By M. Brejt

 

Rabbi Heshy Kleinman’s Mission to Inspire Every Jew

 

It’s Yamim Nora’im season, and you need some inspiration.

Today, that shouldn’t be such a hard task.

English sefarim on nearly every topic and format are flying off the shelves. Just walk into the store and take your pick.

But the story behind the bursting shelves is much deeper than it might seem. It reflects a quiet kind of revolution that has taken shape over the last 20 years or so. A revolution in tefillah, in teshuvah, a renewed stirring of yearning for the Geulah, a new way of seeing hashgachah pratis in our lives. It’s more than a movement—it’s a quiet revolution of the soul, a life awakened to the constant, living presence of Hashem.

Many have played important roles in shaping this quiet revolution, yet its spark came, in no small part, from one man. A man who calls himself “a regular Jew from Brooklyn.” His books echo the quiet power of his own journey: how a regular Jew, driven by heartfelt inspiration, helped inspire others to uncover the greatness within themselves.

 

Encounters with greatness

Rabbi Heshy Kleinman, the mechaber of Praying with Fire and six other sefarim, had an education that seems perfectly ordinary. He attended Toras Emes in Boro Park and then headed to the Mir in Flatbush for high school and beis medrash. Mir, in those days, was led by the rosh yeshivah and other distinguished rabbe’im—role models who gave Rabbi Kleinman his first taste of spiritual greatness.

“Rav Shmuel Brudny gave an absolutely magnificent shiur, teaching me a true mehalech in learning. Then there was the rosh yeshivah, Rav Shmuel Berenbaum, whose lomdus was almost intoxicating and whose hasmadah was profoundly inspiring. Each encounter left an indelible mark, offering me a first taste of true spiritual greatness.” Rabbi Kleinman’s voice is emotional as he recounts his experiences and his encounters with Rav Shmuel Berenbaum. The distance of decades haven’t dimmed his awe.

It was the night before one particular zman when he arrived at the Rosh Yeshivah’s house on an errand. There, at the dining room table, sat Rav Shmuel Berenbaum, hunched over a Gemara. “It was one o’clock in the morning, and the Rosh Yeshivah was learning with such fire, such bren, that he didn’t even notice me enter or leave.”

It was clear that this wasn’t the first time or even the hundredth time that the rosh yeshivah had sat like that, learning with such a focus. He epitomized and personified Torah literally as “ki heim chayeinu.”

Rabbi Kleinman considers himself fortunate to have been in such an environment, one that made ruchniyus real and tangible. A taste for ruchniyus was developed at the feet of these gedolim, a taste that sparked the desire to pass that on.

 

Message from Rabbi Kleinman

Rav Wolbe says (Rav Wolbe on Chumash, Volume 2, Rabbi Yitzchok Caplan, ArtScroll, page 426), “All spiritual ailments stem from a lack of clarity.” Without clarity, growth becomes so much more difficult. I wanted all of us to have the clarity that could inspire us and help us grow in our tefillah.

 

The chavrusa’s proposal

As a kollel yungerman in Flatbush, Rabbi Kleinman’s learning interests went beyond his regular sedarim. With a deep desire for clarity on such important topics as tefillah, teshuvah, Geulah, and emunah, he would pick these subjects in avodas Hashem and learn them in depth. But when he went through sefarim on tefillah, something started to niggle at him.

“At the time, I had a chavrusa, R’ Mordechai Gelber. Often after our seder, we’d pause to talk about tefillah in our shuls and muse, ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if rabbanim could spend time learning with mispallelim—inspiring their kehillos in tefillah and helping us all take the next step?’”

Rabbi Kleinman and his chavrusa decided to write a proposal with suggestions of what rabbanim could learn on tefillah with their tzibbur. The two of them then approached one of the gedolim in America, asking him about implementing their proposal in shuls.

The gadol agreed, but added, “You need to go directly to the rabbanim.”

