21 Apr LIKE WAZE, HASHEM KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE, WHERE YOU CAME FROM AND WHERE YOU ARE GOING

There are 8.3 billion
people on earth at this
moment.
When contemplating
that staggering number,
it is easy to feel
insignificant, inconsequential, even invisible.
It is only natural to wonder, do I—or my
actions—even matter? It is difficult to
comprehend that Hashem could have a
personal relationship with me or could care
about what I do when there are so many
people in the world.
In his recent book “Pinpoint,” journalist Greg
Milner traces the history of GPS technology.
He writes, “This extraordinary system began
as an American military application, a way to
improve the accuracy of bombs and keep
bomber pilots safe, but today its tentacles are
everywhere.” Milner calculates that there are
currently over five billion devices in the
world that use GPS including three billion
smartphones using apps to help people find
their way.
Take Waze for example. This one app knows
the exact whereabouts of over 50 million
people at the same time. It might sound
dramatic, but Waze literally knows where we
are, where we have come from, and where we
are going. Waze knows the best route to get
us to our destination.
If we have veered of course, Waze knows and
helps us recalibrate and get back on course
without judgment or criticism.
If an app can track and direct tens of millions
of people, all the more so can the Almighty
know everything about every one of us
including where we came from, where we are
heading, what is the best way to get there and
if we have gone off course.
The Ramban in his introduction to Iyov
writes, “We must believe that Hashem knows
all individual creatures and the details of
their lives.” Similarly, when speaking about
the consequences for the Metzora, the Sefer
HaChinuch (Mitzvah #168) writes, “At the
root of the precept lies the purpose to
establish firmly in our spirits that the watchful
care of the Eternal Lord is individual, over
each and every one among human beings,
and His eyes are open to observe all their
ways.” As great a blessing GPS is, there are
unintended consequences to no longer
studying a map or finding our way. According
to researchers, becoming so dependent on
GPS technology has made us vulnerable.
Neurologists suggest that when we rely
exclusively on a GPS to navigate and find our
way, we stop interacting with our
environment, we lack awareness of where we
are, and we fail to take responsibility for
getting to our destination. Our brains become
reprogrammed to be passive in our own
travels.
Believing that Hashem knows everything

about us, and that there is Divine providence
in the world, should not lead to become
passive spectators to our own lives. Yes, He
knows where we are and the path we are on.
But WE still program the destination and we
determine if we follow the directions.
Rabbi Paysach Krohn shares the following
amazing story:
Rabbi Moshe Plutchok is a teacher in Derech
Chaim Yeshivah of Brooklyn. Like many
who live in New York City throughout the
year, he and his family spend the summer in
the mountains in the Monticello area, in
central New York State.
There, he attends what is known as a
“learning camp,” located in Camp Morris. He
and other rabbis, who teach in the various
camps for Jewish youth in the area, have a
kollel [advanced Talmudic study for married
men] where they study together in the
afternoons. It is known as Kollel Mechanchim
[“The Educators’ Kollel”].
One day a number of summers ago, Rabbi
Plutchok saw a businessman walk into the
beis medrash carrying a bilingual ArtScroll
Gemara, the most popular of the translations
of the Talmud into English. As a beginner,
and studying in English instead of in the
original Aramaic-Hebrew, he was a little out
of place, but nevertheless made to feel
certainly welcome by the Rabbi regulars. The
man sat down and learned with great
enthusiasm. When he had a question he
would go and ask others, even if they were
younger than him, until he got an answer.
Rabbi Plutchok eventually got to talking with
the man. The man told him that, unfortunately,
he had an advanced stage of liver cancer.
Rabbi Plutchok was amazed, because this
man came to the Study Hall every day in such
an upbeat manner and always learned with
incredible diligence. “It’s amazing to me,”
Rabbi Plutchok told him. “You have this
terrible illness, yet you come here every day
and are so upbeat about the learning.”
“Rabbi,” the man said, “I’ll tell you the truth.
The ArtScroll Gemara is carrying me. You
see, I never went to a yeshivah. Now that the
Gemara is in English, I am finally able to
understand it. And if I don’t understand
something I ask the rabbis here. It makes me
feel very special. It enables me to feel I can
make a connection to the legacy of Torah and
the Jewish people. That’s what’s carrying
me.” One day, near the end of the summer,
Rabbi Plutchok walked in and saw this man
sitting on the side of the room, looking sad.
“Is everything ok?” he asked. “No, rabbi not
really,” he replied. “The illness is progressing
and I was thinking, What difference does it
make if I learn? Who cares? You and the
others are all accomplished Torah scholars.
Your Talmudic studies make a difference. As
for me, I don’t understand everything it says
even in English translation. When I ask my

