Insight of the Week: Recent Episodes
Rabbi Joey Haber
Relevant weekly insights by Rabbi Joey Haber - delivered directly to your computer and/or mobile device
Parashat Vayera tells us the story of Lot, Avraham Avinu's nephew, who was living in Sedom, a city of very wicked people, and which Hashem condemned to annihilation. Hashem saved Lot by sending two angels to bring him and his family out of the city. Lot and his two unmarried daughters were saved, but his sons-in-law laughed at him when he told them the city was about to be destroyed. They remained in the city and were killed. To understand more about Lot and who he was, let us briefly look back at his history with his uncle, Avraham Avinu. The Torah says that when Avraham moved from his home to Eretz Yisrael , as Hashem had commanded, וילך איתו לוט – Lot went with him. Later, they were forced to temporarily move to Egypt to escape a famine in the Land of Israel, and while in Egypt, they became very wealthy. The Torah says that Avraham moved back to Eretz Yisrael ולוט עמו – and Lot was with him. Then, we read that there was not enough pasture for Avraham and Lot's cattle, and the Torah says about Lot in this context, ללוט ההולך את אברהם – he was with Avraham. The Torah uses different words for the word "with" in these pesukim . Sometimes it uses the word את or איתו , and sometimes it uses the word עם , or עמו . Why? Imagine two friends or siblings who decide to go into the city together. They meet at the subway station, and ride the train together to the city, talking to each other and being very excited to be together. Now let's imagine two people who never met one each other and have absolutely nothing to do with each other, sitting next to each other on the subway train, hardly away of each other's existence. In both cases, the two people are riding "together" on the subway, but these are very different kinds of "together." In the Torah, the word עם describes the first type of together, where people aren't together incidentally, but rather are really together as a pair. The word את or איתו describes the second kind of together – where people happen to be together, but aren't really bonded. They are physically together, but their "togetherness" is incidental. When Avraham first journeyed from his homeland, not knowing where he was going, trusting in Hashem's promises, וילך איתו לוט – Lot joined him only because he had nobody else, as his father had died. He wasn't enthusiastic about being with his uncle, leaving to an uncertain future, but he joined anyway. But then, after they became wealthy in Egypt, ולוט עמו – Lot was really with him, excited and happy about the good fortune he enjoyed as a result of being with Avraham. Afterward, however, when they had problems finding pasture, ההולך את אברהם – Lot was again less than enthusiastic about being with Avraham. Indeed, Lot left Avraham and went to reside in Sedom. And the Torah says הפרד לוט מ עמו – Lot was no longer עמו , he did not feel connected to Avraham. There are two kinds of religious Jews – unconditional Jews, and conditional Jews. Unconditional Jews are those who remain loyal to Hashem and the mitzvot no matter what. They are devoted to Torah in good times and in not such good times. They observe the mitzvot that they understand, and those that they don't understand. They follow halachah when it's convenient and when it's not so convenient. The unconditional religious Jew, by contrast, makes his commitment conditional. He is loyal to the mitzvot only when he understands, or only when it's convenient, or only when in fits into his schedule, or only as long as observance doesn't get too much in the way of other things he wants to do. Lot was the second type of Jew. He wasn't a bad person, but his allegiance to Avraham and Avraham's values was conditional. As long as things were going well, he was truly "with" Avraham, bonded and connected to Avraham's faith and values. But once things became difficult, he was no longer truly "with" his uncle. Returning to our parashah , Hashem tells us why He chose Avraham for a special mission: למען אשר יצווה את בניו ואת ביתו אחריו לשמור את דרך ה' (18:19) – because He knew that Avraham Avinu would succeed in transmitting his teachings to his offspring, ensuring that his descendants would embrace his faith and his values. Lot, however, as mentioned, was not this successful. Some of his children scoffed at his warnings of what would happen to Sedom, and he had two daughters who later committed a grave sin with him. When we are consistent, remaining devoted to mitzvot even when this is not convenient, even when we aren't in the mood, and even when we don't fully understand – we will have a better chance of inspiring our children to do the same. If they see our passionate and uncompromising commitment, that we are consistent, that we don't make conditions and don't make compromises, then they are more likely to follow our example. But if we are like Lot, committed to Hashem only on our terms, we have less of a chance of raising committed children. Let us be "Avraham Jews," committed to Hashem unconditionally, through thick and thin, in the good times and bad, and may we thus succeed in raising children who proudly and steadfastly devote themselves to Torah and mitzvot .
Parashat Lech-Lecha begins with Hashem speaking to Avraham Avinu and commanding, לך לך – to go forth from his homeland, and journey to an unknown place, which, of course, turned out to be Eretz Yisrael . Hashem promised Avraham that he would be showered with great blessings in his new land. What was true of Avraham, the founder of our nation, is true for each and every one of us, his descendants and bearers of his legacy. In order to bring blessing into our lives, we need to respond to the call of לך לך , to leave something behind and proceed to the unknown. If we think about it, each of us has our own personal לך לך story. For some, it was leaving behind a bad habit that they were hooked on. For some, it was leaving a friend or group of friends to avoid negative influences, not knowing if they would find new friends. For some, it was turning down a shidduch because of spiritual concerns, not knowing when another good opportunity would present itself. For some, it was making a difficult school choice for themselves or their children, or a difficult career choice, not knowing what the future would bring. We have all heard the call of לך לך at some point in our lives, when we were forced to leave something behind for the sake of Hashem. There is also another call of לך לך , one which has become especially pertinent in today's day and age, and which bears particular resemblance to the original call of לך לך which was made to Avraham Avinu. And that is the call to go forth from our surroundings, to leave the society around us. In order to succeed as Hashem's special nation, we need to have the courage to "go forth," to be different, to withdraw, to separate ourselves from the surrounding culture. In order to build a nation and earn Hashem's blessings, Avraham had to leave behind the values and lifestyles of the society he grew up in. Similarly, we, his descendants, must have the strength and the resolve to "leave" our society's values that conflict with our values. Hashem promises Avraham, ונברכו בך כל משפחות האדמה – that all of mankind will be blessed through Avraham. This means that Avraham would fundamentally change the world, forever. Avraham was the first to teach the belief in Hashem, and the belief in morality, in ethical behavior, the importance of sensitivity and kindness to other people. Ironically, Avraham was able to bring about this change specifically by engaging with the people of his time, by getting involved, by interacting with society. The same man who was commanded לך לך , to separate himself and withdraw, was expected to change the world through his positive influence, which was possible only through engagement and interaction. This is the delicate, exceedingly difficult, balance that we, Avraham's heirs, need to maintain. On the one hand, we need to set up barriers, to make it clear that we are different, that we follow a different value system and embrace different beliefs than the people around us. We must have the strength and courage to resist the influences of the surrounding society, and to stubbornly cling to Torah values and traditions, even when they are drastically different from those of society. But at the same time, we are not expected to isolate ourselves completely. We are supposed to interact and engage with other people – in a manner that brings blessing to the world. We are to interact with society in such a way that we influence them, rather than being influenced by them. We are to show the world how Hashem's special nation acts, what it means to be ethical, honest, courteous and dignified. If we do this, then we will succeed in changing the world just as Avraham Avinu did, and we will succeed in continuing the mission for which he and his descendants were chosen – to be a blessing to the entire world.
The Zohar tells of a conversation that took place between Noah and Hashem after the flood. Noah turned to Hashem and asked, "I thought You were a merciful, benevolent G-d. How could You allow such a thing to happen?!" Hashem replied by angrily calling Noah a רועה שוטה – "foolish shepherd." He said, "NOW you remember to care about the people?! I told you what I was planning on doing. I commanded you to build an ark because I was going to bring a flood that would destroy the entire earth. You spent 120 years building it. You had plenty of time to intervene, to pray, to help, to work to avert this catastrophe. Where were you then? You worried only about saving yourself and your family. Now you come and ask Me how I could do this??" The Zohar proceeds to contrast Noah with Avraham Avinu. When Avraham heard that Hashem was planning to destroy the city of Sedom, Avraham immediately interceded and prayed on Sedom's behalf. He did everything he could to save the people. Noah didn't do this. He just built the ark to save himself and his family. In 1923, hundreds of the greatest Rabbis in the world assembled in Vienna for the first Kenesiya Ha'gedola ("great assembly") of the Agudat Yisrael organization. These Rabbis included the Hafetz Haim , and there is a famous video clip of him arriving at the site in Vienna for this event. One of the speakers at this gathering was the legendary Rav Meir Shapiro, the Rosh Yeshiva of the Hachmeh Lublin yeshiva in Poland. It was at this event that Rav Shapiro introduced the idea of Daf Yomi , the daily Gemara study program which many thousands of people participate in to this very day. When Rav Shapiro got up to speak, he discussed this difference between Avraham and Noach. He described how Noach cared only for himself, while Avraham cared for everyone. "The reason for this assembly," Rav Shapiro said, "is that we believe that we need to be there for our brothers and sisters across the world. We cannot care only about ourselves. We must concern ourselves with the needs of the entire Jewish Nation. This is why we have come here – to discuss how we can help all our fellow Jews." Why, in fact, did Noach concern himself only with his and his family's wellbeing? Why did he not try to save the people of his generation? Could it possibly be that this man, whom the Torah describes as an איש צדיק ("righteous person"), was selfish and indifferent to the needs of other people? The answer is that Noah was weak. He lacked confidence in his ability to bring about change. He didn't think he could have an impact. And this was his mistake. This is why he was criticized and called a רועה שוטה . It is foolish to think that we cannot make a difference, that we cannot contribute. Other nations are called בני נח – the children of Noah, but we are the children of Avraham Avinu. We carry his legacy, his belief in the power of every person to have an impact. We cannot conveniently excuse ourselves from helping out, from getting involved, from donating, volunteering and contributing, by claiming that we have nothing meaningful to achieve, to give, or to add. As the children and heirs of Avraham Avinu, we need to believe in our ability, and have the self-confidence to act in any way we can. There are so many people who need assistance, and so many ways to help. Each of us can find an area in which to contribute, a way to make a difference, and it behooves all of us – especially during the difficult times in which the Jewish People currently find themselves – to believe in ourselves and do what we can to have a real impact.
The Torah tells that before Hashem created Adam, He announced, נעשה אדם בצלמנו כדמותנו – "Let us make man in our image and in our form" (Bereshit 1:26). Already the earliest commentators raised the question of why Hashem spoke here in the plural form – נעשה ("Let us make"). Of course, there was nobody for Him to talk to at this time. And even if there was, nobody created Adam besides Him. So why did He say נעשה , in the plural form? Rashi explains that Hashem was speaking here with the angels in heaven, who were already in existence. In order to teach us the important lesson of humility, Hashem "consulted," as it were, with the angels before creating the human being. It goes without saying that Hashem did not need, and never needs, to consult with anyone. His knowledge and understanding are perfect and flawless, and so He does not ever require a second opinion. Nevertheless, Hashem asked the angels for their opinion before creating Adam in order to teach us about the importance of considering other people's viewpoints. We often like to think that we know better than everyone else, that we don't need anyone's guidance or advice, that we are always right about everything. It is so important for us to not have this attitude, to realize that other people might know better than us – that Hashem made a point of "consulting" before creating the first human being, to show us an example of seeking other opinions. We need to accustom ourselves to considering other viewpoints, and humbly recognize that other people might know more and might have better ideas that we do. But there is also an additional interpretation of this pasuk . A number of commentaries explain that in this pasuk , Hashem is talking not to the angels – but rather to the human being whom He was now creating. Hashem turns to each and every one of us and announces: נעשה אדם – "Let US create you!" Hashem creates our physical body, and gives us a soul, as well as skills, talents, capabilities – and, yes, limitations and struggles. He also sends us challenges and hardships throughout our lives. He gives us all this for the purpose of נעשה אדם , so that together, we will create ourselves. Our obligation throughout life is to build ourselves, to improve ourselves, to grow, to change. Hashem does not do this work for us; instead, He partners with us. He gives us the tools, and He puts us in the right circumstances. We then have to do our part by taking all that He gives us and using it to create ourselves, to make ourselves better, to achieve greatness. Any skill we have is for the purpose of נעשה אדם , of creating ourselves. Every blessing we are given in our lives is for the purpose of נעשה אדם . And every challenge and difficulty we face in our lives is presented to us for the purpose of נעשה אדם . Whenever life takes an unwanted turn, whenever we deal with adversity, we must hear Hashem calling נעשה אדם , inviting us to build ourselves through this challenge. Every challenge is our opportunity to attain greatness, to reach higher, and to "create" the very best possible version of ourselves.