Undeterred, they visited a prominent rav in Flatbush who agreed that something had to be done, but told them, “I can’t implement such a thing in my shul.”

“What will be?” Rabbi Kleinman moaned.

“Nu, if you feel so strongly, then do something yourself,” the practical R’ Mordechai told him.

Some might have laughed at this comment, taking this as a subtle rebuke not to complain about issues that couldn’t be changed. But Rabbi Kleinman took it literally. “You know what, R’ Mordechai? I will!”

So, using the information he had gathered from years of learning in depth on the subject and from shiurim he gave on tefillah, he sat down to write a sefer that eventually became Praying with Fire, broken up into a daily reading format.

The original plan was to write it in lashon hakodesh, but an acquaintance who heard about his project told him not to bother. “No one’s going to read your book in Hebrew!”

“That was strike two,” Rabbi Kleinman comments wryly.

But he kept at it, writing the sefer in English in short daily lessons with practical strategies, and like the classic scene, with the bases loaded, on his third try, he hit a home run.

The home run was Praying with Fire.

 

Message from Rabbi Kleinman:

So many of the ba’alei mussar and ba’alei machshavah teach us that intellectual knowledge won’t generate growth; it’s the lev that moves a person. A person has to be inspired to change, and that inspiration then has to be l’ma’aseh—it has to be practical. To me, the best approach seems to be one short, inspiring, and practical lesson a day.

 

Getting it published

There’s something illusory about a finished product. It gives one the impression that this sefer was written smoothly in a quick, easy run, no cross-outs, no revisions, no real effort.

But in truth?

“It was a four-year struggle,” Rabbi Kleinman admits. “The entire time I was writing I would wonder why I was doing this. There must be someone else who’s more qualified to write a sefer on tefillah. I kept picking it up and putting it down.”

It was hashgachah, Rabbi Kleinman remarks, “that I had a good enough education when it came to writing; I could string sentences together. But I still wondered why me.”

One of his kids, with classic teenager bluntness, once asked him, “Who’s going to read what you write on tefillah?”

“You’re right!” Rabbi Kleinman agreed.

At one point during this journey, Rabbi Kleinman visited Rav Gamliel Rabinovich during a trip to Eretz Yisrael.

“I asked him, ‘I have this sefer on tefillah I’m writing in English, and I keep wondering why it’s me that’s doing this? Should I continue?’”

Rav Gamliel looked at him and emphatically implored him, “Write, write, write.”

Rav Gamliel then shared a remarkable story about the power of tefillah. Years earlier, a man had called him after being told by his doctor that he needed serious heart surgery. The man said he was afraid to go through with it—not because of the risks, but because since his bar mitzvah, 30 years earlier, he had never once missed a minyan. Surgery would break that streak. Rav Gamliel told him not to have the surgery.

“Now, years later, Rav Gamliel was telling us the story with the recent knowledge that, baruch Hashem, the man was still doing fine and had never undergone the surgery.”

 

Message from Rabbi Kleinman:

What kept me going was an idea in the hakdamah to Michtav M’Eliyahu (Volume 1, page 20). Rav Dessler writes, “In times such as ours, when capable men are scarce, anyone who shows willingness to tackle a vital problem has Divine assistance heaped upon him. It turns the incapable into successful men, not because they deserve it, but because the world needs them.”

 

Rabbi Kleinman was stunned by the emphatic response, and hearing that story was exactly the encouragement he needed.

(In an interesting postscript, once the sefer was published, he sent off a copy to Rav Gamliel, thanking him for the chizuk and advice. Years later, a friend of Rabbi Kleinman’s told him that he had visited Rav Gamliel. “And your sefer was on the table, right next to where he was sitting!”)

When Rabbi Kleinman had the final product in his hands, before submitting it to a publisher, he needed an editor. “That was its own journey.”

