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Rita Benisti Inspired

@ritainspired

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Growing your Godliness | Living Intentionally ✨🎗️
Torah gems in memory of my parents Rita Reynee bat Emilie & Yitzchak ben Solika
by: @biancabenisti

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Ten years ago, I lost my mother, and in many ways, I’ve been trying to find my way back to her ever since. This book, A Chanukah Prayer Guide to Ignite Miracles, is the result of that search—a deeply personal journey through my own pain and healing, and an invitation for you to tap into the transformative power of prayer during the sacred days of Chanukah.

Each night of Chanukah, as we light the menorah, we are not simply performing a ritual. We are connecting to something far greater—the holiness of the Beit Hamikdash. Hashem’s words in the Talmud remind us that for these eight days, we can experience a spiritual return to the Temple, where every prayer has the power to ignite miracles. This book is structured to guide you through each night, focusing on a specific area of your life.

When I think of my mother, I remember how her WhatsApp status was always “Nissim v’niflaaot”, — miracles and wonders—because she truly believed in Hashem’s power to turn the impossible into reality. It’s that unwavering faith I want to share with you. Through this book, I hope to help you see how even the smallest prayer, even the smallest flicker of light, can bring about the greatest miracles.

Getting to ten years without you, Maman, feels like a mountain I never thought I could climb. But with every prayer that I write here, I feel you close, guiding me. You taught me that miracles don’t just happen—they are born from faith.

This book is my way of sharing that faith with you and with anyone seeking to find light in the darkest of times. May this book bring that light into your life, just as my mother’s memory continues to light mine. by @ritainspired

I am so incredibly grateful for the community we’ve built here together. This space has allowed me to connect with so many beautiful communities, both locally and worldwide. Every message, every shared experience, and every connection has been a reminder of the incredible light that exists within each of us.

Being part of your journey—whether it’s deepening your connection to Hashem, revealing your inner light, celebrating cherished moments with loved ones, honoring those no longer with us, or turning your yearnings into a chance to grow closer to Hashem—is truly an honor. Witnessing your growth and transformation is a privilege I hold close to my heart.

This page is deeply personal. It’s a reflection of what I need to hear, the words that have carried me through my hardest moments, and the lessons that have lifted me from my darkest places. Sharing that with you all, and seeing how it resonates, is a constant source of inspiration and joy.

Now, I’m thrilled to offer more ways to connect and grow together. Thank you for trusting me to walk this path with you. If there’s something you’re looking for that isn’t listed here, feel free to reach out. I’d love to hear your ideas, and we can explore how to make it happen together.

And of course, thank you Hashem 🙏🏼🫶🏼❤️ by @ritainspired

The most humbling realization I’ve had is that I have never once seen my life from Hashem’s perspective.

Not once.

I’ve seen one chapter.
One moment.
One conversation.
One heartbreak.
One unanswered prayer.

Meanwhile Hashem sees the people I haven’t met.
The doors I haven’t reached.
The generations I cannot imagine.
The ripple effects I will never know.

Sometimes we speak about surrender as though we are doing Hashem a favor.
As though letting go is some great sacrifice we make for Him.

But the older I get, the more I realize the opposite.

The privilege is ours.

The privilege of placing a life we cannot fully see into the hands of the One who sees all of it.

The privilege that the One writing the story loves me more than I love myself.

And maybe that is what Emunah really is.

Not having all the answers.

Just knowing enough about Who He is that you can live without them. by @ritainspired

The reason why Hashem doesn’t reveal His entire plan to you at once is because if He did, then you would get peace from the information, rather than your relationship with Him.

And I think about the places in my own life where I have no information.
No clarity.
Nothing I can point to and say, “This is how it could work out.”

It breaks me a little.
Because I’m human.
I want something to lean on.
Something to make it make sense.

But I’m starting to see something else in those moments, too.

When I cannot lean on an explanation, I get to discover what it means to lean on Him.

His goodness.
His love for me.
The possibilities that exist for Him even when I cannot picture a single one.

And from that place, with the tears still there, I get to whisper:

“Hashem, I don’t know how.
I can’t see a way.
But I have You.
And You are enough.”

I think there is something so deeply intimate about saying that while I still don’t understand. About letting my whole heart fall into who He is, before I know what He’s doing.

Hashem, I still want to know how. But I want to feel, all the way into my bones, the magnitude of having You. 🤍 by @ritainspired

Hashem, help me carry what I know about You into the places in my life I still don’t understand ☁️🙏🏻📖 by @ritainspired

Hashem, I don’t want to feel defeated every time I reach the end of what I can understand.

I want to feel the privilege of placing it in Your hands.
Of letting You be everything.
Of knowing that I can do my part without having to know Yours.

You don’t need me to find the way before I ask You to open it.

And I don’t want to make my prayers smaller just because I can’t imagine how You’ll answer them. by @ritainspired

There are chapters of my life I wouldn’t have chosen. But they chose me.

And I’ve always pictured them as a pair of glasses. Something I put on that I can never fully take off.

At first, that thought hurt. Will I see everything through this now? Will there always be a little of what happened in everything that comes after?

And in some ways… yes.

Losing my parents comes with me into motherhood. Into the way I watch my children reach for me. Into ordinary moments that I know, too deeply, aren’t ordinary at all.

