Is 'Be Thou My Vision' Part Of A Series?

I've always been fascinated by books that blend spirituality with practical wisdom, and 'Thou Shall Prosper' by Rabbi Daniel Lapin is one of those gems. It offers a profound perspective on how Jewish principles can guide anyone toward financial success and personal fulfillment. One key lesson is the importance of viewing money as a tool for good rather than evil—wealth creation is tied to generosity and service. The book emphasizes relationships, arguing that networking and trust-building are foundational to prosperity. Another lesson is the value of optimism; seeing opportunities where others see obstacles is a game-changer. Rabbi Lapin also discusses the power of time management and delayed gratification, teaching that long-term thinking leads to sustainable success. He challenges the misconception that business is selfish, showing how ethical commerce benefits society. The idea of 'earning' rather than 'taking' resonates deeply—wealth should come from adding value to others' lives. I particularly love how he frames failure as feedback, not defeat. The book’s blend of ancient wisdom and modern application makes it a must-read for anyone seeking a meaningful path to prosperity.

I've read my fair share of self-help books, and 'Thou Shall Prosper' stands out because it merges timeless wisdom with practical business advice. Unlike many self-help books that focus solely on mindset or motivation, this one dives deep into Jewish business principles, offering a unique perspective on wealth creation. It’s not just about 'thinking rich' but about ethical earning and long-term success. What I love is how it balances spirituality with actionable steps, something rare in books like 'Rich Dad Poor Dad' or 'The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.' Those are great, but they often skip the moral framework. 'Thou Shall Prosper' fills that gap, making it more holistic. It’s less about quick fixes and more about sustainable growth, which resonates deeply with me.

Martin Buber's 'I-Thou' philosophy delves into the profound connection between individuals, emphasizing authentic, meaningful relationships over transactional interactions. This concept resonates deeply with themes in popular anime, where character bonds often transcend superficial interactions. Take 'Neon Genesis Evangelion' as an example. The series explores the existential struggles of its characters, particularly Shinji, who grapples with forming genuine connections amidst isolation. The 'I-Thou' dynamic is evident in his fraught yet deeply human relationships with Rei and Asuka, where moments of vulnerability and understanding create fleeting but powerful 'Thou' encounters. The show’s emphasis on the fragility and beauty of human connection mirrors Buber’s idea that true relationships require presence and reciprocity. Another anime that echoes Buber’s philosophy is 'Violet Evergarden.' Violet’s journey revolves around learning to understand emotions and form authentic bonds with others. Her letters, which serve as bridges between people, embody the 'I-Thou' ideal by fostering moments of deep, empathetic connection. The series underscores how communication, when rooted in sincerity, can transform relationships from functional ('I-It') to profound ('I-Thou'). Even in action-packed anime like 'Attack on Titan,' the 'I-Thou' theme emerges through the bonds between characters like Eren and Mikasa, whose loyalty and care for one another defy the dehumanizing chaos around them. These narratives highlight how anime often mirrors Buber’s vision of relationships as sacred encounters, even in fantastical settings. On a lighter note, slice-of-life anime like 'A Silent Voice' also engage with Buber’s ideas. The protagonist, Shoya, moves from seeing others as objects of ridicule to recognizing their full humanity, especially in his relationship with Shoko. The film’s climax, where he finally hears her voice, symbolizes an 'I-Thou' moment—a breakthrough in mutual understanding. Similarly, 'Your Lie in April' portrays the transformative power of artistic connection, where Kosei and Kaori’s shared music creates a space of pure presence. These stories, though diverse in genre, all reflect Buber’s belief that true dialogue—whether through words, art, or silence—can elevate human interaction beyond the mundane. Anime, with its visual and narrative richness, becomes a perfect medium to explore these philosophical depths, making 'I-Thou' themes accessible and emotionally gripping for audiences worldwide.

