewish mourning. Ordinarily, we're supposed to have a set place
where we pray, either in our home or in shul - our makom
kavuah. According to Jewish law, during the 12 months
of mourning a person must move this place about eight feet from the usual place
of prayer. The simple explanation is that in our lives we've experienced a
sense of dislocation and this is reflected in our choice of a place of prayer.
Maybe it reflects dislocation in our relationship with G-d, as well.
But there's an interesting twist in this halacha, which is that on Shabbos,
we return to our regular place. This has to do with the special blessing of the
day. The Ishbitzer Rebbe
asks what the difference is between simcha (joy) and oneg (bliss). "Simcha," he says, "is when
G-d gives you something you didn't have before, but oneg
is when G-d shows you what you've had all along." Shabbos
is a time of oneg, when G-d lifts us out of the
work-a-day week and gives us a heavenly perspective. On Shabbos
we can experience oneness between the physical and the material, and the
seamless flow that connects them. Thus un-dislocated, we can return to our
usual seat in the synagogue. Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav ties together these various strands with regard to
the parting of the soul. Says Rebbe Nachman:
"Most people think that when someone dies, he goes from one room to
another. But I say when someone dies, he goes from one
side of the room to the other side of the same room."
In other words, people may think of this world and the next as two
discrete entities, two worlds that are next to each other but otherwise have
nothing in common. But the reality is that the universe is one room, not two.
And that same Divine energy that enlivens the upper spheres exists below here,
albeit in a different external form. Imagine a never-ending road. This is life.
At a certain point, we may shed our bodies, but the journey along that same
road continues; in fact, we don't even miss a step.
Thus, as much as we think that there's a separation between our
departed parent and us, or (worse) between G-d and us, it's really not the
case. So G-d consoles us by saying, "I am the Place, so wherever you go
and whatever you feel, I am with you." The mourner sees this continuum
most clearly on Shabbos, but it is always there.
I once heard Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach
comfort someone who had lost her mother. "Now you're closer to your mother
than ever," he said. "Because it used to be when you wanted to be
with her, you'd have to call her, or she'd call you. But now, the truth is that
wherever you go, she's right there with you." And how close is that? According to our Sages, "closer than two hairs on a person's
head." This world and the next are completely intertwined.
In those same words of consolation, the word used for "you" -
"May God console you among the other mourners of
Thus the Omnipresent One is with each of us in every realm, and we are
all a hair's breadth from one another, across time and in every place. The more
we understand this, the more we'll be comforted with all the mourners, living
and dead.
And now we see how G-d consoles us with the name HaMakom.
Contained in that name is the realization that wherever we go, and whatever
we're experiencing, He is with us. And this is the ultimate comfort for all the
mourners of
David Sacks speaks frequently on topics of Jewish spirituality, and is
an Emmy Award-winning writer/producer.
http://www.olam.org/treasure.php?issue=6&id=40
What The
Butterfly Knows
"What do we know, what do we know?"
Reb Shlomo Carlebach
used to say these words all the time, and whenever he did, whoever heard them
was instantly put in touch with how deep and mysterious life really is. What do
we know? Ask yourself a question: Do you know what's going to happen when you
walk down the street today? Do you know what's really going to happen tomorrow?
Do you know whom you're going to marry? Or what your kids will be like when
they're adults? Do you know the day you are going to die? Can you possibly? So
many questions and so much uncertainty about life's biggest issues! The
question is, why? Why did Hashem design this world in such a way that we would
have to live in a state of "not knowing"?
I think Hashem created the world with all its unpredictability in order
to sensitize us to the miraculousness of every
moment. To cause us to understand that just because we receive something every
day, it doesn't make it any less a gift, or mean that it has to be there
tomorrow. To see that He is the source of all blessing.
In sum, in order to breed nearness to Him.
Not only is it permissible not to know, but grasping the unknowableness of life is the foundation of humility and
inner peace. If this is the case, then the first question we must ask is, what's so bad about knowing?