He sent off the manuscript to various editors but was disappointed with the results. The first prospective editor removed some of the personality of the sefer. It was missing the irony, the touch of humor and life that Rabbi Kleinman imprinted on it. The next editor had the same issue, and the third editor was, in Rabbi Kleinman’s opinion, too sloppy.

“What I didn’t realize at the time,” he says with his characteristic dry wit, “was that it was all the Eibershter doing his deal.”

 

Message from Rabbi Kleinman

I heard that Rav Pam used to say that there are two types of mesiras nefesh—sacrifice in dying and in living. Mesiras nefesh isn’t limited solely to sacrificial death; rather, it’s also demonstrated in everyday acts. It means you must be willing to struggle and push yourself to go beyond where you are in order to serve Hashem.

It was a Divine stroke of hashgachah pratis that when he found the perfect editor, she had just finished a project and was ready to take this on.

The sefer has since been reprinted many times, translated into French, and been written in a teenage edition.

But ask Rabbi Kleinman how many books he’s sold, and he’ll give you a blank look. “I never asked. It’s not my job to know, because the goal of the sefer aims to spark small steps—just a bit better, just a bit higher—on each Jew’s path toward the spiritual greatness that lies within us all. Where do sales figures come into that?”

 

The process of inspiration

As Yom Kippur approaches, we learn, listen, and make kabbalos promising to be better, yet we quietly wonder. Will it last? Will this year be different, or will I fall into the same patterns? What can I do to truly be inspired to become a little better?

Inspiration is a funny thing. We search for it, talk about it, and sometimes even feel it—but what kind truly lasts? Is it the inspiration that comes from knowing about something, seeing it with our eyes, or experiencing it firsthand?

Before starting his writing process, Rabbi Kleinman focuses on the essentials of what makes someone really change—even a little. It was this idea that he put into his sefarim, which if followed can help us take steps toward growth and greatness.

“Years ago, before I started writing the sefarim, I was on a committee to improve tefillah in schools,” Rabbi Kleinman reminisces. “Back then, the thought process to improving tefillah was limited to peirush hamilim. The problem is that knowledge—while important—doesn’t create inspiration. Especially since there were too many unanswered questions about tefillah, too much lack of clarity.

“One of my kids once shared that they had asked a teacher a question: ‘If Hashem desires all our tefillos, why are not all tefillos answered?’ and had been brushed off with something like, ‘Oh, we don’t ask questions like that.’ But this lack of clarity was preventing real inspiration and growth!”

Rabbi Kleinman breaks inspiration into three types, explaining how the experiential one is our ultimate goal. There’s knowing information, seeing something, and the most powerful—experiencing it.

When bnei Yisrael left Mitzrayim, even after witnessing the plagues, they still considered returning to Egypt (Shemos 13:17). Only when trapped at the Red Sea did they cry out to Hashem. And through that trying personal experience, their emunah took root and the redemption followed (Shemos Rabbah 24:10). The deepest inspiration doesn’t come from knowing or seeing, but from living it.

“Imagine two people standing at a levayah. One is a close family member, the other a neighbor who came out of respect. They both hear the same hesped, both nod at the same powerful words, and both see the sad levayah. But only one walks away with a heart that won’t let go—because only one feels the loss. The neighbor may be sincere, but by the time he gets into his car, he’s checking his messages and thinking about dinner plans. The mourner? He can’t think of anything else. Why? Because he isn’t just listening or observing—he’s living it.”

When it comes to the power of teshuvah, tefillah, and hashgachah pratis (emunah), the more we can make it experiential for ourselves, our children, and the people we reach, the greater impact it will have. When we’ve already lived something similar, it resonates more—it feels real because we’ve tasted it before. That’s why teshuvah, tefillah, and emunah touch the deepest parts of us when Hashem feels real in our everyday lives.

Tefillah becomes a heartfelt conversation, not merely a ritual. Teshuvah becomes a genuine return to a loving Father. And emunah becomes alive when we sense Hashem’s steady, guiding hand in every moment—hashgachah pratis—not as an abstract idea, but as part of a real experience.