One of the prophets, Habakuk (1:14), compared the human being to fish – ותעשה אדם כדגי הים . Rav Shlomo Alkabetz explains this analogy by noting that if one catches a large fish and opens it, he will see smaller fish in its stomach, as large fish eat small fish. Surprisingly, however, the small fish's bodies are in the opposite direction of the large fish. We would have assumed that the small fish run away from the large fish, and are then caught, so their bodies should be facing the same direction as the large fish that devoured them. But when we cut open the large fish, we see the small fish facing the opposite direction, as though they swam right into the large fish's mouth! The reason, Rav Alkabetz explained, is because the small fish indeed run away from the large fish – but just when they think they've escaped, another large fish appears, and the small fish swim right into its mouth…. We are like fish. At any given time, we have one or perhaps two "large fish" chasing after us, one or two problems which we desperately need to solve. And we think that once we get that one issue under control, then our lives will be perfect. But as soon as that problem is solved, right away we come across another… We are never fully in control of our lives, and this is something we need to learn to accept. So many people spend their lives waiting to have full control. They think, if they just made another $20,000 they will be happy. If they could just solve this problem with such-and-such child, or marry him or her off, then they will be happy. If they could just afford to fix such-and-such problem with the house, then they will be happy. But this doesn't work. Because as soon as one problem is solved, another one pops up. We need to learn to be happy and content RIGHT NOW, with whatever we have and don't have at this very moment. No matter how imperfect life is, we can experience joy and satisfaction. The holiday of Sukkot is observed at the conclusion of the harvest season, after farmers have completed the process of harvesting and collecting their produce. The Torah therefore refers to this Yom Tov as חג האסיף – "the holiday of the gathering." In agrarian societies, this was a time of year when people felt the proudest and the most financially secure. The warehouses were filled with grain, bringing them great satisfaction. And specifically during this time of year, the Torah commands us to leave our comfortable, stable homes and reside in a small, cramped, temporary sukkah , and to reexperience our ancestors' conditions when they travelled in the wilderness. Moreover, we are commanded ושמחת בחגך – to experience special joy on this Yom Tov. In fact, during the times of the Bet Ha'mikdash , a special שמחת בית השואבה celebration was held in the Bet Ha'mikdash , which featured special festivity. On no other Yom Tov was this celebration held. The Torah is teaching us that we must never look to material success as our source of joy and contentment. Specifically when the warehouses are full, when the bank accounts are doing well, when the portfolio is worth many times more than our original investment, we are told to experience unbridled joy and contentment not in our large, comfortable homes, but in a small, simple sukkah . The lesson being taught is that we must be able to feel happy and content in whatever condition we find ourselves. If we make our contentment dependent on any particular factor, we will never be happy – because as soon as that wish is fulfilled, we will find that we have another "big fish" chasing us, another problem to deal with, another unfulfilled wish to pursue. In order to live a truly happy life, we need to be able to rejoice inside a sukkah – even under less-than-ideal conditions, when things aren't exactly the way we want them. We need to look to find Hashem's blessings in all situations, and to celebrate the fact that we are privileged to have Him in our lives, a precious gift that should bring us joy no matter what struggles we are dealing with.
If we look around, we will notice that many people – perhaps most people – are unhappy. There are people who have fulfilled many of their dreams. They got married, had children, bought a house, built a career or a business, but are disappointed and dissatisfied. The reason – or one of the reasons – for this is that many people look for happiness in the wrong places. They make the mistake of thinking that they will find happiness in the tangible things, such as a house, a car, vacations, clothes, and so on. But these tangibles aren't what bring happiness. Imagine somebody who is thirsty decides to eat some delicious, nutritious food. The food tastes good, and is beneficial for his body and his health, but it won't quench his thirst. It's of course good to eat healthy food – but this won't help him if he's thirsty. The same is true of material things. There is certainly nothing wrong with enjoying material blessings. And they are even beneficial for us. But this is not what brings happiness. We achieve happiness through the intangible, by feeling accomplished, by feeling fulfilled, by filling our lives with meaning. In marriage, for example, a husband and wife can exchange wonderful expensive gifts but still be unhappy. What makes a marriage happy and fulfilling is not the gifts, but the intangible aspects of the relationship, being able to sit together and laugh, to enjoy each other's company, to listen to each other. This concept, the importance of the "intangibles," is relevant to teshuvah , as well. When people think of what they need to change, they usually come up with specific things they need to change. Perhaps it's the about the way they talk, the words they use, the way they dress, the things they do or don't do on Shabbat, or how often they pray. Of course, these are all extremely important. But this isn't enough. The Gaon of Vilna taught that the six most important qualities for Torah life are alluded to in the first word of the Torah – בראשית . They are: בטחון – Placing our trust in Hashem, believing that He is caring for us at all times. רצון – The will and passion to do the right thing, no matter what this entails. אהבה – Loving other people, and loving Hashem. שתיקה – Knowing when to be silent, when not to speak, when not to respond when we feel upset, angry or hurt. יראה – Genuine fear of Hashem, deferring to His authority. תורה – Making Torah learning an important part of our lives. These six qualities are intangible, things that we cannot necessarily quantify. But these are the areas which we need to focus on if we are going to make real changes. Too many people feel content just checking off boxes on the religious checklist. They make sure to dress a certain way, to spend Shabbat a certain way. Of course this is important – but it can't stop there. It has to be sincere. We have to change our interior, the intangibles such as our trust in Hashem, our love for our fellow Jew and for Hashem, and the other qualities mentioned by the Gaon of Vilna. To demonstrate this point more clearly – I am blessed with a large and impressive library. Somebody who walks into my study will see enormous bookcases lined with all types of books. Outwardly it seems like I'm an accomplished scholar, having so many books. But I know that this means absolutely nothing. The number of books in my office is a tangible statistic, but it says nothing about my commitment to Torah or about how much I know. This is the problem that too many of us have. We look at the tangibles in our lives, the boxes that we check, and we feel that it's enough. But it's not. We need to work also on the intangibles, on our inner beings. How sincere are we in our commitment to Hashem? How genuinely do we care about the feelings and wellbeing of our fellow Jews? Do we really make Torah and mitzvot our highest priority, or do we just try to fit them in? Do we just go through the motions, or do we really seek to build a strong relationship with Hashem? In order to truly change, to really become the people we want to become, we cannot just make a couple of "cosmetic" modifications to our lives. We need to look deep inside ourselves and change our outlook, our mindset, our priorities. This internal "reset" will help us transform into the great people we know we can be, which will then bring us the greatest levels of happiness and fulfillment.
One year on the second night of Rosh Hashanah, my son turned to me and said, "These simanim , the special foods we eat on Rosh Hashanah, are horrible! "Don't we want to have a good year, a happy year? So why are we eating this terrible stuff????" "Moshe," I said, "you have to understand – we're eating these things in order to destroy our enemies!" "So let our enemies eat this!!!!" he protested. "Moshe," I explained, "the enemy is us. We're eating these foods to destroy the enemy within ourselves." When we pray on Rosh Hashanah for the demise of our enemies, we're not referring only to Hamas, Hezbollah, and their ilk. We're referring also to ourselves, to the bad habits and negative impulses that are so often our worst and most destructive foes. The Hovot Ha'levavot , in the Sha'ar Ha'bitahon section, teaches that there are three stages in the performance of any good deed: 1) the thought, or the inspiration, to perform the deed; 2) the decision to act upon that inspiration; 3) the actual execution. There is a critical distinction, the Hovot Ha'levavot writes, between the first two stages and the third stage. The first two stages are entirely up to us. Hashem does not help us with this. It is up to us to want to do the right thing, and it is up to us to make the firm decision to follow up on this desire. Once we've taken these first two steps, then – and only then!!! – Hashem comes to help us perform the mitzvah , or to make the change in our lifestyle. We have to get the process started by deciding we want to do the right thing – and then we earn Hashem's help to actually do it. The first of these three steps is pretty easy. We're all good people. We all sincerely want to do the right thing, to observe the mitzvot , to speak the right way, to be good spouses, parents, children and friends, to be the best version of ourselves. We all have the right values and the right idea of how we are supposed to live. The problem that we have – the "enemy" that we face within ourselves – is in regard to the second step. It is so hard to make the firm the decision to change, to tell ourselves: "I am going to do this no matter what. Nothing will stand in my way. Nothing is stopping me. I am resolute, and I am determined, and I am going to make this change." And the reason why this is so hard is that we like the wrong things we do. People find it hard to stop speaking lashon ha'ra because they enjoy the thrill of gossip. People find it hard to close their businesses on Shabbat because they enjoy that income. People find it hard to avoid anger because they enjoy the feeling of power that they experience when they scream at people. People find it hard to put down their phones and stop wasting time because they enjoy wasting time on their phones. People find it hard to go to shul in the morning because they enjoy sleeping in. Everyone has some bad habit that they can't kick because they just enjoy it too much. This enjoyment is the "enemy" that we are trying to fight during this time of year. We need to remember that we are strong enough to fight this enemy. We have the power to overcome these challenges. As we head into Rosh Hashanah and the Aseret Yemeh Teshuvah (Ten Days of Repentance), let us commit to wage this battle, to make the firm decision to change, and we will then earn Hashem's assistance in making these changes and living our best lives.
A quick review of the text of the Rosh Hashanah prayers shows us that the theme of this day is מלכות – Hashem's kingship over the world. This is the day when we crown Hashem as King over the universe, and we reaffirm our loyalty to Him as His subjects. Another theme that features prominently on Rosh Hashanah is עקידת יצחק – the story of Avraham Avinu's willingness to sacrifice his son in fulfillment of Hashem's command. We read the story of עקידת יצחק from the Torah, we mention it several times in our tefilot , and one of the explanations for the symbolism of the shofar is that it brings to mind the ram which Avraham sacrificed instead of Yitzhak (after Hashem told him not to kill Yitzhak). Furthermore, it is customary to eat meat from the head of a sheep on Rosh Hashanah, and one reason given for this practice is that sheep closely resemble rams, and we thus wish to invoke the ram of עקידת יצחק . How are we to understand the significance of עקידת יצחק on Rosh Hashanah, and its connection to the theme of מלכות ? Yitzhak represented Avraham's spiritual ambitions. His dream was to transmit his faith to his son, who then carry his legacy and form a nation that would represent Hashem in this world. This was Avraham's aspiration, his plan. But the moment Hashem commanded him to offer Yitzhak as a sacrifice, Avraham prepared to sacrifice this dream, to forego on his plan. It was very painful, and he didn't understand, but being Hashem's loyal servant means making difficult sacrifices for the sake of submitting to Hashem's authority and obeying Him. Too often, we want to have the best of both worlds. We want comfort and ease, and to then include Hashem. We want a lot of money, some of which we will donate to charity. We want to be very successful during the week so we can close on Shabbat without losing anything. We want to have amazing, well-behaved kids who are easy to raise and educate to be religiously observant. We want to do what Hashem wants – but in the way that we want. Being a faithful servant of Hashem means serving Him under conditions which aren't the way we want. Proclaiming Hashem as King means serving Him not only when we are in good health, but with whatever health He decides we should have. Proclaiming Hashem as King means serving Him happily even if we're struggling financially. Proclaiming Hashem as King means having a Torah home even with challenging children. On Rosh Hashanah, we draw our attention to עקידת יצחק because this is what crowning Hashem as King is all about – being willing to sacrifice, being willing to serve Hashem and obey His will under difficult conditions, when things aren't going our way. Crowning Hashem as King means turning to Him and saying, "Whatever it is that You want from me – I'm ready to do." And this is precisely the lesson of עקידת יצחק . The Gemara derives the details about the mitzvah of shofar blowing on Rosh Hashanah from the sounding of the shofar on the yovel (jubilee year). Every 50 years, the shofar would be sounded, proclaiming the release of all servants, setting them free. The Torah uses similar words in the context of the Rosh Hashanah shofar blowing and the shofar blowing on the yovel , indicating that the halachot that apply on yovel apply also on Rosh Hashanah. When we truly crown Hashem as king, we attain freedom – freedom from anxiety, from frustration, from anger, and from disappointment. When we see ourselves as servants of Hashem, and understand that we are here to live the life He wants us to live, and not the life that we think we want to live, then we will spare ourselves so much stress and aggravation. When life doesn't go the way we planned, we will just accept it as Hashem's will, realizing that He wants us to serve Him under the conditions that He gives us. There is no greater feeling than this mindset. When we live this way, we aren't worried about what may happen or not happen, because we know that everything that happens is Hashem's will. And we won't be frustrated or angry when things don't go our way, because we will understand that this is what Hashem wants for us. Let us take advantage of the precious opportunity Rosh Hashanah offers us to truly proclaim our loyalty to Hashem, so we can experience the unparalleled freedom of being His servants.
Parashat Ki-Tavo begins with the mitzvah of bikkurim – the requirement that a farmer bring the first of his fruits that ripen each year to the Bet Ha'mikdash , and present them as a gift to a kohen . The Torah commands, ובאת אל הכהן אשר יהיה בימים ההם – "You shall come to the kohen who will be in those days." Rashi explains that the Torah adds the words אשר יהיה בימים ההם – "who will be in those days" – to teach us אין לך אלא כהן שבימיך כמו שהוא – "all you have is the kohen in your times, the way he is." A person should bring his bikkurim to the kohen who is there in his time, even if this kohen is not of the same caliber as a kohen of a previous generation. Rashi makes a similar comment earlier in Sefer Devarim (17:9), in reference to the Torah's command that one bring his difficult Torah questions אל השופט אשר יהיה בימים ההם – "to the judge who will be in those days." In that context, too, Rashi explains that the Torah is emphasizing that even if the judge is not as great as the judges of earlier generations, אין לך אלא שופט שבימיך – "all you have is the judge who is in your times." The Ramban raises the question of how Rashi applies this to the context of bikkurim . After all, the kohen simply receives the bikkurim . He does not need to be wise, scholarly, or righteous. When it comes to judges and halachic scholars, it's understandable that one might be reluctant to bring his halachic question to a rabbi who is less impressive than the Rabbis of yesteryear. But why would a person feel this way about his bikkurim ? The answer given is that when a person gives something to someone, he wants to feel good about the recipient. A farmer is bringing the first fruits, which he worked very hard to produce, to give them as a gift to a kohen . If he sees that the kohanim in his generation aren't quite on the same level as the kohanim of earlier generations, he might feel uneasy about presenting them with this gift. The Torah therefore tells him, אין לך אלא כהן שבימיך כמו שהוא – all you have is the kohen in your time. These are the kohanim you have been given, so appreciate them, and support them. This is something which is relevant when it comes to family members. Many people, if not all of us, have issues with somebody in the family, or with several members of the family. It could be a spouse, a parent, a child, a sibling, a parent-in-law or a child-in-law. They think, "If only he wouldn't do that," or, "If only she wouldn't be weird in that way," or, "If only he wouldn't talk like that," or, "If only she didn't act this way." People seem to always be complaining about someone, or more than one person, in their family. We need to remember, אין לך אלא כהן שבימיך כמו שהוא – these are the family members that Hashem gave us. Yes, they aren't perfect, just like we ourselves aren't perfect, and just like all people on earth aren't perfect. Yes, they're a little weird in some way, just like we ourselves are weird is some way, and all people on earth are weird in some way. We have to accept them and love them for who they are. אין לך אלא כהן שבימיך כמו שהוא . The Gemara in Masechet Hulin (58b) tells what appears to be a very peculiar story about two small flies. The female fly got angry at the male fly, and stayed away from the male for seven years. The reason it was angry is because it once saw the male fly suck blood from a person, and did not inform the female fly so she could also have some blood. The Gemara questions how this could have happened, given that this was a special species of fly that lives only for a single day. How could the female fly have separated from the male fly for seven years, if they lived for only one day? The Gemara answers that the "seven years" refers to שני דידהו – their "years." Meaning, this refers to just a short while, the amount of time proportional to seven years in the life of a human being. What is the meaning of this seemingly bizarre story? One Rabbi explained that the Gemara here is talking not about one-day flies, but about us. So many families are torn apart over nonsense, just like this pair of flies. So many siblings are not on speaking terms because of some silly fight, because somebody got offended by something that the other person did. And if only they realized that they live for just "one day," that life is shorter than it appears, they wouldn't have made an issue out of it. Let us try to appreciate the family we've been given, the people we are blessed to have in our lives, flawed and imperfect as they may be. Instead of complaining, let us be grateful for everyone we have around us, and work to strengthen and enhance these relationships as best we can.