There are things I notice because I’ve missed them. Things I say because I know what it’s like to wish I could say them one more time.

I didn’t choose what changed my eyes. But I’m still choosing what I do with what they see.

And that’s something I’m still learning about a nisayon.
 We can be so focused on getting through the chapter that we don’t notice who is coming with us into the next one.

The version of us who will sit beside someone differently. Raise our children differently. Whisper “Hashem” with a whole history inside His Name.

Hashem,

You know there are parts of my story I still cry over. And You know there are parts of who I am today that grew in those very places.

Please help me recognize them.

Let what is awakening in me become greater in my eyes than what is happening to me.

And maybe one day I’ll look back and whisper: “You knew there was this much in me.” by @ritainspired

How much closeness might be waiting inside the words:

“Hashem… I still don’t know.
But I know it’s You I’m walking with.”

Because there’s a love you discover when you let Him close enough to hold you through the unanswered parts, too. by @ritainspired

Hashem knew they would pass that way. And generations before they did, He made sure their mother would be there.

I have so many prayers about where I want to arrive.
What I want to change.
What I’m still waiting to understand.

And then I think of Mama Rachel, already there, waiting on the road.

Hashem,

Please let me feel that kind of love.
The kind that knows where I’ll need holding before I reach for a hand.

Hashem, please help me feel how You’re loving me here.
I’m still asking You to bring me to the other side. But please don’t let me miss being held on the way there.

And when I look back, may I remember more than how much I wanted this chapter to end. May I remember how close we became while I was still living it. by @ritainspired

Today’s Hebrew date, 11 Cheshvan, marks the yahrzeit of our Matriarch Rachel, Rachel Imeinu, the quintessential Jewish mother who embodies humility and boundless love. With divine foresight, she chose to be buried not by her husband, but along the roadside near Bet Lechem, so she could be there for us in our times of exile. Her grave has become a place of refuge, where countless generations have poured out their broken hearts. In her merit and through her selfless prayers, Hashem promised her, “Minee koleich mibechi v’einayich midim’ah”—Rachel, “hold back your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears”—because “v’shavu banim ligevulam,” “your children will return to their land.”

Rachel’s unwavering devotion and self-sacrifice echo in King David’s Tehillim, where he offers words of hope and promise: “Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy” (Psalm 126:5). Just as Rachel wept for her children and was promised their return, Tehillim reminds us to place our hope and trust in Hashem’s kindness and redemption. Both Rachel and David understood our struggles, our longings, and the healing and salvation we seek.

Mama Rochel, thank you for teaching us humility, selfless love, and sacrifice, and for listening, understanding, and continually praying on our behalf. As we daven, inspired by your example, may Hashem fulfill His promise to you and to all of us. May we soon be healed, uplifted, and reunited with the ultimate Redemption, when we return home, redeemed by Mashiach.

#tehillimgems #tehillim #psalms #תהילים #emunah by @ritainspired

There are things we stop praying for out loud.
We still want them. So much.
 But somewhere along the way, it became easier to tuck the longing away than to keep feeling how deeply it was still there.

And then comes Rachel Imeinu’s hilulah.

And I think about how something she chose in her own pain became a merit for generations of children. How far her compassion reached. How much more there was to her story than she could have seen while living it.

It makes me wonder what is still unfolding from our own quiet moments with Hashem.

The tears.
The honesty.
The effort to stay close when it hurts. None of it goes unnoticed.
 We have no idea how much can grow from what we bring Him.
So maybe, for the next forty days, we can gently bring those prayers back out.

The ones we’ve buried. The ones we almost feel embarrassed to ask for again. The ones that make us whisper, “Hashem, I’m scared to let myself want this so much.”

Bring Him that, too.

You don’t have to feel brave enough to hope again before you speak to Him. You can ask your Father to help you hope.

Join me for forty days, bli neder, in the merit of Rachel Imeinu. Let these prayers help you begin—and let your own heart tell Him the rest.

May we get to hold blessings we once could barely find the courage to ask for. 🤍

Save these prayers, and send them to someone you know could use the words.

Suggested Tehillim are chosen for their themes; every perek is precious. by @ritainspired

There were moments in my life when I wanted to scream, You don’t even know the other half of the story. You saw the outcome. You saw the surface. You had no idea what it cost me to stand there looking “okay.”

And I could have opened my mouth and let the whole ache spill out.
But I didn’t.

Not because I was strong — because I didn’t know how else to survive it.

I remember thinking, Hashem knows. Not as reassurance. As the only place my pain could land without breaking me. And I need to say this plainly — silence didn’t feel sacred. It felt like holding my breath for too long.

Years passed.
Years where I questioned that choice. Years where I wondered if that trust had been misplaced.
Wondered if what I carried quietly had been lost to time.

It hadn’t.

Hashem showed me — unmistakably — that He saw everything. Not just the details. Not just the facts. But how I felt inside each one of them. Every angle. Every hesitation. Every quiet breaking.

And when He answered, it wasn’t partial.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t surface-level relief.
It was whole.
 Because He hadn’t just been watching the story — He had been holding my heart while it unfolded.

Nothing was missed.

And that changed something deep inside me.

Because I learned that placing your pain with Hashem doesn’t mean it disappears. It means it’s kept — with a care no human could ever offer.

Some of the most sacred moments of my life were the ones no one ever saw.
But He did. And He always had. by @ritainspired