Once we "know" something, it feels old, even dead. The fact
that we can look at the stars at night or the astonishing variety of fruits,
animals and personalities and not be constantly amazed is death. In fact, the
Torah teaches that the very thing that brought death into the world was when we
ate from the Tree of Knowledge.
Time and again, Reb Shlomo
spoke about how it's possible to go through the Talmud five times and still not
be close to G-d. At first this seems hard to understand. But his point was that
there's a big difference between "knowing" G-d and intimacy with the
Divine. When I got married, Reb Shlomo
blessed my wife and me that we should never stop surprising each other. Because
when you really think you know all there is to know about someone, the life of
the relationship is drained. It follows then that the worst thing would be to
reach a state where we feel like we "know" G-d.
"Not knowing" is very different from ignorance. Torah study
is one of the greatest mitzvahs possible. This raises a conundrum: How do we go
about increasing in learning while still maintaining our freshness and sense of
wonder? I once asked Reb Shlomo
this question. He said a person has to treat each new thing learned as a piece
in a larger puzzle that still has pieces missing. For most people, every new
piece of information becomes another thing that they "know" - an
attainment in and of itself. But with Reb Shlomo's teaching, each new
thing learned can be a gentle reminder of how little we know - a hand reaching
out, beckoning us to a previously unexplored realm.
I remember a friend once asked me, at a critical moment in my Jewish
growth, whether an ant can out-think a man. I said of course not. And he said,
"Then how can man out-think G-d? We make the mistake of making G-d too
small, of trying to make G-d fit into our limited consciousness instead of
glorying in the fact that He is so beyond what we can ever know. Ultimately the
mind is just one of our faculties. There's a deeper, more intuitive place
within us. One of the beautiful aspects of Torah is that there is an entire
category of laws, called chukim, designed
specifically to nurture this place within us. These are laws which cannot be understood
through rational thought alone - like shatnez, the
prohibition against mixing wool and linen together in garments. Through these
commandments we're able to cleave to G-d with the entirety of our selves. Just
because we live in a state of not knowing, it doesn't mean that we aren't being
led.
I was listening to NPR a few years ago and heard an unusual piece about
the migratory patterns of the Monarch butterfly. Every year the butterfly
colony starts in
This is amazing! It means that every butterfly heading toward Canada
has never been to Canada before, doesn't know how to get there, and yet gives
birth to another generation which also doesn't know where it's going, and yet
sure enough, the last generation makes it there every time!
In our own lives, and as a people, we too are heading toward a place,
and deep down, every one of us has a homing device. The Midrash teaches that
while we're still in our mother's womb, an angel comes and teaches us the
entire Torah.
In fact, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov
says that every step a Jew takes is a step toward
Rabbi Chaim Shmuelevitz,
the Mirrer Rosh Yeshiva, gives the beautiful example
of a mother and baby traveling together to distant places. No matter how
far-flung their travels, from the baby's point of view it never moves - it's
always right there in its mother's arms. So it is with us. Though we live in a
state where we don't know what's coming next, we do know this: That wherever we
go, we're always right there in Hashem's arms, being
loved and embraced.
David Sacks speaks frequently on topics of Jewish spirituality, and is
a co-founder of the Happy Minyan of Los Angeles. He
is also an Emmy Award-winning writer-producer, on shows like The Simpsons and Third Rock from the Sun. His last article in
OLAM was "The Place."
The
Holiness of Humor
( on www.askmoses.com )
It is said that science describes the process through which something comes into being, but Torah describes why that thing exists. Put another way, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov says that science describes the outside of a phenomenon whereas Torah describes the inside. What then does the Torah say about Laughter?