The story is told of a man who once approached a Rabbi and asked a question which we have likely all asked ourselves at one point or another, in some form or another. "Why does Hashem want me to perform mitzvot ?" he asked. "He already has angels, who are perfect, pristine creatures. I'm just a human being. I'm very flawed. I make a lot of mistakes. I do a lot of things wrong. What are my mitzvot worth?" The Rabbi replied by asking this fellow what he did professionally. The man said he was an artist, who drew paintings. "What's your favorite piece of art that you've produced?" the Rabbi asked. The artist explained that he painted a beautiful picture of the sunset over the ocean. It's considered an exquisite piece of art, and is worth an exorbitant amount of money. "What makes it so exquisite? Why is it so highly valued?" the Rabbi wondered. "Because it's perfect," the artist explained. "It depicts the ocean, the sun and the horizon in a manner that so closely resembles the real thing." "So tell me something," the Rabbi continued. "Why doesn't someone just take a good camera to the ocean and take a picture of the sunset? If he wants a perfect picture of the sunset, then surely a picture can provide a far more perfect replica than your painting, as good as it is." The artist smiled and explained that the whole point of art is to depict the subject as accurately as possible given human limitations. With a camera, there's no challenge, and so there's no achievement in producing a precise replica. The beauty of art lies in the ability to attain near-perfection within the limits of the human being's abilities. "This is precisely why Hashem wants us to serve Him," the Rabbi said. The angels' service of G-d is like the camera's depiction of the sunset. It's perfect and unflawed, without any struggle or challenge. Hashem created us flawed human beings so we can be "artists" – so we can create as beautiful a life as we can, with the understanding that we aren't going to be perfect. Religious life is an art, whereby we make ourselves as close to perfect as possible. Of course, we will never be perfect, and we should never expect ourselves to be perfect. We must, however, expect and demand of ourselves that we consistently work to get better. This month, Elul, is the time especially earmarked for growth. This is the time when we are to see how we can make our "painting" a little better, and bring ourselves closer to perfection. This is not the time to pretend that we can make ourselves perfect. This will never happen. If we see this month as the time to get perfect, then we'll likely end up accomplishing nothing. Instead, we need to commit to make ourselves better, to getting closer to perfection. And in order to do this, we must be willing to push ourselves, and to challenge ourselves to make real changes. The Gemara teaches in Masechet Sotah (21b): אין דברי תורה מתקיימין אלא במי שמעמיד עצמו ערום עליהן . This literally means, "The words of Torah are sustained only within someone who makes himself 'unclothed' over them." The Gemara here is telling us that in order to grow in Torah, we need to make difficult sacrifices. Needless to say, we don't have to actually give up all our clothing. We do, however, need to give up things that we have come to like, or we have come to look to for enjoyment. We should not expect ourselves to be perfect – but we must absolutely expect ourselves to work hard and to sacrifice in order to improve. If we are committing ourselves to Torah and mitzvot , then we cannot allow ourselves to act as we like, to go wherever we like, to watch whatever we like on our devices, or to speak however we like. We need to give up things which we know are wrong, even if giving them up is difficult. May Hashem help all of us this month to produce beautiful, exquisite "paintings," as we develop ourselves into the greatest people that we are capable of becoming.
I was once in a post office, and started chatting with the fellow working there behind the counter. Over the course of our conversation, he mentioned that he had served in the Marines. "The Marines?" I said. "Wow, that's amazing." He said that he spent some time in Afghanistan. I asked how much time he spent there, and he said that he was there for seven months. He had been a Marine for many years, but he spent only seven months serving in Afghanistan. "Why only seven months?" I then asked. His answer caught me off-guard. "Because complacency is no good." He explained that war is very dangerous, and very complex. In order to succeed, you need to be on high-alert at all times. At every moment, you need to be fully prepared, and completely focused. You need to make sure that all your equipment and all your ammunition is in tip-top shape and ready for action. And maintaining this level of alertness and preparedness requires the highest levels of motivation. The moment a troop falls even slightly, for a moment, into complacency, letting his guard down, he puts himself at great risk. In fact, this ex-Marine post-office worker said, there was a sign hung in his base in Afghanistan that read: Complacency Kills . This man, I believe, helps us understand what the month of Elul is all about. It is about taking us out of our complacency, it is about ensuring that we don't become the kind of people who sit back in our chair, pick up our feet, and take it easy. The month of Elul is meant to wake us up from our feeling of "whatever," of "I'm fine the way I am." It is about reminding us that we've been brought to this world to excel and to achieve, not to just sit back and relax. Every so often the yetzer ha'ra (evil inclination) puts a dream in my head – a dream where I just sit somewhere doing absolutely nothing, without my phone, without anyone around me, without any obligations or responsibilities. This is my yetzer ha'ra 's dream. And I hope I never have a single day like that in my entire life. I don't want to ever spend a day doing nothing, a day when I am not making the most of the precious time I've been given here in this world. The Midrash tells what appears to be a very peculiar story of a man who sat down along the side of the road to eat, and suddenly saw two birds fighting, with one eventually killing the other. The living bird then left and later returned with a leaf from a certain plant, which it placed on top of the dead bird. Miraculously, the bird came back to life. The two birds then flew away together. The man set out to find the miracle plant. He found it, and took some leaves. He then went around seeing how he could use them. He chanced upon the carcass of a lion, and he placed the plant on it. The lion came back to life – and immediately proceeded to devour the man. Rav Shmuel Pinhasi explains the meaning of this story told by the Midrash. The man was granted remarkable power – the power to restore life. He could have utilized this power to bring back Moshe Rabbenu, David Ha'melech, or Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov. He could have brought back his parents. This miracle plant presented him with so many precious opportunities. But instead, he used it to bring back to life a dangerous, violent animal, and he lost his life because of it. This is the mistake that so many of us make – we misuse, or fail to use, our capabilities. The very fact that we are alive proves that we have the potential to achieve, to do great things. If Hashem keeps us here in His world, it is because we are powerful, because we have so much to give. Elul is the time to ask ourselves, honestly, whether we are using these abilities to their fullest, whether we are achieving to our full potential, or if we have become complacent, preferring to "take it easy," to sit back and relax, rather than put in the work to maximize our potential. If we use our talents and capabilities for a "lion," for the wrong purposes, then we, like the man in the story, are hurting ourselves. In order to shine, in order to live life the right way, we need to avoid complacency, and make the decision to invest effort to be the best that we can be. And Elul is the time to make that decision, to stop being complacent, to stop accepting the way things are, to get up from our chair, and to resolve to go ahead and turn our lives into what they are meant to be.
Parashat Re'eh begins with Moshe Rabbenu making the following pronouncement to Beneh Yisrael : ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה. See that I am placing before you today a blessing and a curse. The commentaries explain that every day, Hashem gives us opportunities. Everything He gives us is another opportunity to serve Him, to do something meaningful, and to attain greatness. Everything our community has been blessed with – its shuls, its schools, its programs, its close-knit nature – is an opportunity for us to do great things. Everything we have in our personal lives, too, is an opportunity. And yes, even the challenges that we face are an opportunity for us to grow by overcoming them and persevering. It is up to us to decide whether to turn everything we have into a ברכה or a קללה – a blessing, or, Heaven forbid, the opposite. Moshe here emphasizes that this opportunity is given to us היום , today, right now. Too often, we think to ourselves that only when such-and-such happens, when such-and-such problem is solved, or when something changes, we will be able to achieve and do what we know what we need to do. Moshe tells us that there is no reason to wait. אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום . Today, right now, whatever is going on in our lives, we have the opportunity to choose ברכה , to take all that Hashem has given us, and turn it into a blessing. I was once talking to friend toward the end of the summer, and I asked him how his summer was going. He lamented that he had been eating too much during the summer, and gained weight. "So what are you going to do about it?" I asked. "I'll go on a diet after the summer," he replied. This is the mistake that so many of us make. We decide to wait. We don't realize that already היום , right now, we can bring ברכה into our lives. We don't have to wait for the end of the summer, or for anything else to happen, to enjoy and take advantage of Hashem's blessings. Already today, no matter what is happening in our lives, we have precious opportunities to grow and achieve. There is also something else worth noting in this opening pasuk . The pasuk begins in the singular form, addressing the individual – ראה – but then immediately transitions to the plural form – לפניכם . The explanation might be that in order to find the opportunity for ברכה today, we need to look as individuals, at our own lives, without being distracted by other people's lives. ראה – we have to look by ourselves, individually. One of the greatest obstacles to capitalizing on our opportunities is a phenomenon known today as "FOMO" – the "fear of missing out." Once upon a time, this was something that teenage girls suffered from. But now, it seems, even adults experience FOMO. We see lots of cars parked near a home, and we right away realize that there's some event going on which we didn't know about – and we feel we're missing something. We hear of things happening, and we right away think we need to join. We're always looking around to see what other people are doing, thinking that we should probably be doing that, too. If we are going to live our best lives, then we need to focus on living OUR best lives. We have to be able to block out the noise, to ignore what other people are doing, and to focus our attention on the opportunities that Hashem has given us to shine and excel. We don't have to be doing what others are doing – we need to be doing the things that will make our lives the most meaningful, the most fulfilling, and the most accomplished that they can be.
n Parashat Ekev, Moshe Rabbenu commands the people that after they cross into the Land of Israel, they must remember what their lives were like in the desert. They must remember the miraculous existence that they lived – being fed by manna which fell from the heavens, drinking water supplied by a supernatural well which traveled with them, and wearing the same clothes and shoes, which never became worn. Moshe then warns the people that after they enter Eretz Yisrael , and after they till the land, produce large amounts of food, and amass wealth, they might grow arrogant, and think to themselves, כוחי ועוצם ידי עשה לי את החיל הזה – "My strength and the power of my hand made for me all this wealth" (Devarim 8:17). Instead of attributing their prosperity to Hashem, they will take all the credit for their success. Moshe commands us: וזכרת את ה' אלוקיך כי הוא הנותן לך כח לעשות חיל. You shall remember Hashem your G-d – that it is He who gives you the strength to attain wealth . (8:18) This section is among the most important sources in the Torah regarding the proper balance between hishtadlut (effort) and emuna (faith). We are told that it is perfectly acceptable, and even necessary, to work for a living, but we must also firmly believe that the success of our endeavors depends entirely on Hashem – כי הוא הנותן לך כח לעשות חיל . The analogy I like to give is one of a baseball player who steps up to the plate. When the pitcher throws a pitch, and it's in the strike zone, nobody would tell the batter not to swing the bat, and to instead trust that Hashem will help him get on base. The right thing for him to do is to swing – and to swing the best way he knows how, powerfully, to try to hit the ball squarely. But just before he swings, he must remind himself that the outcome of his swing depends entirely on Hashem. And after he hits the ball over the fence, and he's rounding the bases, he must realize that הוא הנותן לך כח לעשות חיל , that it was Hashem who made his swing successful, who sent the ball out the park. When I meet with older singles in our community, they often ask me about this subject, how much effort they should be investing in trying to find a shidduch . I tell them that they should take out a piece of paper, and make a list of everything they can do to find a marriage partner. They should think long and hard of what the maximum effort is, and write down every single measure that they can take to make this process work. This might mean contacting a certain number of shadchanim , attending a certain number of events, different ways to expand their social network, and so on. Then, after this list is complete, and they have written down everything they could possibly do, they should put the list away, and remind themselves that this process depends exclusively on Hashem, that it is He, and not their efforts, that will bring them their shidduch . After contemplating this for a few minutes, I tell them, they should pull their list out again, and do every single thing on the list, without any exceptions. They need to "swing" hard – but only after establishing in their minds that הוא הנותן לך כח לעשות חיל , that the outcome depends solely on Hashem. Returning to our parashah , this is why Moshe commands the people to always remember their supernatural existence in the desert. They must realize that just as Hashem cared for them during those years, when they had no ability to obtain food or water on their own, Hashem would be caring for them in the land, when they would be working to sustain themselves. There is no difference. Even though we are to invest effort to attain our needs, whatever those needs may be, it is Hashem who provides them. Every day, when we get a good "pitch," when we have an opportunity for parnasah , for a shidduch , for a cure, for whatever it is that we need, we need to "swing" as hard as we can. But just before we "swing," we need to remember that only Hashem determines where the "ball" lands.
