From the sliding glass doors of my kitchen, I can observe them. They are all energetically at work—my husband and my youngest two children, ten year-old Yisroel Pinchas and his younger, four year-old sister, Sara Leah.

Though it is an autumn day, early in October, it feels more like a balmy afternoon in the height of the summer. In another couple of days, the holiday of Sukkot will be upon us, and the three of them are working diligently to put the finishing touches on our erected sukkah.

My husband stands in the center of the sukkah, perched high on a ladder, and his two helpers are handing him the evergreen branches, lying in our backyard in a nearby pile. As his helpers hand him the bunches, my husband places them atop the sukkah roof, completing our hut as the Torah instructs, as a temporary dwelling, shaded with foliage.

But really this scene could be happening in any other setting, at any other time—with my husband working on a project and his little helpers industriously extending the effort to assist him.

With a smile, I watch my children scurrying back and forth to bring my waiting husband more and more branches, as the shrinking pile on the ground slowly dwindles. Yisroel's arms are overflowing as he strenuously carries the largest and heaviest branches. Sara Leah, too, is trying to mimic her brother, as she competes with him in hauling the largest bundles that her little arms can carry.

But as I watch a little closer, I notice Sara Leah alternating between really large and really small bundles. While some of her bundles are almost bigger than she, I notice on other trips, she is also deliberately selecting the tiniest little branches, which she holds with as much significance and determination. I watch her with utter fascination carrying a solitary tiny branch with equal resolve and devotion as her largest piles.

It takes me a few moments to realize what is going through her little mind.

To Sara Leah, the big branches are indeed important, but the little ones are equally so. They, too, have a rightful place on top of the sukkah and they, too, have their own worthy role to play. To her, these little branches are not just an afterthought, nor are they second choice, but indeed just as credible and just as essential.

Sometimes, the older we get, the more we tend to look out for the "larger" things in life. Those things that will make a bigger impact, provide more "shade" or greater prominence for us. Or those things that will help us to complete our tasks faster.

Sara Leah, though, reminds me constantly of the value of the little things in life—the things that may not be as large or glitzy, nor as noticeable or distinguished. These are those small gestures that are so easy to overlook for the larger and seemingly more important ones, the small acts and moments that usually don't earn us any award or recognition.

Like the kind word said to our loved ones amidst the hustle and bustle of the many important chores in our day to day schedule.

Like the smile extended in greeting a neighbor or co-worker amidst the vital projects that we are working on.

Or like the thoughtful moments taken out to say a blessing of gratitude to our Creator in middle of all the many essential and valuable tasks in our day.

As Sara Leah later explained to me, the larger bundles were like the "Mommy and Daddy" branches, and the little ones, were, like her, the "little Sara Leahs."

And what could be nearly as precious as something as little and endearing as she?

It's me again.

Down here.

This tiny fleck, in the huge vastness of Your universe.

Me asking You, once again, to fulfill my needs. My wants.

I've stood here, in this very place or another, so many times before, asking of You. It's always a similar pattern, the overall themes being almost identical. Only the details of each request change, with the passing seasons and years of my life.

Sometimes, I wonder if You hear me, way down here. This tiny fleck, in this lowly world.

Do my requests seem so small? Irrelevant? Maybe silly? Or insignificant? Or perhaps irreverent or ungrateful in light of all that You do for me?

But I stop my mind from thinking those thoughts. I tell myself, that You care. Even about me. All the way down here. Even about my little needs and my unessential wants. You hear me and see me. You know me.

It is true that I realize that life here in our world means that we each have our own "pekeleh"—our own package of difficulty or hardship that we are meant to carry with us in our lives.

Each of us has hurdles or challenges that we encounter. Those things that are meant to develop us and make us into the special "I" that weathering these storms makes us become.

Through the hardships, through the challenges, we become better people. It is how we grow and develop.

It is also true that I realize that were I ever able to switch "pekeleh" and assume someone else's packaged hardship, instead of my own, I know I wouldn't be able to cope.

Though from the outside it may not appear so, once I would become intimately familiar with any one else's challenges, I'd find them far too weighty a burden to carry.

Because I know that my "pekeleh" has been formed and created to tailor fit my character, my strengths and weaknesses, and my own unique soul powers.