Rabbi Kleinman brings proof from the Purim story (Megillah 14a) that when something feels real, it has the power to move people and change them. Forty-eight nevi’im and seven prophetesses delivered dire warnings of destruction if the Jewish people failed to repent. Their words carried undeniable truth—there was no reason to question them. Yet, it wasn’t the warnings of the nevi’im that stirred them. It was only when Achashverosh took off his ring and gave it to Haman, sealing their fate, that the terror hit home. In that moment, the threat wasn’t theoretical. It was real. Tangible. And that’s when they turned to Hashem with all their hearts and did teshuvah.

As Rav Elya Lopian (Lev Eliyahu, Volume 3, Parashas Kedoshim, page 49) observes: “The difference between intellectual and experiential faith is as stark as the difference between ignorance and knowledge. Emunah chushis, experiential faith, is the crown jewel of creation, meant to reveal Hashem’s kingship in this tangible world.”

And of course, the most powerful experiential growth happens one step at a time.

“These books aren’t meant to be read in one sitting,” Rabbi Kleinman says with a smile. “I tell people—just five minutes a day. That’s all it takes—five quiet minutes to reflect, to reconnect, to be inspired to grow closer to Hashem. Watch what happens—those five minutes won’t only change your day, they’ll transform your davening, your teshuvah, your living with hashgachah pratis—they’ll awaken your connection to Hashem in ways you never imagined. Yes—five minutes a day can truly change your life.”

 

Message from Rabbi Kleinman

Rav Dessler used to frequently quote from his great-grandfather Rav Yisrael Salanter, “Men darf nit oif tun, men darf tun; men darf nit optun, men darf tun; men darf nit noch tun, men darf tun—Our task is not to accomplish, but to do, our task is not to be among the naysayers, but to do; our task is not to delay, but to do.” That’s where I got the idea of not looking at numbers.

 

Taking it further

Writers often struggle with writer’s block, but Rabbi Kleinman’s take on it is slightly different than the average.

“Having already written about the most important and obvious topics, I sometimes struggle to identify what still needs clarification and inspiration. Baruch Hashem, with so many excellent sefarim available in Klal Yisrael today, I often wonder if there’s truly a need to write anything more.”

And even though Rabbi Kleinman has a couple of more topics up his sleeve, from time to time he brainstorms by posing the question to people he talks to: “What important topic do you think Klal Yisrael needs clarity on?”

But once he starts writing a sefer, it’s hard to stop. “As I write, baruch Hashem, more thoughts flow in. And if I get stuck, I just daven to Hashem in Shemoneh Esrei for His help.”

And he keeps going, keeps writing, and keeps putting out sefarim that inspire Klal Yisrael because he believes in the power of every Yid to become great and to help bring the Geulah.

 

Message from Rabbi Kleinman:

People often say they find it hard to do teshuvah because they feel that their actions aren’t of great importance and that their teshuvah has no staying power. However, we need to realize that we’re so close to bringing the Geulah that we really can be the generation that will bring Mashiach. You may ask, “Isn’t that a lot for our generation to accomplish?”

But the Chafetz Chaim writes (Machaneh Yisrael, Ch. 25) that we’re like a midget standing on the shoulders of a giant—able to reach higher because of the greatness of past generations. Their accumulated merit can bring the redemption, even if we are spiritually lacking.

At the same time, we’re like a man who needs just $10,000 more to buy a million-dollar home. The heavy lifting is done, but our small effort, our hisorerus, can still be what seals the deal. We stand on their shoulders, but it’s our final step that can bring the Geulah.

Yes, we really can all reach our personal greatness by fulfilling our potential, and no doubt, we can help bring the Geulah.

 

What’s available:

Praying with Fire, Praying with Fire 2, Praying with Fire for Teens

Yearning with Fire

Power of Teshuvah

Praying with Meaning

Living with Hashgachah Pratis