n Parashat Va'et'hanan, Moshe Rabbenu recalls the event of Ma'amad Har Sinai , when Hashem spoke to Beneh Yisrael at Mount Sinai, and pronounced the Aseret Ha'dibberot (Ten Commandments). The final of these ten commands is לא תחמוד – "You shall not covet." This mitzvah forbids us from wanting what our fellow has and trying to obtain it. Let us, then, take a moment to talk about jealousy, particularly in today's day and age. There has never been a generation that saw so many pictures as our generation. And the vast majority of these pictures are fake, or give a fake impression. One Rabbi compared this phenomenon to artificial grass. Every "blade" is the perfect size, and the perfect color. Real grass, however, is never perfectly green, and never the perfect size. People today are like artificial grass. They project an image of perfection. They want everybody to see them as having the perfect life. We all, to one extent or another, "photoshop" our lives, both on social media and in real-life interactions. We make it seem like our marriage is perfect, our kids are perfect, our home is perfect, our portfolio is perfect, and our mental health is perfect. But we know the truth – that our lives aren't perfect, that we have our share of problems and struggles, that things aren't exactly the way we want them to be. We know that we're just putting on a show. And if we're putting on a show, that means that the people we're jealous of are also putting on a show. They make their lives look perfect just like we do – but the truth is that their lives aren't so perfect, just like ours isn't so perfect. This is true also about the way we tend to judge other people. We see people act a certain way, and we reach conclusions about them, as though we know the whole story. I was once giving a talk, and ten minutes into the talk, three women in the audience stood up and left. In my mind, as I was speaking, I thought to myself that they left because the introduction to this talk was the same as the introduction to a speech I had given around a month before, and these women heard that speech online, and thus assumed that I was giving the same talk now. I then realized that I had just done something very silly. I concocted an entire story about three people whom I know absolutely nothing about. I didn't have any idea who these women were, what they were doing there and why they left, but I created a narrative in my mind about them. And we do this so often. We see only the "tip of the iceberg" of a person's life, and then decide that we know all about the "iceberg," we know everything about the person, why he does what he does. And then we feel we can criticize him and look down on him. Not only do we see only the "tip of the iceberg," but even that "tip" which we see is fake. What we see isn't real. Why do we think we can judge other people, and why do we feel jealous of other people, if we know so little, if anything, about their lives? One Rabbi taught: "Judging favorably is the worst-case scenario. The best-case scenario is – it's none of your business." We have our lives, other people have their lives; they don't know about our lives, and we don't know about their lives. So there's no reason to feel jealous, and there's no reason to judge.
The Book of Devarim consists mainly of the speeches that Moshe Rabbenu delivered to Beneh Yisrael before his passing. In the first several parashiyot , Moshe reviews some of the events that took place after Beneh Yisrael left Egypt, placing particular emphasis on the sins that they committed. He speaks at length about the sin of the golden calf and the sin of the spies. He also mentions the instances when Beneh Yisrael complained in the desert, and briefly notes also the revolt by Korah. As Moshe prepared to leave this world, in his "farewell address," he reprimanded the people for the mistakes they made, so that they would not repeat these mistakes. The Midrash describes Moshe reprimanding the people by bringing a pasuk from the Book of Mishleh (28:23): מוכיח אדם אחרי חן ימצא ממחליק לשון . Literally, this means, "He who reprimands a person after Me will find more favor than a slick-tongued person." The Midrash states that this refers to Moshe, who reprimanded the people "after Me," in the proper way, and so his words – despite being critical – found favor in the people's eyes, more so than the words of somebody with a "slick tongue," who has mastered the art of rhetoric. Moshe, as we know, had difficulty speaking. He was not "slick-tongued." Nevertheless, his words of rebuke were effective, and he "found favor" with the people despite talking them harshly about the things they had done wrong, because he spoke to them אחרי – "after Me." The commentaries explain that אחרי refers to sincerity, intentions that are purely לשם לשמיים , for Hashem's sake. When we criticize, people can sense whether we do so sincerely, out of a genuine concern for them, or if we criticize with impure motives. They will feel if we are criticizing because we really care about them, or if we're just angry, or if we're just trying to feel superior to them by putting them down, by showing that we're better than them. They know by the way we speak to them if we are sincere or if we have some agenda. If we criticize אחרי , genuinely לשם שמיים , then we will "find favor," the person will be receptive and open to what we have to say. But if our intentions are insincere, if we are just angry, or looking to feel good about ourselves at somebody else's expense, then the person will notice, and is not likely to accept what we have to say. Instead, he will react with hostility and defend himself. Sincerity has power. When we are sincere, people feel it, and respond accordingly. We often feel the need to criticize the people around us – our children, our spouse, other family members, friends, employees, coworkers, etc. And, many times, it is indeed necessary to criticize. But our criticism will be effective and achieve the desired result only if we are truly sincere, if our only intention is to help the person improve, without any hostility, arrogance or agendas. If we speak with even a tinge of disdain, of disrespect, of gloating, of "gotcha," of "I'm better than you," the person is going to feel it, and will reject everything we say. When it comes to criticism, sincerity is everything. It is only when our sole intention is to help the person get better that there is a chance of our words being heeded.
The first section of Parashat Maseh lists all the different places where Beneh Yisrael encamped during the forty years they spent in the desert, from the time they left Egypt through their last station before crossing into the Land of Israel. The first pasuk of the parashah introduces this section as follows: אלה מסעי בני ישראל אשר יצאו מארץ מצרים...ביד משה ואהרון. These are the journeys of Beneh Yisrael, who left the land of Egypt…by the hand of Moshe and Aharon . We must ask why the pasuk emphasizes that the people were brought out of Egypt by Moshe and Aharon – literally, "by the hand of Moshe and Aharon." Why does this need to be said? How is this significant? The Ketav Sofer explains that to the people, it appeared that they left Egypt ביד משה ואהרון , because of Moshe and Aharon. They thought that it was their leadership that brought them out of slavery and into the wilderness. Therefore, the next pasuk says: ויכתוב משה את מוצאיהם למסעיהם על פי ה' – Moshe recorded the nation's journeys "in accordance with Hashem." Moshe taught the people that every journey they took, every place where they encamped, everywhere they traveled – was all arranged by Hashem. It was He who brought them out of Egypt, and it was He who led them to every station they passed through on the way to Eretz Yisrael . The same is true of our journey through life. Sometimes this journey seems random, and sometimes it is difficult. But we need to have emunah (faith) and trust that Hashem brings us precisely to where we need to be at all times. Whatever situation we find ourselves in is the situation Hashem intentionally brought us to for a specific purpose. I was once talking to a community member about an organization I'm involved with, asking for his assistance. I apologized to him for taking his time. "Don't be sorry," this fellow said. "Your organization does amazing work, and it is a privilege for me to be part of it. Thank you for including me." This man understood that when somebody asks us for help, when we are invited to a fundraiser, or when we are given an opportunity to contribute to a meaningful cause, it is Hashem – not the person in need, not the Rabbi who leads the organization, and not the person running the event – who is asking for assistance. Hashem is taking us to that situation so that we can make an impact, because we have an important goal to achieve. Somebody once told me the story of a certain person in Israel who missed his bus by just a couple of seconds. He was terribly upset. He had to call a taxicab, and then wait for the taxi to come, and pay a lot of money. He was visibly frustrated. A person who was there asked him, "Tell me, if that bus which you were supposed to be on gets blown up, would you be upset about missing it?" "Of course not," the man said. "I would be very grateful to Hashem for saving my life." "Well," the other fellow replied, "why do all these people have to be killed just for you to feel happy?!" This is not just a funny line; it's truth. If we live with emunah , then we realize that Hashem puts us where we need to be, even if the bus doesn't blow up… Whatever is happening, wherever we find ourselves, whatever situation arises, we must realize that Hashem brought us there for a purpose. Even when it seems that our journey unfolds ביד משה ואהרון , as a result of things done by other people, in truth, everything occurs על פי ה' . Rather than complain and feel frustrated and embittered, we should embrace every circumstance we face, recognizing that it presents us with an important mission that Hashem wants us – and only us – to complete.
Parashat Pinhas begins with Hashem’s announcement of the rewards that He would be giving to Pinhas, the grandson of Aharon. The background to the story is the sin of Ba’al Pe’or , when Beneh Yisrael became involved with the women of the nation of Moav, and also worshipped the god of Moav. Hashem punished the people by bringing a plague which killed 24,000 people. The plague ended only when Pinhas boldly arose and killed two people – a Jewish man and a gentile woman – who were committing a public sinful act. By defending Hashem’s honor in this way, Pinhas brought an end to the devastating plague. Hashem then announced that Pinhas would receive two rewards. First, he would receive בריתי שלום – “My covenant of peace.” He was blessed with peace and serenity. In addition, he was rewarded with ברית כהונת עולם – the status of kohen . Due to a technicality, Pinhas had not previously been a kohen , despite being a grandson of Aharon. In reward for his heroic act during the calamity of Ba’al Pe’or , he and his descendants were declared kohanim . It seems that Pinhas received two rewards because of two great things which he accomplished. The Midrash tells that after he killed the two violators, he turned to Hashem and asked, “Because of these two people You are going to kill 24,000 members of Beneh Yisrael ?!” This shows that Pinhas acted as he did not out of anger and rage, but to the contrary, out of genuine love and concern for Am Yisrael . He truly believed, with every fiber of his being, that Beneh Yisrael were much better than this, that this debacle didn’t at all define who they were. There were these two sinners who needed to be eliminated, but the rest of the nation were all good and deserved to be saved. This is how Pinhas felt toward Beneh Yisrael. Pinhas thus received two rewards: 1) He was rewarded with the status of kohen for his bold, courageous act to kill the two sinners. 2) He was rewarded with peace for his sincere love and concern for the people. Pinhas wasn’t an angry, mean zealot who set out to violently oppose those who acted wrongly. Rather, he deeply cared for Beneh Yisrael even in their moment of disgrace. He realized that there were two “bad apples” whom he needed to confront for the sake of saving the rest of the nation. This was an act of love, not an act of rage. Tens of thousands of people sinned – but he loved them, and acted against only the two public violators. Rav Binyamin Finkel of the Mir Yeshiva in Jerusalem is an extraordinary figure, commonly known as “Rav Binyamin Ha’tzadik.” Once, when he visited our community, he came to shul on what turned out to be an exceptionally busy Shabbat morning. A lengthy, double- parashah was read, and a fundraiser was being held. There were lots of extra aliyot , and the shul was extremely noisy, with lots of talking. Before the time came for him to speak, I had no choice but to approach him and explain that the people in the shul are very strict about time, and so he had only three minutes, and no more, to speak. The words he spoke in those three minutes left me astonished. He spoke about how wonderful the shul is, how wonderful the congregation is, how wonderful the tefilah was. This man is the mashgiah (spiritual supervisor) of the Mir Yeshiva, where hardly anybody speaks a single word during the tefilah , ever. And here he was, in a commotion-filled shul with lots of noise, talking about how wonderful the people were. Rav Binyamin understood that the way to people’s hearts is through positivity, not through negativity and criticism. Angrily berating people for doing things wrong is not likely to change them. It will just make them not want to listen to what we have to say ever again. If we want to elicit change, we need to treat people and speak to them with respect even if they do things to which we strongly object. In the early years of our community, there were many members who would drive to work after davening on Shabbat morning. The Rabbis of the time did not throw them out of shul. They did just the opposite – they warmly welcomed them, understanding that their ongoing connection to the shul, to tefilah , and to the Rabbi is what will gradually influence them to raise their standards of religious observance. Pinhas is not a model of angry zealotry, of harshly protesting against sin. He is a model of love and positivity, of caring for fellow Jews especially in their lowest moments. This is the way our community will, please G-d, continue to grow and flourish – through positivity, through love, through building connections between the different types of people, so that we can work together to move our community forward.