I realize, too, if I had to choose anyone's "pekeleh" I would eventually choose my very own.

It is also true that I am grateful for all the good, all the fortune and all the happiness in my life.

So why is it that I am standing here once again, speaking to You? Beseeching You? Requesting so much of the same theme, once again?

Perhaps I should just accept all—the good and the bad—that life offers.

Perhaps I should just find the good, even in the bad.

Why do I stubbornly insist on continually complaining to You for the hardships in my world, for the pain, and for the lacking?

Why do I repeatedly ask for more good, for more happiness, and for more abundance?

Because, ultimately, I believe and know that You are the source of all good.

That You are infinite in Your abilities. That nothing at all is beyond You.

Yes, my challenges and hardships are meant to develop me into a better person, and carve away the coarseness of my persona. These trials and tribulations in our world are meant to refine our universe to become a better place.

But being Infinite, I know, that You have ways of helping us achieve all these benefits, all these positive outcomes—without the difficulty.

Nothing is beyond You.

Even accomplishing all these eventual advantages—without the pain. Without the hardships and challenges. And without the tears.

And that is why, I stand here, once again, asking of You.

I know that the first paragraph of an article is supposed to be powerful, compelling and attention-grabbing. This article is an exception; this paragraph won't say much. Nevertheless, I beg your indulgence; please read on. There is a point I want to express, I'll get started on it soon. I won't ramble on much longer, bear with me just a moment...

Whew! I finished the dreaded first paragraph. Now we can get down to business.

As a writer, I find that ideas are thankfully not so difficult to come by, and I really enjoy the mental process of developing a nascent idea into material for an essay. And once I've penned the first paragraph, the rest usually flows rather easily. But actually getting started on writing is where I always get stuck.

I habitually create a Word file, name it and save it. I then suddenly find a million and one other pressing tasks that simply can't wait. During the following days, every once in a while I'll open up the blank file I created and consider starting to write, but the words elude me, and, to my relief, the phone rings or there's an urgent email that requires my attention. And then suddenly the article's deadline is looming... I then force myself to sit down, focus and write. And once I'm writing, all's well. I'm lost in my little world; my phone and inbox don't exist until I've finished the final sentence.

We all are writers. As possessors of freedom of choice, we write our own story. At birth we are given a fresh blank piece of paper and the mandate to write on it whatever we wish. We can scribble and cover it with colorful doodles, we can turn it into a paper plane and shoot it around in the breeze--or we can use it to record the story of a life full of meaning and substance.

Nothing is more difficult than penning the beginning of a new chapter in our book. We have plenty of ideas that we'd like to include in the book, we have developed and finely-tuned these ideas--they are all ready, just waiting for us to write them.

At such times, we must bear in mind that things just get easier after the first paragraph. Take the plunge, and the rest will come so much easier. Decide today on your next chapter and start writing.

See, I finished. Wasn't that hard after all. Hopefully next time I'll take this lesson to heart.

Do you have any tips how to get started on writing a chapter? Feel free to share in comment section below.

Devorah Leah was the second daughter of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, also known as the Alter Rebbe, founder of the Chabad Chassidic movement.

The year was 1792 and the teachings of Chassidism were being disseminated very successfully. The Chassidic movement was growing rapidly and gaining strength by leaps and bounds. At the forefront of the movement's growth was the Alter Rebbe who served as a pillar of knowledge. It was a time that should have been filled with exultation and exuberance as Judaism became more meaningful to more and more Jews, as they embraced these revolutionary teachings.

Nevertheless, a gray cloud hung over the horizon. The Alter Rebbe, aware that in the spiritual worlds there existed strong opposition against him and the revelation of the deep secrets of the Torah, was filled with trepidation. He did all that he could to prevent a disastrous decree.

He sent carefully appointed messengers to the gravesites of the Baal Shem Tov, founder of the chassidic movement, and the Maggid of Mezeritch, his own spiritual mentor, to beg them to intercede in heaven for the sake of their people. He notified his colleagues, students of the Maggid, of the dangerous time for themselves and the Jewish nation. He asked a colleague, Reb Nochum of Chernobyl, one of the most esteemed disciples of the Maggid, for a blessing. And then, as his last resort, he locked himself in his study allowing no one to enter, deep in prayer and supplication to the Almighty. Nevertheless, he sensed that all his attempts were to no avail.

