"Boy, do I wish I were you," said no one ever to their rabbi.

Instead, we rabbis instead receive a lot of commiseration from caring congregants who sympathize with the stress of being "on" 24/7, the crushing burden of responsibility, and the emotional exhaustion. I, personally, am blessed with many sources of support and comfort within the shul, baalei batim who understand that I am a real person who occasionally needs to come up for air and let down my guard. Empathy, I receive; envy, I do not. I am still waiting for someone to confide in me that they are jealous of my job.

But the reverse dynamic is there in copious amounts: As grateful as I am for the privilege of serving as a rav, I do envy the life of a baalabas. There are times when I wish I could just enjoy religious life in the shul as a member, not a paid professional. How wonderful would it be to experience a great shul like Ahavas Achim from the back row alongside Giyora, coming and going as I please, davening at any minyan I want to, learning l'shma at a shiur of my choosing, and participating in meaningful and uplifting events. No one studying my every move. No pressure of being a role model, always. And, most significantly, separating work from faith. I know that I am not alone in this regard; rabbis are jealous of baalabatim for so many reasons.

If I were a baal habayis, my communal service would be my own, not the terms of my job. Over the years, I have learned more from the congregants of our shul - about leadership, about commitment, about life, about love - than any sefer could ever preach. What a thrill it would be to stand "with" instead of "above," and develop relationships and friendships that way. 

Rav Soloveichik characterized Yosef as the "first baal habayis in Jewish history." The Rav argued that just like there is a mesorah for the transmission of Torah from Sinai, there exists a mesorah for how to act like a proper baalabas. And this mesorah actually precedes Sinai, originating in the personality of Yosef. Yosef, who was הַמַּשְׁבִּיר לְכׇל־עַם הָאָרֶץ, the provider for all the people of the land. Yosef, whose task was not to teach students but to support the infrastructure of his family (and the Egyptians, too).

וַיּוֹשֵׁב יוֹסֵף אֶת־אָבִיו וְאֶת־אֶחָיו וַיִּתֵּן לָהֶם אֲחֻזָּה בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם בְּמֵיטַב הָאָרֶץ בְּאֶרֶץ רַעְמְסֵס כַּאֲשֶׁר צִוָּה פַרְעֹה׃

So Yosef settled his father and his brothers, giving them holdings in the choicest part of the land of Egypt, in the region of Rameses, as Pharaoh had commanded.

We learn from Yosef how to be a good baal habayis. In fact, there could be no transmission of the Torah by rabbis without the communal context of strong lay leadership: Yosef comes before Moshe.

Rav Soloveichik listed three qualities that produce superior baalabatim:

1. Awareness of responsibility not just for one's self but for the entire community. 

2. Possession of a pragmatic mind, with an aptitude for decision-making and decision-executing.

3. Being a visionary, a dreamer.

Yosef embodied this triad, and we see this in the way he settled his family in Goshen this week. The word וַיּוֹשֵׁב, he settled them, is quite deliberate. The Ramban points out that the intent of the brothers was not to settle in Egypt, but rather, לָגוּר בָּאָרֶץ בָּאנוּ, we have come to sojourn in the land. But Pharoah had instructed Yosef, הוֹשֵׁב אֶת אָבִיךָ, settle your father here, meaning in the manner of citizens of the land who reside in the land of Goshen. What was Yosef to do? He upgraded his brothers from short-term sojourners to full-blown residents. Thus, he gave them בְּמֵיטַב הָאָרֶץ, holdings in the choicest part of the land of Egypt, in the region of Rameses, as Pharaoh had commanded. Yosef had the intuitive foresight to classify his family as citizens, which would provide stability. This is how leaders think and act. They make tough calls, and they do it for the sake of others, not themselves.

That concept of מֵיטַב הָאָרֶץ comes up again in the Torah in Sefer Shmos. Nestled among the nezikin (damage payments) of Parshas Mishpatim, we find the following rule:

כִּי יַבְעֶר־אִישׁ שָׂדֶה אוֹ־כֶרֶם וְשִׁלַּח אֶת־בְּעִירֹה וּבִעֵר בִּשְׂדֵה אַחֵר מֵיטַב שָׂדֵהוּ וּמֵיטַב כַּרְמוֹ יְשַׁלֵּם׃        

If a person lets a field or vineyard be damaged, either by letting his livestock loose or by letting them graze in someone else's field, he must repay the best of his field or vineyard.

As the Gemara in Bava Kamma explains, the damager must compensate for the property loss. If the the restitution is made in cash, that is a straightforward matter. But if the damager pays through a transfer of real estate, he must give only מיטב, the highest quality fields or vineyards (עידית, not בינונית or  זיבורית). Three reasons for this principle of compensation are suggested by the Chizkuni: 

‎היינו טעמא דאדם רוצה בקב שלו יותר מקבים של חברו. ועוד שהרי שלו מזומן לו. ועוד כדי להזהירו שלא להזיק את חברו

1. The reason for this is that most people always treasure what is personally their own to its equivalent in twice that in someone else’s possession.  2. Furthermore, what is his own he is familiar with and therefore prefers it to something he is not familiar with. 3. Furthermore, in order to make a sure that people do not cause damage with their livestock in other people’s property this penalty is meant primarily to ensure that they make sure their animals do not stray to other people‘s property. 

Here, a truth of human nature is revealed: We inflate the value of that which we own. Behavioral economists call this the Endowment Effect, and it can famously be demonstrated in the world of real estate, where people typically overestimate the value of the home they are trying to sell. To be a baal habayis, literally a home owner, means to put your heart and soul into the bayis so that its esteem grows in your eyes. You take pride in your home, and you devote yourself to it. Your home, your shul, your school, your organization is מיטב הארץ to you, even when it is far from perfect.

Being a baalabas in the style of Yosef demands a feeling of baalus, ownership. The leadership mesorah of Yosef teaches us to acquire an ownership stake in the shul. This baalus endows one not with power, but rather a sense of responsibility. If you are an owner, you cannot ignore certain problems and just hope they go away. It is incumbent upon you to work toward a solution. You also take an almost parental pride in the institution, looking for the best in it instead of only identifying the worst. 

Bad baalabatim view themselves simply as clients or paying customers, which allows them to make demands without offering any constructive assistance. Their catch-phrase, "the shul should..." is code words for "the rabbi should," or "someone else besides me should." Because they lack the long-term commitment of an owner, they are sojourners more than settlers within the organization. They think in the short term only and do not contend with the future in a proactive manner.

Great baalabatim dream crazy dreams like Yosef, and then ground them in reality. They are the foundation atop which our Torah rests, the providers for all the people of the land, the ones devoted to planting fields and vineyards of the highest quality. And in our shul, they can be found everywhere you look. So many wonderful men and women who take ownership, act for more than self-interest, and exult in the esteemed and enviable position of baalabas.