Many years ago, I was learning with a peer in the Deal Synagogue, and we were having an argument regarding the laws of Mukseh on Shabbat. Suddenly, one of the leading Halachic scholars of our time, Rav Shmuel Pinhasi, walked in. We were thrilled to have the opportunity to approach him to resolve our disagreement. And so we reverently came to the sage, posed our question, and listened attentively to his response. When he finished speaking, we went back to our place, and we both said to one another, “You see, I’m right!” This incident showed me in the clearest possible way how we have a natural tendency to hear what we want hear, to confirm our ideas and biases, rather than allow them to be challenged and questioned. We don’t want to be shown that we’ve been wrong, that our decisions or opinions are incorrect. And so we always hear what we always thought to be correct. A dramatic example of this phenomenon, of hearing what one wants to hear, is Bilam, about whom we read in our Parasha, Parashat Balak. Balak, the king of Moab, sent messengers to Bilam, a gentile prophet, asking him to come to Moab and place a curse upon Beneh Yisrael. After the messengers arrived and submitted their request, G-d appeared to Bilam in a dream and said, “Lo Telech Imahem” – “Do not go with them” (22:12). The next morning, Bilam said to Balak’s men that he could not accept the mission, “because G-d refused to let me go with you” (22:13). Rashi explains that Bilam was telling the messengers, “I cannot go with you – but I can go with more distinguished dignitaries!” Bilam was an arrogant man, who craved honor and prestige. And, he despised Beneh Yisrael even more than Balak did, and very much wanted to place a curse upon them. Therefore, when Hashem told him, “Don’t go with them,” Bilam heard, “Don’t go with these men whom Balak sent to you, but go with more distinguished figures when he sends them to you!” Bilam heard not what Hashem actually told him, but rather what he wanted Hashem to tell him. The Gemara in Masechet Gittin (45a) tells the story of Rabbi Ilish, who was being held captive together with another man. One day, a raven came and began chirping. Rabbi Ilish turned to his fellow captive and asked if he understood the language of the birds. The man answered in the affirmative, and explained that the bird was saying, “Ilish – escape!” Rabbi Ilish realized that the bird was informing him that it was safe for him to run away from captivity. However, he knew that ravens cannot be trusted, and so he did not try to escape. Sometime later, a dove came and began chirping. Once again, the Rabbi’s fellow inmate told him that the bird was urging him to escape. Rabbi Ilish followed the dove’s advice, and safely escaped. A number of commentators noted that undoubtedly, Rabbi Ilish also understood the language of the birds. It is inconceivable, these commentators write, that this random inmate had more wisdom than the great Rabbi Ilish. The question, then, arises, why did Rabbi Ilish ask the other fellow to interpret the birds’ chirping? If he understood what the birds were saying, then why did he consult with his cellmate? Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz (1902-1979) explained that Rabbi Ilish didn’t trust his own interpretation. He very much wanted to hear the bird telling him that this was an auspicious time to escape from captivity. And so he feared that he would hear what he wanted to hear, and not what the bird was actually saying. He therefore consulted with his fellow inmate to get an objective explanation of the bird’s chirping. This is an important lesson about honesty and objectivity. The only way we will grow is if we live with the openness to hear the truth – even when it makes us uncomfortable, when it challenges our previous opinions and beliefs. Refusing to accept the truth is a quality associated with the wicked Bilam, whose passionate hatred for Beneh Yisrael prevented him from properly understanding G-d’s message. We are to do just the opposite – live with the humility and honesty to hear what Hashem tells us and to surrender to His will.
Parashat Hukat tells the famous story of Moshe’s hitting the rock. To briefly review – Beneh Yisrael found themselves without water in the desert, and they argued with Moshe, demanding water. Hashem commanded Moshe to assemble the people around a rock, and to speak to the rock, whereupon it would miraculously produce water. Moshe gathered the people around the rock, and angrily criticized them, calling them מורים – “rebellious people.” He then struck the rock with his stick, and it produced water for all the people. Hashem was very angry at Moshe, and decreed that he would not enter the Land of Israel. He would instead die before Beneh Yisrael cross into the land. Many different explanations have been given to this story, for why Hashem was so angry at Moshe. What exactly did he do wrong? The most famous approach taken is that of Rashi, who writes that Moshe was commanded to speak to the rock, but he disobeyed Hashem, and struck the rock, instead. For a person on Moshe’s level of greatness, this was considered a grave misdeed, and so he was severely punished. Another famous explanation was given by the Rambam. He writes that Moshe’s sin was not striking the rock, but rather angrily criticizing the people, calling them מורים . The Kedushat Levi offers a beautiful insight, suggesting that in truth, these two explanations are one and the same. When we want to offer criticism – such as to children or students – there are two ways this could be done. One is to emphasize how bad the act was, repeatedly telling them that they did something disgraceful. The other way is to remind the wrongdoer that he is better than this, that he is capable of so much more, that he has such vast potential, that the world needs him, and that we are confident that he will do better in the future. Both responses are equally accurate. They are both factually correct. However, they have opposite effects on the person hearing the criticism. The first response knocks him down, and makes him feel low and worthless. The second lifts him up, and gives him the encouragement to improve. The Kedushat Levi explains that there is actually a much more powerful difference between these two forms of criticism. Remarkably, he writes that the way we criticize someone affects the way the world itself treats the person. The entire world was created for the human being; everything in nature is meant to serve us. But if we knock somebody down, depicting him as terrible because he did something wrong, then the world will not want to serve that person. Conversely, if we lift somebody up, emphasizing his great potential, how much he can achieve, and how much he can contribute to the world, then the world will respond by serving that person so he can make his important contribution. It thus turns out that the way we speak to somebody can determine the way the world treats that person! On this basis, the Kedushat Levi explains Moshe’s sin. In this one instance, Moshe responded to the people’s wrongdoing by knocking them down, instead of lifting them up. On this one occasion, he reacted the wrong way. As a result, the rock did not want to serve them. It did not want to miraculously provide water to מורים , to rebellious people. This is why Moshe needed to strike the rock in order for the water to come. Thus, Rashi’s understanding and the Rambam’s understanding are really the same. Moshe’s mistake was reacting the wrong way, which necessitated striking the rock. We need to be very careful with the way we speak to and deal with other people, especially when they act wrongly. Instead of knocking them down, and reacting angrily, we should do just the opposite, and try to encourage them, to empower them, to build their self-esteem and ambition to achieve. This is how we help people actualize their potential, and enable them to do their share to make our world better.
Korah & Sisit Rashi, commenting to the opening verse of Parashat Korah, explains the connection between this Parasha and the immediately preceding section – the final verses of Parashat Shelah, which introduce the Misva of Sisit. Korah led a brazen uprising against Moshe and Aharon, and Rashi writes that when he and his followers confronted and challenged Moshe, they appeared before him wearing Tallitot which were colored entirely with Techelet (a type of blue dye). The Torah commands coloring one Sisit string on each of the four corners of the Tallit with Techelet, and Korah and his cohorts asked Moshe whether their Tallitot – which were entirely colored Techelet – required a Techelet thread. Moshe responded that Halacha draws no distinction in this regard, and a Techelet thread is needed even if the garment is dyed entirely in Techelet. Korach and his men then began ridiculing Moshe, arguing that if a single Techelet thread suffices for a white garment, then a garment that is entirely colored Techelet certainly does not require a Techelet thread. This account might explain not only the connection between the end of Parashat Shelah and Parashat Korah, but also the entire background to Korah’s grave mistake. In presenting the Misva of Sisit, the Torah states, “Ve’lo Taturu Ahareh Lebabchem Ve’ahareh Enechem” – “so that you shall not stray after your heart and your eyes” (Bamidbar 15:39). The purpose of the Misva of Sisit is to help us avoid “straying.” Notably, the Torah mentions the heart before the eyes in this verse – “after your heart and your eyes.” Intuitively, we would have thought that the process of “straying” begins with our eyes, as we see something enticing, which our hearts then desire. In truth, however, it’s just the opposite. Our hearts, our thoughts, our attitudes and our biases, profoundly affect our perception. Two people can see the same thing and react in two polar opposite ways, because each looks through a different lens, from a different perspective. We wear Sisit so that we will not be led astray by what our hearts cause our eyes to see, by how our minds perceive things. Indeed, the Kabbalists explain that the word “Sisit” stems from the word that means “glance” (“Le’hasitz,” as in the verse, “Mesitz Min Ha’harakim” – Shir Hashirim 2:9), because this Misva helps us to “see” clearly, to perceive things the right way, so that we are not led astray. One of the most dramatic examples of somebody being misled by what his heart and eyes saw is Korach. Rashi (16:7) cites the Midrash as teaching that Korach’s “eye” led him astray, to foolishly launch this uprising against Moshe Rabbenu. He saw through Ru’ah Ha’kodesh (a level of prophetic vision) that he would have descendants who would rise to prominence, such as the prophet Shemuel. He thus concluded that he should demand the honor and prestige of the high priesthood. Remarkably, and tragically, Korah saw ahead many generations – but he failed to see the situation right in front of him, the obvious reality that G-d had chosen Aharon to serve as Kohen Gadol. Korah saw what he wanted to see – that he and his progeny were destined for greatness, and that he must therefore vie for the position of Kohen Gadol. His heart led his eyes to see that he deserved this exalted post – and he was thus led astray, resulting in his tragic downfall. We might explain that since Korah abused the Misva of Sisit, utilizing it to ridicule Moshe, he forfeited this Misva’s spiritual benefits. The Sisit strings are meant to protect us from the lures of what our hearts and eyes see – but they did not do this for Korah, because he misused them as part of his effort to undermine the authority of Moshe Rabbenu. This resembles the Gemara’s teaching (Berachot 62b) that David Ha’melech was punished for cutting Shaul’s garment (Shemuel I 24:5). David showed disrespect to a garment, and so later in life, as an elderly man, he was unable to warm himself with garments (Melachim I 1:1). As he disrespected a garment, he lost the benefits that garments normally offer. By the same token, Korah lost the precious benefits of the Misva of Sisit the moment he used Sisit to ridicule Moshe. In the merit of our observance of this precious Misva, may we be worthy of being protected from misperceptions, so we will always see things clearly and make the right decisions each day of our lives.
Toward the end of Parashat Shelah (15:32-36), we read the disturbing story of the “Mekoshesh Esim,” the man who publicly desecrated Shabbat by collecting wood. The Torah tells that it was not known what punishment this man deserved for violating Shabbat, and so he was detained until G-d informed Moshe that he should be killed through stoning. Rashi, commenting on this section (15:32), writes that this story is told as criticism of Beneh Yisrael, who observed only one Shabbat properly in the desert before neglecting Shabbat. Already on the second Shabbat, the “Mekoshesh Esim” publicly desecrated Shabbat. The Torah tells of this incident to bemoan the fact that already on the second Shabbat in the wilderness, Beneh Yisrael failed to preserve the sanctity of this special day. The Maharal of Prague (Rav Yehuda Loew, d. 1609), in his Gur Aryeh, explains that Rashi refers here to the first and second Shabbatot after the manna began to fall. As we read in Parashat Beshalah, G-d commanded Beneh Yisrael at that time to observe Shabbat. The Torah there relates, “Va’yishbetu Ha’am Ba’yom Ha’shebi’i” – the people observed the command to rest on Shabbat (Shemot 16:30). Already on the next Shabbat, the Maharal writes, the “Mekosheh Esim” desecrated Shabbat by gathering wood. It emerges, then, that, according to Rashi, the story of the “Mekoshesh Esim” occurred even before Beneh Yisrael arrived at Mount Sinai to receive the Torah, shortly after the manna began falling. Rashi’s comments here seem difficult to explain in light of his remarks elsewhere, toward the end of Parashat Emor (Vayikra 24:12). There Rashi writes that the “Mekoshesh Esim” was imprisoned at the same time as the “Megadef” – the public blasphemer, who was likewise kept in custody until G-d informed Moshe how he should be punished. Now several verses earlier (Vayikra 24:10), Rashi cites a view that the “Megadef’ blasphemed G-d in response to the law of the “Lehem Ha’panim” – the showbread in the Mishkan. He did not understand how G-d could command that the bread should remain on the table in the Mishkan for an entire week before being eaten, as the “Megadef” deemed it disrespectful for there to be stale bread in Hashem’s abode. It is clear, then, that the story of the “Megadef” occurred only after the commands regarding the Mishkan – which of course included the Misva of the “Lehem Ha’panim” – were given, meaning, at Mount Sinai, after Matan Torah. We need to understand, then, how it was possible for the “Megadef” and the “Mekosesh Esim” to be imprisoned at the same time. The “Mekoshesh Esim” committed his offense much earlier, before Beneh Yisrael arrived at Mount Sinai, whereas the “Megadef” blasphemed only after Matan Torah! The Maharal (Gur Aryeh, Parashat Emor) answers that the “Mekoshesh Esim” was not put to death immediately, because G-d did not want him killed during Beneh Yisrael’s encampment at Sinai. The period from Beneh Yisrael’s departure from Egypt through their stay at Mount Sinai, the Maharal explains, was a time of joy, and it was thus inappropriate to, in the Maharal’s words, “be involved in death.” The Maharal draws a comparison to the Misva of “Shana Rishona,” which requires a groom to remain home and not travel during the first year of marriage, in order to bring joy to his new wife. Similarly, during this period of Hashem’s “wedding” with Beneh Yisrael, they were not to put violators to death. Hence, the “Mekoshesh Esim” was still in prison when the “Megadef” was detained. We might add a deeper insight. The Gemara in Masechet Ta’anit (5b) famously states, “Yaakob Abinu Lo Met” – Yaakob Abinu never died. The Hatam Sofer (Rav Moshe Sofer, 1762-1839) explains that “death” signifies transience, the impermanence of this world. The teaching “Yaakob Abinu Lo Met” means that Yaakob Abinu paid no attention to “death,” to that which is temporary. He was focused entirely on Torah and Misvot, which yield everlasting rewards. By saying that Yaakob “never died,” the Sages are teaching us that Yaakob did not involve himself in matters that “die,” which bring temporary benefit, as he was invested solely in the pursuit of the eternal blessings of Torah and Misvot. On the basis of the Hatam Sofer’s comment, we might arrive at a deeper understanding of why Hashem did not want Beneh Yisrael, in the Maharal’s words, to “involve themselves in death” at Sinai. The purpose of Matan Torah was precisely to draw our attention to eternity, to allow us the opportunity to transcend the transience of this world and achieve immortality through our engagement in Torah. Our ancestors’ encampment at Sinai was all about the antithesis of “death,” of impermanence, as it gave us the key to immortality. And for this reason, G-d did not want the people to put violators to death – because this period was all about eternal life through the study and observance of Torah. Our world is full of lures and enticements. Wherever we turn, we are misled to think that physical pleasures and material luxuries are what matter most, that we should devote our lives to the pursuit of these delights. We must remember that whereas all material assets and worldly pleasures are temporary, our spiritual achievements are everlasting. The Torah we learn and the Misvot we perform remain with us for all eternity. These, then, should be our primary points of focus. Like Yaakob Abinu, we should direct our attention not to “death” – to that which is fleeting and temporary – but rather to “life,” to the eternal benefits of Torah and Misvot.