One day, amidst his anxiety, the Alter Rebbe called for his daughter Devorah Leah. In the privacy of his study, he informed her about the very difficult times that lay ahead, and the strong heavenly opposition against revealing the innermost aspects of Chassidism. He described to her, in the gravest of tones, that he had seen a vision of the faces of the Maggid and the Baal Shem Tov, and they were extremely dark and clouded. Devorah Leah understood that her father's very life was in danger.

Acting on her own initiative, Devorah Leah gathered together three of her father's senior Chassidim. She requested that they promise to fulfill all that she asked of them and swear not to reveal her requests to anyone. Only when they had agreed to these conditions, did she proceed.

She reminded them that they were all Chassidim of her father, and therefore, they must all be prepared to do whatever necessary for his and the Baal Shem Tov's important work and teachings to flourish. Breaking down in tears, Devorah Leah begged them, "I ask you to swear a solemn oath, one that cannot be annulled, that you will follow my request even if a human life is at stake." As one of the Chassidim became apprehensive to make such a commitment, the two others calmed him by persuading him that Devorah Leah must have contemplated the matter well and certainly would not act recklessly.

The air was heavy with emotion as Devorah Leah notified the Chassidim of the urgency of the present situation and the threat hanging over Reb Schneur Zalman's life. Resolutely, she stated, "You three Chassidim will now constitute a Bet Din, a Court of Jewish Law. I have decided to give my own life in lieu of my father's. I will die and he will live."

On the Eve of Rosh Hashanah of that year, after the afternoon prayers, Devorah Leah went into the small synagogue where her family and some elder Chassidim were engrossed in prayers. She walked towards the holy ark and loudly proclaimed, "You are all witnesses before these Torah scrolls, that I, Devorah Leah, daughter of Sterna, accept upon myself, with a clear mind, to exchange lives with my father, Schneur Zalman, son of Rivkah. I, through my death, will be the atonement."

That night, the first night of Rosh Hashanah, the Alter Rebbe left his private room to seek out Devorah Leah. As she approached him, he began to bless her with the customary blessing of Leshana Tova... (you should be blessed with a good year.) She abruptly interrupted his blessing with, "Father, leshana tova tikatev vetechatem – you should be inscribed and sealed for a good new year." When he, in turn, was about to finish his blessing to her, she pleaded, "Father, say no more!"

At the conclusion of Rosh Hashanah, the Alter Rebbe called for Devorah Leah and her husband, Rabbi Sholom Shachna. Rabbi Sholom broke down in tears, asking, "What are we to do? Our young son, Menachem Mendel, is so special yet he is so young and tender. He has just celebrated his third birthday."

Devorah Leah's last request of her father was that he should personally involve himself with the duty of educating and raising her young and only son. Reassuring her, the Alter Rebbe promised, "Your son, Menachem [Hebrew for comfort], will be a nechama (comfort) to me, a nechama to you and a nechama to all of the Jewish people."

The following day, on the third day of Tishrei, Devorah Leah's prayer came true. Her soul left her body and ascended to the heavens.

For the seven days of Shivah, Menachem Mendel recited the kaddish for his departed mother. On the Eve of Yom Kippur, the Alter Rebbe, with his young grandson at his side, prayed at the gravesite of Devorah Leah. The Alter Rebbe declared, "Even greater are the righteous in their death than they are in their lives! The power of their blessings is greater when their soul ascends to heaven than when it is confined to their bodies. Devorah Leah, bless your only son now, on the Eve of Yom Kippur! This child, he should be blessed with many years, will become exemplary in his knowledge of the revealed Torah as well as Chassidism, the hidden Torah, and in his good deeds. Please pray, Devorah Leah, that the Almighty should have mercy on Chassidim and on the teachings of the Baal Shem Tov."

The day following Yom Kippur, on the eleventh of Tishrei, the Alter Rebbe arranged for a Chassid of fine character, by the name of Rabbi Avraham, to be the personal teacher of Menachem Mendel. That same day, the Alter Rebbe carried Menachem Mendel, accompanied by his father Rabbi Sholom Shachna, to his mother's grave.