I've always been fascinated by how TV shows weave deep philosophical ideas into their narratives, and Martin Buber's 'I-Thou' philosophy is one of those concepts that pops up in surprising places. One series that stands out is 'The Good Place'. This show isn’t just about ethical dilemmas or the afterlife; it’s a masterclass in exploring human connection. The 'I-Thou' philosophy, which emphasizes genuine, present relationships where individuals see each other as whole beings rather than objects, is central to the character arcs. Eleanor and Chidi’s relationship, for instance, evolves from an 'I-It' dynamic—where Eleanor initially uses Chidi for her own gain—to an 'I-Thou' bond where they truly see and value each other. The show’s clever writing makes these abstract ideas feel tangible, especially in scenes where characters confront their flaws and grow through authentic interactions. Another series that subtly references Buber’s ideas is 'BoJack Horseman'. The titular character’s journey is a painful exploration of failed 'I-Thou' connections. BoJack often treats people as tools for his own validation, but moments like his conversations with Diane or Todd hint at fleeting moments of genuine connection. The show’s darker tone makes these moments stand out, highlighting how rare and precious true 'I-Thou' relationships can be. Even the animation style, which contrasts hyper-realistic emotional scenes with absurdist humor, mirrors Buber’s dichotomy between superficial and profound encounters. These shows don’t just name-drop philosophy; they embody it in their storytelling, making them rewarding for viewers who love digging deeper.

The ending of 'Vision in White' wraps up Mackenzie's journey beautifully. After years of photographing weddings while doubting love herself, she finally opens up to Carter's persistent affection. Their relationship evolves from awkward tension to genuine connection, especially after Mac helps Carter through a family crisis. The turning point comes when Carter confesses his feelings during a snowstorm, and Mac stops overanalyzing everything long enough to trust someone. She photographs her own sister's wedding with newfound warmth, realizing love doesn't have to be perfect to be real. The last scene shows them laughing together in her studio, surrounded by photos that now include their shared memories—a quiet but powerful symbol of how far she's come.

In 'A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man', Stephen Dedalus's artistic vision transforms from rigid religiosity to liberated self-expression. Early on, he internalizes Jesuit dogma, seeing art through a lens of moral absolutism—beauty must serve divine truth. His epiphany at the beach shatters this; the girl wading in the tide becomes his muse, symbolizing art's autonomy from religion. Later, at university, he embraces Aristotle and Aquinas but twists their ideas, arguing art should evoke 'radiant joy' detached from utility or morality. His final diary entries reject Ireland’s nationalism and Catholicism, declaring exile necessary for unfettered creativity. The evolution isn’t linear—he wavers, haunted by guilt—but culminates in a defiant individualism where art is pure revelation, unbound by society’s chains.

I’ve always been fascinated by the symbolism in the Book of Daniel, especially the vision in chapter 8. The ram with two horns represents the Medo-Persian Empire, with one horn taller than the other, symbolizing Persia’s dominance over Media. The goat, swift and powerful, stands for Greece under Alexander the Great. The goat’s single large horn is Alexander himself, and when it breaks, his empire splits into four smaller kingdoms. The vision also mentions a smaller horn that grows arrogantly, which many interpret as Antiochus IV Epiphanes, who desecrated the temple. This prophecy is a vivid depiction of historical events, showing how empires rise and fall under divine scrutiny.

There’s something satisfying about matching those timeless words to a melody that breathes—so here’s a practical, musical way to learn 'How Great Thou Art' that worked for me when I taught myself new hymns. Start by picking a comfortable key. The melody sits nicely in a major key; a lot of people use G or C because they’re easy on guitar and piano. If you aren’t sure, sing through the first phrase and find a pitch that lets you reach the high notes without strain. Once you’ve settled the key, get a simple lead sheet or hymnbook score for 'How Great Thou Art' (hymnals, MuseScore, or a trusted gospel book are great sources). Break the song into phrases and learn the contour before memorizing exact pitches: hum the first line (no words) and notice if it rises or falls, then add the words back in. Use solfege or syllables (do-re-mi) to internalize intervals — that makes transposition later painless. Map breaths to the phrase endings (breathe naturally at commas and line ends). Pay special attention to the chorus: it’s where you should build dynamic energy—start softer on “Then sings my soul” and let the voice open on “How great Thou art.” Practice with a piano or a slowed backing track, record yourself, and gradually speed up until it feels natural. For ornamentation, tasteful slides or held notes work on the climactic words, but keep the hymn’s dignity; it’s about clarity of text as much as melody. If you want a quick short cut: find a karaoke or instrumental version in your chosen key, sing along while following a lyric sheet, and mark where you breathe. Over a few focused sessions you’ll have the melody and phrasing locked in—then add the emotion.