questions to the rabbis, I understand most
of what they say, but not all. I’m not on
your level, rabbi. What’s the difference if
I learn? Who cares?”
Rabbi Plutchok felt terrible for the man,
but, incredibly, just the night before he
had heard an amazing story on a Jewish
radio station.
He decided to share it:
A century ago lived a great symphony
conductor, an Italian maestro named
Arturo Toscanini (1867-1957), who led
concerts all over the world. He was
known as an absolute perfectionist and
had few peers.
Toscanini had a biographer who would
interview him periodically over the years as a
part of a major book he was writing. One
evening, he called Toscanini and told him
that he would be in town the next night, and
asked if he could come to the house to
interview him. Toscanini answered that he
could not because he would be doing
something special that would require absolute
concentration; he could not be interrupted.
“Maestro,” the biographer said, “what are
you doing that’s so special?” “There is a
concert being played overseas. I used to be
the conductor of that symphony orchestra,
but I could not be there this year. So I’m
going to listen on a shortwave radio and hear
how the other conductor leads the orchestra. I
don’t want any interruptions whatsoever.”
“Maestro, it would be my greatest pleasure to
watch how you listen to a concert played by
an orchestra that you used to lead. I promise I
won’t say anything. I’ll sit on the other side
of the room, quietly.” “You promise to be
perfectly quiet?” Toscanini asked. “Yes.”
“Then you can come.” The next night, the
biographer came and sat quietly while
Toscanini listened to the concert, which
lasted almost an hour. Finally, when it ended,
the biographer remarked, “Wow, wasn’t that
magnificent?”
Toscanini said, “Not really.”
“Why not?”
“There were supposed to be 120 musicians,
including 15 violinists.
Only 14 of them played.”
The biographer thought he was joking. How
could he know from 6,000 miles away, over
shortwave radio, that one of the violinists
was missing? The biographer had his doubts
but didn’t want to say anything and went
home. The next morning, though, he had to
find out for himself, so he called the concert
hall overseas, asked for the music director
and inquired as to how many musicians were
supposed to have been playing the night
before versus how many had actually shown
up.
The concert hall director told him that there
were supposed to have 120 musicians,

including 15 violinists, but only 14 had
shown up!
The biographer was amazed. He returned to
Toscanini and said, “Sir, I owe you an
apology. I thought you were just making it up
the other night. But please, tell me, how
could you know that one violinist was
missing?”
“There is a great difference between you and
me,” Toscanini answered.
“You’re a part of the audience and to the
audience everything sounds wonderful. But
I’m the conductor, and the conductor has to
know every note of music that has to be
played. When I realized that certain notes
were not being played, I knew without a
doubt that one of the violists was missing.”
Rabbi Plutchok now turned to the man and
said, “Maybe to regular people it doesn’t
make a difference if you learn, but to the
Conductor of the World Symphony – Who
knows every note of music that is supposed
to be played, Who knows every word of
Torah that is supposed to be learned, every
line of tefillah that is supposed to be prayed
– to Him it makes a difference!”
The man embraced Rabbi Plutchok and could
not thank him enough.
That winter, Rabbi Plutchok happened to
meet the son of this man and asked how his
father was doing. The son told him that his
father has passed away. However, he added,
“Ever since my father returned from the
bungalow colony, every time he opened his
Gemara he would say, ‘I am performing for
the Conductor of the World Symphony!’”
Though we are only one of 8.3 billion people
on earth, our choices matter and we matter.
Never doubt that the Master of the Universe
knows where you are, where you have come
from and He is ready to help you navigate to
where you want to go.