"Mazel Tov, Mazel Tov!" announced the Alter Rebbe. "Devorah Leah, today is the day that we are introducing your son to Torah. Bless him that just as he has been introduced to Torah, likewise, he should enter the chupah (marriage canopy) and have many good deeds, and live a long life." All present answered, "Amen."

The Alter Rebbe faithfully kept his last promise to Devorah Leah. Daily, he studied with Menachem Mendel, who later became famous for his erudition and vast knowledge in all aspects of Torah, and became known as the Tzemach Tzedek, named so after one of his masterful works. The Alter Rebbe also decided that his grandson's bed should be put in his own private chambers. From that night on, Menachem Mendel slept soundly at the side of his grandfather.

On one occasion, though, in the midst of the youngster's sleep, he fitfully cried out, "Mommy, Mommy! Take me with you." Devorah Leah appeared to Menachem Mendel, and softly reassured him, "No, my dear son, sleep peacefully. Your Zaidy is right here next to you."

In order to replace her father's life with her own, Devorah Leah had to give up the most that anyone could give, the gift of life itself. Any person can fathom the immense spiritual willpower required for an act of such magnitude. Only a mother, though, can appreciate the awesome self-sacrifice required to choose to depart from this world and, by doing so, abandon a son so young and so needy of her. Yet the legacy of Devorah Leah runs even deeper still.

A magnificently sublime spiritual level was required to effect a switch of such significance. To order heaven to take one person's life and spare another requires a very special individual. May I suggest that too enact this switch of lives, and manipulate the heavenly decree so that she could replace her father, she had to be on par, in certain respects, with her saintly father.

Though she was a loving mother, Devorah Leah knew that for the sake of the Jewish people, the teachings of her father were of vital importance, even more important than her own life. She understood the invaluable need of spreading these teachings of the inner aspects of Torah. The Chassidic movement was able to continue, in full momentum, through Devorah Leah's self-sacrifice for the teachings of her father and the Baal Shem Tov.

Her little Menachem Mender grew to be one of the greatest Jewish leaders in his generation. After his uncle Rabbi Dov Ber's passing, he assumed the leadership of Chabad Chassidism and brought the movement to unparalleled growth. His own followers numbered well over a half-a-million and he was greatly respected and revered by all Jewry, Chassidic and non-Chassidic alike.

Menachem Mendel carried on the task for which his mother sacrificed not only her very life, but also her only chance of an intimate bond with him that only a mother and child can have. Devorah Leah played a crucial role in the perpetuation of the essential teachings of the Inner Dimension of the Torah. She will be remembered for her immense self-sacrifice, acted out so quietly and passively, but ever so valiantly.

The eighteenth day of Elul is a very significant date on the Chassidic calendar and marks the birthday, in 1745, of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi. Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, otherwise known as the Alter Rebbe, was the founder of the Chabad movement. In honor of this day, here's a special story about his eldest daughter, Fraida. (In a future blog, we'll write about another incredible woman, Fraida's sister, Devorah Leah.)

Rabbi Schneur Zalman's daughters were each exceptional in their own unique way. His oldest daughter, Fraida, was known to have a profound knowledge of the mystical dimension of Torah. Her understanding was so keen that her father often delivered special scholarly discourses specifically for her. On many occasions when her brother, Rabbi Dov Ber – whose works contain some of the deepest and most brilliant insights of Chassidic thought and who was the successor of the Alter Rebbe – would be apprehensive to ask his father a scholarly question, he would have Fraida ask on his behalf.

On one such occasion, Fraida was questioning her father about the mystical significance of the High Priest's clothing. Dov Ber was hiding in the room so he could listen to his father's response firsthand. Rabbi Schneur Zalman patiently clarified the complicated subject to his daughter omitting, however, the details of the Avnet, the belt of the High Priest.

Unseen in the corner of the room, Dov Ber signaled to his sister to ask for an explanation of the belt of the High Priest, by pointing to his own belt. Fraida obligingly ventured the question to her father. The Alter Rebbe, smiling at his daughter, answered her with his own question. He then wanted to know where Dov Ber was hiding in the room, for he insightfully understood from its content that rather than being Fraida's question, it was, in fact, Dov Ber's!