In 1943, shortly after arriving in the United States, Rav Aharon Kotler founded the Lakewood yeshiva with a small group of approximately fifteen students. The establishment of such an institution was seen as crazy. At that time, America was not a place where people sat and learned Torah. America was a place where Jews worked and made money. If necessary, they worked on Shabbat. It definitely wasn’t suitable for a European-style yeshiva. Many American Jews ridiculed and criticized Rav Aharon Kotler for starting the yeshiva. They insisted that America wasn’t Poland or Lithuania, and this institution had no chance of succeeding. Today, the yeshiva has some 8700 students. There is a pair of pesukim in Parashat Behaalotecha which is marked off in the Torah scroll by unusual symbols. These symbols – two upside-down נ ’s – serve as “parentheses,” setting these two pesukim apart. According to one view in the Gemara, these two pesukim are set aside because they comprise their own sefer , a separate book of the Torah. Meaning, according to this opinion, there are not five books in the Torah, but seven: 1) Bereshit; 2) Shemot; 3) Vayikra; 4) the first part of Bamidbar, until these two pesukim ; 5) these two pesukim ; 6) the rest of Bamidbar; 7) Devarim. Let’s look at these two pesukim , and try to figure out why they are so special that they are considered their own ”book”: ויהי בנסוע הארון ויאמר משה: קומה ה' ויפוצו אויביך וינוסו משנאיך מפניך. ובנוחה יאמר: שובה ה' רבבות אלפי ישראל. When the ark traveled, Moshe said: Arise, O G-d, and Your enemies shall be scattered, and Your foes shall flee. And when it rested, he said: Take residence, O G-d, among the hundreds of thousands of Israel . These are the pronouncements that Moshe Rabbenu made when the aron (ark) would begin to move as Beneh Yisrael traveled, and when the ark stopped as the people encamped. Why do these pesukim form their own “ sefer ”?? In this brief section, the Torah is teaching us how the “ aron ,” our tradition, “travels” through history, how it is preserved and perpetuated. This is done through קומה , by standing tall and proud, with confidence and courage. Like Rav Aharon Kotler, we need to stand up and do the right thing, ignoring our critics and naysayers. When we do that, then ויפוצו אויביך, וינוסו משנאיך – our adversaries will “flee,” they will be silenced. I have seen this happen so often here in our community. Families were reluctant to raise their standards of Torah observance, to devote themselves more fully to religion, as they feared the comments that people would make about them, how they would be looked at, the ridicule and scorn that they would be subjecting themselves to. But they courageously made the decision of קומה ה' , to stand tall and proud, and do what they knew was right. And when they did, everything was fine. ויפוצו אויביך . Nobody said anything. To the contrary, ובנוחה – when the family “came to rest,” upon settling into its new level of commitment, שובה ה' רבבות אלפי ישראל – they earned the respect of many, and inspired others to follow their example. This is what this little “book” is about – perpetuating our legacy, our Torah tradition, by ignoring אוביך and משנאיך , those who ridicule and mock, and moving forward in the right direction, undeterred and unaffected by their murmurings. When we do this, then we end up with more respect, more admiration, and more of an influence upon our surroundings.
Most people have this terrible habit of determining how their lives are going by comparing themselves to others. They look around at other people’s homes, careers, children, vacations, and so on, and then see how their own lives compare to other people’s lives. This is a very unhealthy way to live. This creates a lot of anxiety, and makes it all but impossible to experience fulfillment and contentment in life. People who live this way are often bitter and resentful when they see other people’s success and blessings, because that success and those blessings are understood as indications of their own failure. To gain a proper perspective on this problem, let us turn to the mitzva of birkat kohanim , which the Torah presents in Parashat Naso. Every morning, the kohanim stand in front of the shul and confer a blessing upon the rest of the congregation. Hashem says to Moshe, דבר אל אהרון ואל בניו לאמר: כה תברכו את בני ישראל, אמור להם – “Speak to Aharon and his sons, saying: So shall you bless the people of Israel: Say to them…” Rather than simply command the kohanim to pronounce the blessing to the people, Moshe was to first tell the kohanim , כה תברכו את בני ישראל – “So shall you bless the people…” At first glance, this seems redundant. What is the meaning of this introductory statement – כה תברכו ? The answer to this question might be found in a different pasuk , one of the more famous pesukim in Tehillim (121:5): ה' צלך על יד ימינך – “G-d is your shadow on your right side.” The Ba’al Shem Tov explains that Hashem is our “shadow” in the sense that He acts toward us the same way that we act. If we are kind and generous to people, then He is kind and generous to us. If we celebrate other people’s successes and sincerely want to see them blessed, then Hashem looks at us the same way. This is much easier said than done. It is so hard to hear about somebody’s blessing that we don’t have and feel genuinely happy for that person. It is so hard for a person with older unmarried children to celebrate when his or her friend’s daughter gets engaged. It is so hard for people struggling to pay their bills to feel happy for their neighbors who are renovating their home. But perhaps we can make this challenge easier by remembering the concept of ה' צלך , Hashem being our “shadow.” If we wish for the success of others, then Hashem will wish for our success, too. If we want the best for the people around us, then Hashem will want the best for us. This concept is expressed by the word כה , which literally means, “like this.” כה alludes to the fact that Hashem deals with us the same way we conduct ourselves. The way we look upon others determines the way Hashem looks upon us. Moshe was therefore commanded to turn to the kohanim and tell them, כה תברכו את בני ישראל . The first and most important blessing they can give Beneh Yisrael is the message of כה , teaching them that Hashem deals with them the way they deal with others. Without this concept, we will be unable to enjoy any berachah that we receive. No blessing in our lives will ever make us happy if we are constantly comparing ourselves to other people, because there will always be people with more than what we have. And thus birkat kohanim must begin with כה תברכו , with the message that we must wish for the good fortune of other people so that Hashem will wish for our good fortune. Only then can we receive the many blessings that Hashem wishes to bestow upon us. This message is taught by the kohanim , because they are the descendants of Aharon, the person who embodied this concept. The Torah tells that Aharon rejoiced when his younger brother, Moshe, was appointed leader of the nation ( וראך ושמח בלבו – Shemot 4:14). He felt no jealousy and no resentment; he felt only joy. This is the model we should aspire to, as this quality is what enables us to enjoy life’s blessings. Let us, then, try to overcome our natural feelings of envy and competition, to truly rejoice over other people’s good fortune. We will then find ourselves so much happier with our lives, and we will then make ourselves worthy of Hashem’s abundant blessings.
זמן מתן תורתנו Celebrating OUR Acceptance of the Torah It is customary on Shavuot to read Megilat Rut , which tells the famous story of Rut, a woman from the nation of Moav who decided to join the Jewish Nation. There is a certain irony in the fact that on this day, when we celebrate Matan Torah , we focus our attention on the story of somebody whose ancestors were not present at that event. Why would we do this? If this day is all about the commemoration of our receiving the Torah at Sinai, then why would we read the story of Rut, a convert, whose forebears did not stand at Sinai? The answer is that this question is based on a faulty assumption. Surprising as it may sound, and contrary to popular belief, Shavuot does NOT, in fact, commemorate our ancestors’ receiving the Torah at Sinai. In our tefilah , we refer to Shavuot as זמן מתן תורתנו – “the time when our Torah was given.” This holiday is not about the giving of the Torah , but rather the receiving of our Torah. Meaning, we celebrate our acceptance of the Torah, our commitment, the decision we’ve made to lovingly embrace the Torah, its laws, its values, and the lifestyle it requires. We celebrate on Shavuot our recognition and appreciation of just how wonderful and precious the Torah and Torah life are, such that it is worth making every one of the sacrifices that the Torah demands. Yes, the Torah requires us to sacrifice certain things, but it is so worth it. We sacrifice to observe Shabbat, but there is nothing that compares to the joy and serenity that Shabbat gives us. And the same is true of all the mitzvot . Nobody exemplifies this appreciation of the preciousness of Torah life more than Rut. She was a princess, the daughter of the king of Moav, and grew up in his palace. She married a Jewish man who had come to live in Moav with his family, and he died, leaving her no children. His brother and father also died. The most natural decision for her to make at that point was to return to her father’s palace. But instead, she chose to join her penniless mother-in-law back to the Land of Israel, and become part of Am Yisrael . In order to survive, she needed to go into other people’s fields, and pick stalks of grain one at a time. What’s more, she did not expect to be able to remarry, because the Torah forbids marrying someone from the nation of Moav. Only later was it determined that this prohibition applies only to the men of Moav, but not to the women. Rut sacrificed everything for the sake of joining the Jewish Nation, because she – more than anybody else – recognized the unparalleled beauty of Torah life. The story ends by showing us that ultimately, Rut was blessed and rewarded for her willingness to sacrifice for the sake of Torah. She married a wealthy man – Boaz – and became the great-grandmother of King David, the matriarch of the royal family and of Mashiah . We read the story of Rut on Shavuot precisely because we are celebrating מתן תורתנו , our acceptance of the Torah, regarding which Rut is our most inspirational role model. A famous Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (6:4) teaches: כך היא דרכה של תורה, פת במלח תאכל ומים במשורה תשתה ועל הארץ תישן וחיי צער תחיה ובתורה אתה עמל. This is the path of Torah: You eat [only] bread with salt, you drink water in rations, you sleep on the ground, and you live a life of discomfort – and yet you toil in Torah. The Rabbis explain that the Mishnah here does not require living in poverty. Self-deprivation is not at all a prerequisite for living a Torah life. But the Mishnah is telling us that even if this were what we needed to do in order to learn and observe the Torah, we must do it. Torah is that important, and that valuable. It is worth sacrificing all the world’s comforts and delights in order to live a Torah life – and nobody shows us this more clearly than Rut. Let us all reinforce not only our commitment to Torah, but our appreciation of Torah, our recognition of how blessed and fortunate we are to be able to live a Torah life, and we will then be readily prepared to make the sacrifices necessary for Torah, understanding that each and every sacrifice is worth it.
There is a halachah which, at first glance, does not seem to have any practical relevance to us, but in truth, as the Vilna Gaon explained, conveys a vitally important lesson for each and every person. The halachah addresses the situation of a person who owns a field that is surrounded by other fields on all four sides. If the owner of one of the four adjacent fields decides to erect a wall between his field and the middle field, he cannot legally demand that the owner of the middle field share the expenses. Since it was his decision to build the fence, he cannot force the owner of the field in the middle to pay for part of the wall. The same is true if the owners of two of the other fields build fences. Even the owner of the middle field benefits from these three fences, which separate between his field and three of the four adjacent fields, he does not have to pay, since the owners of the other fields decided on their own to build the fences. However, if this fellow now decides to erect a fence on the fourth side so that his field will be completely protected, then the owners of the other three fences can now come back to him and demand that he pay his fair share for those three fences. The reason is that by fencing in the fourth side, the owner of the middle field shows that he is happy with having these fences built, that he wants his field to be protected on all sides. And once he demonstrates that he wants these walls, he is obligated to help pay for them. The Vilna Gaon pointed to this halachah as a symbolic expression of a very common phenomenon. The vast majority of us complain about the “walls” that go up around us. We complain about our spouse, our kids, our schools, our shuls, our rabbis, our political leaders, our neighbors, and so many other things. We talk about how terrible these “walls” are, how difficult and unhappy a life we have. But that all changes once the “fourth wall” goes up – when we go through some kind of scare. When we feel that our life is threatened, such as if we face a medical issue, Heaven forbid, we all of a sudden realize how much we want these “walls,” how much we love our life and do not wish for it to end. Instead of complaining about the “walls,” about the things in our lives which aren’t quite right, we should be focusing on growing and being the best version of ourselves. Blaming other people or circumstances is never going to help us. What will help us is putting in the work to make ourselves and our lives better. Parashat Behukotai begins with Hashem’s promises of great reward for observing the mitzvot . Hashem assures us that we will receive these blessings אם בחוקותי תלכו ואת מצוותי תשמרו – “If you follow My statutes, and observe My commands.” Rashi famously explains that these two phrases – אם בחוקותי תלכו and ואת מצוותי תשמרו – refers to two different things. The second ( ואת מצוותי תשמרו ) refers to fulfilling the mitzvot , but the first ( אם בחוקותי תלכו ) means שתהיו עמלים בתורה – that we “toil in Torah.” Only if we do both – fulfill the mitzvot and “toil in Torah” – will we be deserving of these great rewards. It isn’t enough to learn Torah; we have to “toil,” and invest hark work and effort. Complaining is the opposite of עמלות , of hard work. We complain so that we can blame other people and other things for our problems and our failures, such that we don’t have to bother doing anything about it, since it’s all someone else’s fault. We can just sit back and complain, instead of working. שתהיו עמלים בתורה means that we need to work, not complain. We need to accept the reality the way it is, and work to make ourselves better. If we can make this shift in our mindset, we will unlock so much of our power, so much of our inner potential, and we will achieve far more than we ever imagined we could.
