Sometimes I catch myself drifting off mid-prayer. Not because I don’t care, chas v’shalom, but because life is loud — and the mind doesn’t always come with a pause button. One moment I’m in Shemoneh Esrei, and the next I’m concerned about if I secured the front door, how I will cover next month’s rent, or what the Rebbe mentioned in shiur that I still can’t grasp.

And yet, I’ve learned not to always fight these moments. There’s something deeply human — even divine — about the way our thoughts leap. We chase meaning, clarity, peace. Even when distracted, the soul might be searching.Sometimes, taking a different path is the best thing to do.

After a long day, I was unwinding on the couch with my son last week. At first, he gave me his iPad and asked if I wanted to play jigsaw puzzle online. After giving it some thought, I said, “Why not? We sat there for twenty minutes, not talking much, just fitting pieces together — a silent, shared experience that felt almost meditative. It reminded me that sometimes we connect best when we stop trying so hard to “connect.”

The Unseen Value of Silence

In Jewish life, there’s a strong emphasis on speech — davening, learning aloud, giving over Torah. But there’s also sacred silence: “Tov shtikah la’chachamim” — silence is good for the wise. Not everything needs commentary. Not every moment needs noise.

The quiet in a puzzle. The pause in a melody. The space between one thought and the next. These are not empty moments — they’re rich with something modern life often steals: presence.

Whether it’s the stillness of early morning, the hush right after candle lighting, or the lull after a deep Shabbos schmooze — these in-between spaces often hold our truest selves.

Why the Mind Wanders — and Why It Matters

Some rabbis say distraction in davening is a nisayon (a spiritual test). Others suggest it’s an opportunity. Maybe that stray thought about your friend’s illness means you should visit them. Maybe that image of your old teacher means it’s time to reconnect. In this way, our minds are constantly sending us divine Post-It notes — small flashes of awareness too easily ignored.

Rather than fighting the mental noise, what if we treated it like a conversation starter?

The Hidden Torah in Everyday Moments

I once heard a chassidic story about a tzaddik who watched a shoemaker fix shoes by candlelight late into the night. The tzaddik said, “As long as the candle burns, there’s still time to fix.” That moment, seemingly mundane, became a foundation for mussar and reflection.

That’s how life works. Deep Torah doesn’t only hide in seforim. It hides in errands, in children’s laughter, in dishes washed without complaint. And yes — even in jigsaw puzzles.

Five Times the Mind “Wandered” Me Toward Something Holy

1. Thinking about an old friend during Hallel → Reached out later that day. He needed support.

2. Noticing my son’s torn tzitzis during bentching → A small reminder to check in more on his day-to-day.

3. Getting an idea for a blog post during Musaf → You’re reading it now.

4. Feeling overwhelmed at work → Remembered the phrase “Gam zu l’tovah.”

5. Spacing out during a shiur and imagining a puzzle piece fitting perfectly → Realized I need to give more time to “non-productive” activities that ground me.

Holy Distraction or Cheap Escape?

There’s a difference between rest and running away. Bingeing on social media or numbing with endless Netflix doesn’t soothe the soul — it smothers it. But soft pauses, intentional diversions — those can become bridges.

Even Rav Kook wrote about “recreative labor” — using art, creativity, or music as a way to spiritually recharge. It’s not bitul zman if it brings you back to yourself.

That 20-minute puzzle break with my son didn’t rob me of Torah. It reminded me of my priorities. It made me a more present father. It anchored me.

When Wandering Becomes Returning

The Baal Shem Tov taught that every Jew has yeridah l’tzorech aliyah — a descent for the sake of ascent. Maybe the same is true for the mind. You can start teshuvah, or return, when you recognize and embrace a wandering thought.

The next time your thoughts begin to wander, question yourself, “Where are they attempting to go?” What does it want to say? And what if you let it speak instead of telling it to be quiet?

From Puzzles to Purpose

It’s strange how something as simple as fitting oddly shaped pieces into place can mirror the spiritual journey. In life, too, we’re handed fragments — a confusing event here, a missed opportunity there, a delayed answer to a heartfelt tefillah — and told to “make sense of it.” But just like with puzzles, we rarely see the full picture at first.

Sometimes we force the wrong piece, thinking it must belong there. We miss the perfect fit sometimes because we’re too focused on the edge. But the picture starts to make sense if you wait, are patient, and can take a step back and look.

That’s perhaps why short times of silence are so important. They don’t answer the full conundrum, but they remind us that it can be solved. That there is order beneath the mess. That Hashem is the ultimate puzzle master, and nothing — not even a wandering thought — is random.

So if today feels like a pile of mismatched pieces, just breathe. Sit down. Trust the process. Even in the confusion, you’re building something whole.

We are not robots. We’re souls in motion. And sometimes the path to Hashem isn’t a straight highway — it’s a winding forest trail with detours, benches, birdsong, and sudden views.

And maybe — just maybe — it’s also a few quiet minutes, piecing a puzzle together with someone you love.