Before you sign on the line read this By Rabbi Y. R. Rubin Shlita

I have just had a strange experience. During the last days of Yom Tov I received through the letter box one of those red cards from the postman announcing that he had tried to deliver a worthy piece of mail that needs my signature. The said card was pushed aside and when Motzoei Shabbos arrived it was read with interest. In today’s throwaway culture very little comes one’s way that needs a signature, at least very little that can be the harbinger of good news. The notice indicated that a letter from outside England had been sent, and was obviously important. If not, why ask for me to sign for it? As mentioned, this was on Motzoei Shabbos, so the intriguing mystery was allowed to fester in my mind till Monday morning. By then I had all kinds of theories: it was a notice from some lawyer that a long-forgotten distant relative had sadly passed away and left me a fortune; it was a notification that I had not paid a parking fine that I received twenty years ago whilst visiting family in New York; it was a lovely envelope filled with pictures of grandchildren frolicking somewhere on holiday.

The mind plays games; after all, humans love a mystery, and even more so when it can only be resolved with one’s own pen in hand. Monday found me going to the Post Office directly after davening; by now this enigma had grown in my mind to gigantic proportions. I stood by the service window and the postal worker shuffled over and grunted to me as I handed over the notice and my personal identification. This was done according to the instructions on the card; they were not giving over such a valuable document to just any schlepper. My driving license was considered kosher enough after the eagle-eyed public servant eyed me up and down and glanced at the card. He then walked into the murky recesses of the storage area, soon emerging with the envelope in hand. I wanted to whisper to him to be careful with it, as it must be worth a lot, especially as the security surrounding it was so intense. Instead I remained mum, waiting again as our security expert scanned the letter with some sort of electronic wand. As all this was going on, I tried to get a look at the now long- awaited foreign document. The addressee’s name didn’t look right; there is a certain clarity in the name Rubin, one I have grown to recognise after many years of observing. The first line of this particular envelope seemed to be missing those characteristics. The postal clerk had become satisfied that I was indeed worthy of receiving the said letter but needed one last effort on my part. Pushing through the theft proof window I was presented with a grungy kind of glass pad, and asked for my signature. It was then that I made my stand, “Can you please tell me to whom this letter is addressed?” He looked at me curiously, looked down on his paper, then the envelope, back to my driver’s license, up to my face, cleared his throat and pronounced the name of a previous occupant of the property who had left more years ago than one can remember. “How come you didn’t read the name on the notice?” came the now disturbed voice from the other side of the counter, “I did but it was not clear.” “Humph” was the reply as he tossed the envelope aside and called out “Next”. I could have pointed out to our expert that he had double checked my identification against the envelope, checked and rechecked my name, my face and for all I know, my blood group, and was happily about to hand over to me this property without a qualm. I could have said this but I didn’t.  I figured, it really doesn’t matter, and anyway, I can share the story with you, my devoted readers, and perhaps extract some practical lesson from the experience.

We all returned to our everyday life after these long Yomim Tovim with a personal envelope that is unique to who we are. It contains within all the wondrous moments we spent connected to Hashem, each of us in the distinctive way that only the individual Yied is granted. During these special days we felt enabled; the future would be different, this time change would be possible. All the difficulties of life would become opportunities for future growth.

To reach one’s full potential as a Yied, one must find his own singularity   and utilise spiritual tools to build towards that tikun that is only his to fulfil.  Sadly in this homogenized world everyone feels embarrassed to be true to who they are; there is a sense of one size has to fit all. But that does not tally with the name on the envelope. It’s not you, and you should never sign for it. Others may check your identity without ever really seeing who you are. You can pass all the ID tests and still not be you. This is not what Yom Tov was meant to be; by not checking the outside of the envelope you are being handed you will turn every wondrous moment into ashes.

We all deserve to become the Yied we are meant to be, the one who filled volumes with tefillah and mitzvos. They were each stepping stones towards our tikun. We should not accept someone else’s package; to do so would be a deception. Check what you are being handed, take what is yours and create a positive tomorrow.