This short episode, besides demonstrating the intimate bond between the Alter Rebbe and his daughter, Fraida, also is an indication of her sharp and elaborate knowledge of Jewish studies.

Although not many details have been recorded about Fraida, another episode, much later in her life, also emphasizes how she internalized her scholarship to achieve greatness.

After Fraida's death, a chassid by the name of Reb Mordechai Yoel met Rabbi Nochum, the son of Rabbi Dov Ber, at the grave of his grandfather in Hoditch. The chassid asked Rabbi Nochum why his aunt, Fraida, was buried right beside the Alter Rebbe's grave. In response, Rabbi Nochum told him of an incident that occurred just prior to Fraida's death.

He explained that Fraida was not a physically strong woman and became even weaker after the death of her father. She was taken to the countryside, where it was hoped that the fresh air would revitalize and refresh her. As the days wore on, though, even in the scenic country, it became obvious that Fraida was continuing to grow weaker and that her life would soon come to a close.

Fraida decided to gather together a group of chassidim. She informed them that her end was drawing near and requested that the chassidim bury her on the right side of the grave of her holy father. The chassidim were bewildered. They knew the respect and high esteem which her father had held for Fraida. Nevertheless, they were uncertain about the appropriateness of her request.

A few days later, Fraida, once again, called the chassidim together. At this point, she was even too weak to leave her bedside. She asked the chassidim to encircle her bed. Beginning to recite the Elokai Neshoma prayer, Fraida, proclaimed, "My G‑d, the soul which You have given within me is pure. You have created it, You have formed it, You have breathed it into me, and You preserve it within me..."

As Fraida reached the next words "You will eventually take it from me..." she lifted her ten fingers heavenward and cried out, "Father, wait, I'm coming!" With those final words, Fraida's soul departed from her body.

The chassidim witnessing the event understood that an individual who dies in such a phenomenal manner deserves to be buried next to the Alter Rebbe. But even after her death, Fraida's holiness astounded them further.

Accompanying her body to the gravesite, the Chassidim decided not to lead the horse-drawn wagon, but rather allow it to find its way. When the wagon met a fork in the road, they were completely amazed when the horse knew precisely where to travel–all the way to the gravesite of her father, the Alter Rebbe.

Look in the mirror. Take a long and hard look at who you are. Does the vision that stares back at you reflect the same depth of innocence that it once held?

At some stage in life, somewhere along the line, I think many of us lose some level of inspiration, innocence, faith, honesty or sincerity.

(Maybe the fatalities are greater for people in my profession--writing and lecturing to inspire others. Or maybe it's just what growing up is all about.)

But at some point, you take a realistic look in the proverbial mirror and note that the tranquil simplicity is gone. The clear black and white lines delineating right and wrong that you used to so vociferously defend have become blurred by a newfound appreciation of the nuances of the grays. You may still be defending the same right and wrong, but the strength of your persuasion has dimmed.

Perhaps the innocent faith in the goodness and uprightness of your Maker has been tarnished by what you now consider a realistic cynicism in the face of reality.

Perhaps too many of the standard answers no longer sound so profound, nor so true. At times, the questions may now seem stronger than the answers.

If you're really honest, you'll admit that your motivation to do something because it's the right thing to do, has become shadowed by calculated deliberations in which your ego comes into play. Big time.

And yet outwardly it is still the same you, still fulfilling the same religious, communal and personal responsibilities with the same degree of outward fervor.

But inwardly, you, and only you, know too well that there has been some paradigm shift.

What happened? And can you ever regain your former level of pure innocence? Can you ever rediscover the simplicity that you lost?

No, I don't think so. Just as there's no turning the clock of life back, there's no regaining a simple innocence and acceptance in your relationship with your Creator.

But then perhaps that's what the challenge is meant to be.

For you. Right now.

Maybe the point is not to turn backwards or regain an innocence, but rather to find a new meaning, to discover stronger answers within your struggle.

To discover your identity within your ego, not by negating it, but by utilizing it. To reveal a G‑d who can tolerate the questions, just as much as the answers. To find a faith that can tolerate cynicism and protests, yet still