The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (4:1) famously teaches, איזהו חכם הלומד מכל אדם – “Who is wise? He who learns from all people.” The Mishnah here defines the term חכם as referring to a person who learns from everyone. In a different context, however, the Rabbis seem to give us a different definition of the word חכם (“wise”). The Gemara, in Masechet Kiddushin (49b), addresses the case of somebody who betroths a woman on the condition that “I am wise” ( על מנת שאני חכם ). How do we know if the kiddushin (betrothal) is valid? How “wise” does this man have to be for the condition to have been fulfilled, such that the woman is now married to him? The Gemara states: כל ששואלים אותו דבר חכמה בכל מקום ואומרה – if he is proficient enough that he can answer Torah questions on any topic. Even if he is not an outstanding scholar, the kiddushin is valid if he is generally knowledgeable about Torah law. How do we reconcile these two sources? How can the Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot define a חכם as somebody who learns from all people, while the Gemara defines it as somebody with broad knowledge and proficiency? We find the answer in the commentary of Rav Ovadia Bartenura to this Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot . He explains the question of איזהו חכם to mean – “Who is the person who deserves praise for his wisdom?” In other words, the Mishnah here is not defining the word חכם . The definition of this term is taught to us by the Gemara in Masechet Kiddushin. Rather, the Mishnah is teaching us what kind of wisdom deserves our admiration and praise – the wisdom of הלומד מכל אדם – of having the humility and openness to learn from the people around us. We are naturally inclined to see other people’s faults, but not our own faults. We are naturally inclined to see other people’s mistakes, but not our own mistakes. We are naturally inclined to notice what other people don’t know, but not what we don’t know. We feel uncomfortable admitting that there are things that other people do better than we do, or that other people know more about than we do. So we live in denial. As the prophet Yirmiyahu (9:5) bemoans, שבתך בתוך מרמה – “You reside in the midst of deception.” We live in a state of self-deception, fooling ourselves into thinking that we have it right, and other people have it wrong. This is why the Mishnah teaches that the חכם , the person who deserves praise for his wisdom, is הלומד מכל אדם , the person who can overcome this natural tendency, and be open to learning from all people. If a person is naturally bright, and so he has amassed a lot of knowledge, this isn’t necessarily something to be proud of. The most praiseworthy חכם is the one who is not afraid to acknowledge that he has what to learn from the people around him, who is open to learning from other people, rather than always assuming that he knows better. The Hebrew term for a Torah scholar is תלמיד חכם , which literally means “a wise student.” When we refer to Hacham Ovadia Yosef zt”l or Rav Chaim Kanievsky zt”l as a תלמיד חכם , we are saying that they were students . Yes, they were students, throughout their lives. They reached the towering heights that they reached specifically because they never ceased being students, they never felt that they knew enough, they always strove for more, and they always realized that there was more for them to learn and more room to grow. As we draw closer to the Yom Tov of Shavuot, when we reaffirm our קבלת התורה (acceptance of the Torah), let us remind ourselves what accepting the Torah means. It requires us to have the humility to recognize that we have more to learn, that we are not always correct, that we do not have all the answers, that we do not do everything right, that we have so much more growing to do. It is only if we live with this humility that we will be able to learn and grow so we can achieve to our full potential.
The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (3:5) cites the following teaching from Rabbi Nehunya Ben Ha’kaneh: כל המקבל עליו עול תורה, מעבירין ממנו עול מלכות ועול דרך ארץ. וכל הפורק ממנו עול תורה, נותנין עליו עול מלכות ועול דרך ארץ. Whoever accepts upon himself the yoke of Torah – the yoke of the government and the yoke of worldly needs are removed from him. And whoever removes from himself the yoke of Torah – the yoke of the government and the yoke of worldly needs are placed upon him. What exactly is the Mishnah’s message? How does this happen – that a person who accepts the burden of Torah is relieved of burdens which he would otherwise bear? To answer this question, let us revisit one of the most famous stories in the Tanach . Beneh Yisrael were fighting a war against a militarily superior enemy – the Pelishtim . The Pelishtim sent their general – a frightening giant named Golyat – to frighten and intimidate Beneh Yisrael . Each day, Golyat would approach Beneh Yisrael ’s encampment to frighten them. He would shout at them, challenging them to send someone to fight against him, and ridiculing them for being so weak and for waging a war they had no chance of winning. Finally, one day, a young, untrained youngster approached the king, Shaul, and said he was prepared to take on this giant, confident that he could defeat Golyat. Shaul asked him why he was so sure, and the boy explained that he worked as a shepherd tending to his father’s flocks, and there were times when lions and bears came to attack the sheep. He successfully fended them off, killing them. If he could kill the lions and bears, this boy confidently asserted, then he could kill Golyat, too. Shaul sent the boy to confront Golyat, and he killed the giant with his slingshot, sending a stone directly to Golyat’s forehead. This boy, of course, was David, who eventually became king. Let’s imagine for a moment what would have happened if Yishai, David’s father, decided that it was too dangerous for his young son to be out in the fields with the sheep. What would have happened if instead of sending David out there, with the all the risks that lurk, he overprotected him, giving him a safe, undemanding job indoors? David would never have gained the skills he needed to defeat Golyat. He would never have become the great general that he was, and he would not have then become the great king that he was. Parents do their children no favors by shielding them from challenges, from difficult situations, from disappointment. Because, as every single adult knows very well, life is full of challenges, difficult situations, and disappointment. While we of course need to protect our children from real danger, we must not protect them from the risk of failure and frustration. To the contrary, the only way they will develop the strength, toughness, and skills needed to persevere, to handle and overcome adversity, is by allowing them to experience adversity when they are young. If a kid brings him a failing grade on a test, the parent’s response should not be, “Ok, I’ll speak to the teacher and ask to go easier on you next time.” If a kid got into a fight, the parent’s response should not be, “Ok, I’ll call the other kid’s parents and work it out for you.” Absolutely, we must shower our kids with love, and show them that we support them unconditionally and are always trying to understand them. But we need to also allow them to take control of their problems, to learn to handle disappointment, and to grow accustomed to dealing with hardship. I once sat on a panel with an experienced school principal to discuss issues in education. A parent in the audience asked what to do when a kid comes home from school upset because he was cut from the basketball team. My co-panelist’s answer was, in my mind, brilliant. He said: “Let him realize that this is how life works. Sometimes you’re not as good as everyone else, and so you can’t play. Sometimes, other people will win, and you will lose.” This is the harsh reality of life, and something that parents must train their children to recognize. Let us return to the Mishnah cited above. The Mishnah is teaching us that there will always be an עול , a “yoke,” a burden. Life is full of burdens; there is no escaping it, no matter how smart, wealthy, or socially adept a person is. In order to prepare our children for these burdens, we place upon them the עול תורה , the burden of Torah obligation, already when they’re young. Before they go out into the world, before they experience real challenges and real hardships, we train them to accept and to submit to the “burden” of Torah. We set limits on their behavior, and we have them develop discipline and restraint. By training our children to accept the עול תורה , we make it so much easier for them later on, when they confront the עול מלכות ועול דרך ארץ , the inevitable burdens of life, which they will be fully prepared to confront. We hope and pray that Hashem make our children’s lives pleasant and smooth. But even as we pray, we are to prepare them for the realities of life by training them to yield to the עול תורה , to the obligations that the Torah assigns to us.
The Torah commands in Parashat Kedoshim (19:16), לא תלך רכיל בעמך – introducing the prohibition against gossiping, sharing negative information about other people. Why do so money people indulge in gossip? Why are there those who spend entire Shabbat and holiday meals talking about how other people dress, about other people’s houses, about other people’s marriages (or divorces), other people’s kids, and about other people in general? Why do people make these things the topics of their conversations? The most likely answer is that other people’s problems are a distraction from our own problems. By thinking and talking about other people’s issues, we can temporarily escape from our own issues, and this feels soothing. We find comfort in gossip because it enables us to take our minds away from our struggles, from the difficulties that we face in our own lives. But diverting our attention away from our struggles means diverting our attention away from our goals, from our purpose in life, from the hard work that we should be investing to make the most of our brief sojourn through this world. This is part of what makes gossip so dangerous. Primarily, of course, gossip is wrong because it damages other people’s reputations. But beyond the harm inflicted on others, by talking gossip we also harm ourselves. The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (3:1) teaches: הסתכל בשלשה דברים ואין אתה בא לידי עבירה . דע מאין באת, ולאן אתה הולך, ולפני מי אתה עתיד ליתן דין וחשבון . מאין באת, מטפה סרוחה . ולאן אתה הולך, למקום עפר רמה ותולעה. ולפני מי אתה עתיד ליתן דין וחשבון, לפני מלך מלכי המלכים הקדוש ברוך הוא. Look at three things, and you will never come upon sin: know from where you came, to where you are going, and before Whom you will in the future make an accounting. From where did you come? From a putrid drop. Where are you going? To a place of earth, rot and worms. Before Whom will you in the future make an accounting? Before the King of king, the Holy One, blessed be He. The message of this Mishnah can be summarized in a single word: focus . The Mishnah is teaching us how to remain focused on what really matters, on what is really important, on our purpose in life. In the moment, it seems that the gossip we are sharing is really something important. That other couple’s divorce, that other kid’s expulsion from school, the scandal involving some well-known figure in the community…it seems like a really, really big deal, something that we need to talk about over and over again. But the truth is that it’s really just a distraction. Talking about these things are not going to move us forward. It will not help us achieve our goals. It will not help us realize the purpose for which Hashem brought us into the world. This is one of our greatest challenges – to stay focused, and not be distracted by the nonsense that seems so big, so important, but in truth is actually diverting our attention away from what is really big and really important. This is such a difficult challenge, that we pray each and every day that Hashem helps us overcome it. Following ברכות השחר , the series of berachot we recite each morning, we add a prayer asking Hashem to save us from things like יצר הרע (the evil inclination), חבר רע (a bad friend), and שכן רע (a bad neighbor). This prayer includes a request that we be protected from לשון הרע (negative talk). One understanding is that this means we should be saved from people who might wish to speak לשון הרע about us. Alternatively, however, this might mean that we pray to be saved from the lure to speak לשון הרע , to indulge in gossip. We ask Hashem to help us stay focused on what really matters, rather than allow ourselves to get distracted by nonsense such as other people’s private affairs. Let us stop wasting time on nonsense, on what other people are doing. Let’s instead focus as much as we can on what’s really important, on making our lives meaningful by achieving meaningful goals.
Every morning, we recite a series of berachot , thanking Hashem for some of the precious blessings that we have in our lives – such as the ability to open our eyes and see ( פוקח עורים ), to get dressed ( מלביש ערומים ), and to stand up straight ( זוקף כפופים ). One of these berachot is שעשה לי כל צרכי – thanking Hashem for “fulfilling all My needs.” This berachah, surprisingly, thanks Hashem for the gift of shoes. Long ago, people would recite this berachah right when they put on their shoes in the morning. Why is this the berachah over the gift of shoes? Why are shoes considered כל צרכי – all our needs? When we buy a pair of shoes, we ensure that they’re our exact size, so that they provide us with the comfort and support we need to go out and do what we need to do. In this berachah , we thank Hashem for providing us with precisely what we need to enable us to go out and do our job. Each of us has a particular role, a place within the Jewish People. Each and every one of us is a piece of this beautiful puzzle. And Hashem gives us the exact capabilities, resources and opportunities that we need to do our job. We each are given “shoes” that are just right for our “feet,” for getting us where we need to go in life. Understanding this can save us so much jealousy and so many hard feelings. Once we realize that we each have a specific role, that Hashem has given all of us the “shoes” tailor-made for our role, we will stop feeling uneasy about what other people have and what other people do. We will recognize that what they have and do has nothing to do with us, and we will feel grateful for our “shoes,” for the small but indispensable role that we play within the great story of Am Yisrael . Parashat Ahareh-Mot begins by briefly recounting the tragic mistake made by Nadav and Avihu, the two older sons of Aharon. On the first day when Aharon and his sons served as kohanim in the Mishkan , Nadav and Avihu went where they weren’t supposed to go – to the inner chamber of the Mishkan – and brought an offering that they were not supposed to bring. Hashem killed them for this infraction. In the beginning of our parashah , Hashem tells Moshe to reiterate to the kohanim that they must not repeat this mistake – they may not enter this inner chamber of the Mishkan . The kohen gadol is permitted to go there on Yom Kippur as part of the special atonement service on that day – but otherwise, this area is off-limits. Nadav and Avinu were not content with their role; they wanted to be like the kohen gadol , offering incense inside the holiest area of the Mikdash . Their intentions were sincere, but they made a mistake by not feeling content with their role. The Gemara in Masechet Shabbat tells the famous story of a gentile who approached Shammai and said that he would convert to Judaism if Shammai could teach him the entire Torah as he stood on one foot. Shammai sent him away. This same man came before Hillel, and Hillel said, “That which you dislike – do not do to your fellow. The rest is commentary – go and learn it.” One explanation of this story is that this gentile wanted to do everything. It’s not just that he wanted to learn the whole Torah instantly – he wanted everything for himself. He wanted the Torah to be about him. Hillel explained to him that the way the Torah works is that everybody fills his role, while respecting everybody else’s role. Once we accept this arrangement, then we should “go and learn it” – find our individual role, and focus on fulfilling it to the best of our ability. We are all plagued by jealousy. All of us, deep down, feel some degree of resentment when we see people who have what we don’t have. The way to combat these feelings is to recognize שעשה לי כל צרכי – that Hashem has given us just the right “shoes,” that we each have our place and our role. Once we embrace our unique place and our unique role, we will never feel troubled by what the people around us have.