The Talmud (Shabbos 30b) records that the great Sage, Rabbah, always began his lectures with a humorous statement. This uplifted the students. According to the Baal Shem Tov, humor is that thing that ushers a person’s mind from a place of constricted consciousness to a place of expanded consciousness. A person in a place of expanded consciousness sees the totality of creation before him. He sees G-d’s presence and goodness acting upon everything. And he realizes that anything and everything that happens is an expression of Hashem’s love for us whether we can understand it in the moment or not. Constricted consciousness is, of course, the opposite.-the understandable impulse to take things too literally, believing that they are not a part of something greater. And so the greatness of humor is in its awesome ability to lift one out of depression into a place where the unseen – G-d’s constant love and goodness-becomes palpable and real.
Humor and Laughter, while great in themselves, are actually subsets of a larger topic – Joy! One of the surprising things I learned when I started studying Torah was the central focus our religion puts on happiness. As Rebbe Nachman once put it, people are sad because nothing is going right for them – but what they don’t realize is nothing is going right for them because they’re sad! On the verse, “For you shall go out with joy” (Isaiah 55:12), the Kotzker Rebbe explains, “the beauty of joy is that it has the power to extricate man from all troubles.” Joy means being in touch with the bigger picture, or as we said earlier, being in a state of expanded consciousness. The Hassidic Revolution that took place in Jewish thought properly restored Joy to the forefront of Jewish values. This is actually very important to understand. So many of us think that Torah is essentially an intellectual discipline, but there is a vital emotional component as well.
From a comedy perspective, the surest way to get a laugh is by juxtaposing the expected with the unexpected. Thus, when we’re convinced that the world is one way and the opposite happens – something that puts us in touch with how great and marvelous the world really is -- the result is laughter! If humor is the vehicle that transports us from a place of constricted consciousness to a place of expanded consciousness, then laughter is our reaction to that dizzying process.
From a comedy perspective, the surest way to get a laugh is by juxtaposing the expected with the unexpected. Thus, when we’re convinced that the world is one way and the opposite happens – something that puts us in touch with how great and marvelous the world really is -- the result is laughter.
With this in mind, one of the perplexing things in the Torah is the fact that our holy father Yitzhak, who represents the spiritual attribute of gevurah or strength, is Hebrew for the word “laughter” you might ask what does gevurah/strength has to do with laughter since they seem like total opposites. The reconciliation of these polar opposites is very deep. Sarah was a motherless woman of ninety. What is the last thing such a woman would expect to have? A baby! And what is it that our holy mother Sarah has? A baby! Laughter itself! Thus, Yitzhak becomes the embodiment of the unexpected. That’s the explanation from the comedy standpoint. On a deeper level, Yitzhak comes to represent the ultimate strength it takes to not let go of your dreams. As such, he becomes the spiritual repository of Avraham and Sarah’s most intractable desires. And this is gevurah or strength itself.
Psalm 126 says that in the Messianic era, “our mouths will be filled with laughter.” Why? Because laughter in its highest and holiest expression is our reaction to the realization that the world is so much bigger, deeper and more beautiful than we ever gave it credit for. When we realize this, our only response will be to laugh.
The laughter Yitzhak represents is the happy ending that awaits us all -- the Messianic Era which Hashem in His goodness has promised us. The Kabbalists say that when this day comes, let it be soon, G-d will grant us the eyes to see that we never left the Garden of Eden at all.
Until then, the question is, how much do we believe in G-d’s goodness? If we know He’s good, then we can never give up hoping that a change for the better is just around the corner no matter how grim the circumstances. In Psalm 121 it says, “I raise my eyes to the mountains. From where (m’ayin) will my help come?” Fascinatingly, the Vilna Gaon understands the word m’ayin to mean “from nothing.” The line now reads, “I raise my eyes to the mountains – from nothing will my help come!” In other words, G-d’s salvation can arrive from anywhere in an instant.
Once we understand this secret, we’re in on the ultimate joke. That it’s all good and it always was.
To
hear David Sacks speak go to www.613.org/sacks.html