The Mishnah in Masechet Pesahim (116a) establishes the halachah of מתחיל בגנות ומסיים בשבח – which means that when we tell the story at the seder , we must begin with the negative side to the story, and end with the positive side of the story. We do this in two ways. First, we announce, מתחילה עובדי עבודה זרה היו אבותינו ועכשיו קרבנו המקום לעבודתו – our ancestors millennia ago were idol-worshippers, but now Hashem has brought us into His service. We begin with our unfortunate spiritual history, our having been idol-worshippers, and then end with the privilege we have to now serve Hashem. Secondly, we proclaim, עבדים היינו לפרעה במצרים ויוציאנו ה' אלוקינו משם ביד חזקה – that we suffered as lowly, oppressed slaves in Egypt, and then we were miraculously brought to freedom. We do not spend the seder speaking only of our miraculous redemption. We first describe what we went through, all the troubles we endured – both spiritual and physical – from which we were saved. One way of understanding this halachah , as the Malbim explains, is that in order to experience real gratitude, we must remember and reflect upon the prior situation. To fully appreciate Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt), we must realize how bad the bondage was. And the same is true of us and our lives. All of us have gone through hard times and faced problems that were eventually resolved. Many people struggled to find their marriage partner. Many struggled to have children, or had struggles while raising their children. Many people have faced financial challenges, or medical challenges, which were, baruch Hashem , overcome. We need to ensure that we never take these personal “ Yetziat Mitzrayim ”s for granted, that we always appreciate what Hashem did for us. And so we must be מתחיל בגנות – we must always remember how difficult the crisis was, how distraught and frightened we were, so we can be truly thankful for Hashem’s kindness. But I also saw an additional insight into this aspect of the seder . The concept of מתחיל בגנות ומסיים בשבח is important for us with regard to those problems which are still not resolved, for those parts of our lives which aren’t going right. We learn at the seder that the שבח , all the glory that we have, all our beautiful accomplishments as a nation, began with גנות , with hardship and struggle. It wasn’t always pretty. We had some very low points. But eventually the גנות turned into שבח . When we learn about the process our ancestors underwent, we are reassured that no matter what it is that we’re going through, we, too, can experience redemption. We remind ourselves that the good times were preceded by bad times so that during our bad times, we don’t fall into despair, and we instead maintain our faith that the situation can and will get better. As mentioned, this is true both physically and spiritually. Just as we must rely on Hashem during our health struggles or financial challenges, so must we rely on Hashem during our spiritual struggles, when we’re finding it tough to motivate ourselves and be who we know we are supposed to be. Rather than despair or feel discouraged, we need to remember the message of מתחיל בגנות ומסיים בשבח , that our challenges are temporary, that through our emunah and trust in Hashem, we can overcome our hardships and emerge even greater than ever before.
Much of Parashat Tazria is devoted to the laws of tzara’at – a type of plague which came in various forms, affecting either a person’s skin, his clothing, or his home. Our tradition teaches that in ancient times, tzara’at would befall a person as a punishment, mainly for the sin of lashon ha’ra – gossip and negative speech about other people. One of the indications in the text of this connection between tzara’at and lashon ha’ra is the process required when a person heals from tzara’at . In order to regain his status of tahara (purity), he must undergo a detailed procedure, which begins with a ceremony involving two birds (Vayikra 14:4). Rashi explains why birds are required for this process. He writes that a person would suffer tzara’at because of lashon ha’ra , which involves פטפוטי דברים – excessive chattering. In order to atone for this sin, he needs to bring birds, שמפטפטין תמיד בצפצוף קול – who constantly make chirping noise. There are several different aspects to the sin of lashon ha’ra . Rashi here points to one particular aspect – פטפוטי דברים , talking too much. Many people who are guilty of frequently speaking lashon ha’ra simply talk excessively. The importance of controlling one’s mouth is expressed by Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel, in a Mishna in Pirkeh Avot (1:17): כל ימי גדלתי בין החכמים, ולא מצאתי לגוף טוב אלא שתיקה. I grew up my entire life among the sages, and I found nothing better for the body than silence. Rabban Shimon describes the value of silence as the most beneficial quality a person can have. Why? People who speak excessively often think that their words can replace action. Instead of acting, doing and accomplishing, they talk, they try drawing attention to themselves and impressing people by talking. But words are no substitute for action. Greatness is achieved not by talking, but by working and doing. People who engage in פטפוטי דברים , excessive talking, often do so because they aren’t doing enough, they aren’t accomplishing. This is why Rabban Shimon introduces his teaching by saying, כל ימי גדלתי בין החכמים – that he had spent his life among great people. He saw that accomplished people are those who focus on actions rather than words, who do the heavy lifting instead of just talking. As important as verbal communication between husband and wife is, words do not suffice. A good spouse is one who does things for the other, who expresses his or her commitment through concrete action. The same is true of all relationships. Kind words are of course important, but a good friend is always there, is always willing to put in the effort to help and to nurture the friendship. At the Pesach seder , we list the ten plagues that Hashem brought upon the Egyptians, after which we state that Rabbi Yehuda היה נותן בהם סימנים – would use an acrostic to represent the ten plagues: דצ"ך עד"ש באחא"ב . I once saw a fascinating observation – that this same Rabbi Yehuda is described in Masechet Berachot (63b) as ראש המדברים בכל מקום – the Rabbi who was always the first to speak. Rabbi Yehuda, it seems, was regarded as the “top” public speaker of his time. How interesting it is that the ראש המדברים , the most highly regarded public speaker, was the one who היה נותן בהם סימנים – found concise ways of saying things. Specifically the man of few words, who knew how to keep his words brief, was the ראש המדברים , the leading speaker. Actions speak so much louder than words. Let’s try to avoid פטפוטי דברים , unnecessary talk, and focus on working, on investing effort, on being there for the people in our lives, so we can make a real difference and achieve greatness.
Parashat Shemini tells about the events on the inaugural day of the Mishkan, when Aharon and sons served as kohanim for the very first time. After the seven-day period when they were prepared to be kohanim, on the eighth day, they began performing the service in the Mishkan. In honor of the event, Aharon offered a number of sacrifices. He offered sacrifices for himself, and he also offered sacrifices given to him by the nation for him to bring on their behalf. One of the animals which was offered that day was an עגל – a calf. Aharon offered an עגל for himself, and Beneh Yisrael gave him an עגל which he sacrificed for them. The reason why Aharon and Beneh Yisrael offered an עגל as a sacrifice is clear. Several months earlier, they worshipped the עגל הזהב – golden calf – and so now that Hashem was coming to reside among them in the Mishkan, they needed to atone for that sin through the offering of an עגל. But in addition, Hashem commanded the people to offer a שעיר – goat. The Midrash gives a very surprising explanation for why the people needed to sacrifice a שעיר at this time: to atone for the sin of מכירת יוסף – the sale of Yosef as a slave. Many years earlier, Beneh Yisrael’s ancestors – ten of Yaakov’s twelve sons – sold Yosef into slavery, and then proceeded to slaughter a goat and dip Yosef’s special coat in the sheep’s blood, so that their father would think that Yosef was killed by a wild animal. This sin is thus associated with the goat, and so to atone for this misdeed, Beneh Yisrael offered a goat as a sacrifice. We must wonder, why were Benei Yisrael required to atone for this sin specifically now, on the day of the Mishkan’s inauguration. Why did they need forgiveness for this sin committed by their ancestors several generations earlier? To answer this question, let us take a moment to try to understand the sin of the golden calf. A number of Rabbis explain that Beneh Yisrael did not actually worship the golden calf as a deity. They made the golden calf to replace not Hashem, but Moshe. Afraid that Moshe was never returning, they felt they needed some representation of G-d, and so they decided to make a graven image. Their intentions were sincere, but they went about it the wrong way. They should have consulted with the leaders whom Moshe had appointed to be in charge in his absence – Aharon and Hur. But the people did not listen to Aharon and Hur, and instead demanded that they make a golden calf. When Hur refused, the people killed him. Aharon then felt threatened to comply. The sin of the golden calf, then, was that the people decided for themselves the right way to serve Hashem, without consulting with their religious leaders. They lacked the humility and integrity to defer to those who knew better. This was also the mistake made by Yosef’s brothers. The brothers had legitimate fears and concerns about Yosef. But they acted without consulting with Yaakov. Instead of deferring to him, they took matters into their own hands. The goat which they slaughtered to deceive Yaakov represents this failure to respect and to defer to his authority. And this is why a goat was offered on the day of the Mishkan’s inauguration. Beneh Yisrael were atoning for the mistake of taking matters into their own hands, rather than deferring to the knowledge and expertise of those who know better. This also explains a different aspect of the events of this day. Instead of turning directly to Beneh Yisrael and commanding them to provide Aharon with the animals for their sacrifice, Moshe instructed Aharon to speak to the people and tell them to give him the animals. As part of their atonement for forcing their will on Aharon, the people needed to obey Aharon and humbly heed his instructions. We instinctively like to feel that we know better than other people. And many enjoy feeling that they know better than their Rabbis – and they spend a great deal of time at their Shabbat tables ridiculing Rabbis, or criticizing the things they say. If we always assume that we know better, and we refuse to respect and to defer to those who know better, we will never learn and we will never grow. In order to be worthy of Hashem residing among them in the Mishkan, Benei Yisrael needed to show that they had corrected this mistake, and were prepared to obey the instructions of their leaders. This is a prerequisite for building a relationship with Hashem – because it is only by humbly deferring to authority that we will know the proper way to serve Hashem. May we all learn to live with humility, with the willingness to learn from other people, and to acknowledge that we have much to gain by consulting with, and deferring to, those with knowledge and expertise.
I once went into a classroom of 8 th -grade girls before Rosh Hashanah to speak to them about growth and change. I began by asking each student to specify one thing which she would like to change during the upcoming new year. I was expecting to hear answers such as “Improve my concentration during prayer,” “Being more careful about saying berachot ,” “Avoiding lashon ha’ra ,” and “Being more respectful to my parents.” But that’s not what the girls answered. One girl said, “My nose is too big.” Another said, “My hair is too curly.” A third girl said that she was too short and wanted to grow taller. I realized that these girls had a problem – they didn’t like themselves very much. They felt very insecure about their looks. I also realized that I needed to discard the class that I had prepared to give them, and to do something else, instead. I asked them to name the most famous painting in the history of art. Naturally, they replied, “the Mona Lisa.” I told them that I’ve seen pictures of the Mona Lisa, and, to be honest, I don’t particularly like the painting. It doesn’t strike me as anything special. But it doesn’t matter. It was created by one of the most famous and accomplished painters of all time (Leonardo da Vinci), and is regarded by art experts and enthusiasts as one of the greatest pieces of art ever produced. “Each and every one of you was created by Hashem, who is, without question, the greatest ‘artist’ ever,” I explained to the girls. “It doesn’t matter if somebody isn’t impressed by your looks. Each one of you is beautiful. You are all exactly the way you are supposed to be.” I tell this story here not to boast about my quick thinking, but to show how people today – especially young people – struggle with doubt and insecurity. One of the challenges educators face in today’s day and age is to motivate and encourage their students, rather than push them down further. And therefore, they need to be extremely careful in the way they speak to their students. They must ensure to speak in a way that motivates them, and not in a way that exacerbates their fears and self-doubt. In Parashat Tzav, we read of the miluim , the seven-day process whereby Aharon and his sons were formally consecrated as kohanim . Hashem began His commands by instructing Moshe, קח את אהרון ואת בניו איתו – “Take Aharon and his sons with him….” Rashi explains this to mean, קחנו בדברים ומשכהו – “Take him with words, and draw him.” Aharon and his sons likely had doubts about their worthiness for this lofty role. Hashem told Moshe to “take” them with words, to encourage and reassure them. This directive is given also to every educator and every parent. Children today are beset by fears and insecurities. We need to “take” them with words, to assure them that they are capable, that they are beautiful, that they are important, that they are full of goodness and full of potential. It is our responsibility to help them overcome their fears, to introduce them to their inner greatness, so they will be motivated and driven to put in the work necessary to achieve.
On Shabbat Zachor – the Shabbat before Purim – we read as the haftarah the story of the war waged by Shaul, the first king of Israel, against the wicked nation of Amalek (Shmuel I, chapter 15). Haman descended from this nation, and so on this Shabbat, we read of the war that was fought between our ancestors and Haman’ ancestors. The story begins with the prophet Shmuel conveying to Shaul Hashem’s command to eradicate the entire nation of Amalek. Shaul promptly mobilized an army and waged war against Amalek, but he fell short of full compliance with Hashem’s command. He allowed Amalek’s king, Aggag, to live, bringing him alive as a prisoner of war, instead of killing him. Additionally, he allowed the people to bring with them Amalek’s animals as spoils of war, rather than killing them as Hashem had instructed. Shmuel later approached Shaul, and Shaul proudly proclaimed, הקימותי את דבר ה' – “I have fulfilled G-d’s word” (Shmuel I 15:13). The prophet then proceeded to inform Shaul that he would be punished for failing to comply with Hashem’s command by keeping alive Aggag and the animals. Shmuel then went over to Aggag, who was being held prisoner, and killed him. We might ask, what is the meaning of Shaul’s declaration, הקימותי את דבר ה' – that he fulfilled G-d’s word? If he did not fully comply, why did he say that he did? The answer can perhaps be found in the Midrash’s account of the events. The Midrash teaches that Shmuel killed Aggag the day after he was captured by Shaul. During the night in between, he had a relationship, fathering a child. That child would turn out to be the ancestor of Haman, who sought to annihilate the Jewish Nation. As we know from the Megillah, Haman’s plot not only failed, but also backfired. It led to his execution and the execution of his children, and, moreover, it resulted in the ascension of Mordechai, his nemesis, to the position of vizier – the position which Haman had held. And, Haman’s edict inspired a process of repentance and growth among the Jews. The Megillah says that in the aftermath of Haman’s downfall and the Jews’ victory over their enemies, קיימו וקיבלו היהודים (9:27), which the Gemara (Megillah 88a) explains to mean that the Jews reaffirmed their ancient commitment to the Torah ( קיימו עליהם מה שקיבלו כבר ). The fear of Haman’s decree had the effect of the awakening the people to teshuvah , and bringing them back to Hashem and to Torah devotion. With all this in mind, we can perhaps go back to Shaul’s remark to Shmuel: הקימותי את דבר ה' . Without realizing it, Shaul was affirming that he was fulfilling Hashem’s plan. Of course, he acted incorrectly. He should not have kept Aggag alive. He did not fulfill Hashem’s command. But ultimately, Hashem’s plan was fulfilled through his mistake. Shaul disobeyed Hashem – but Hashem saw to it that His plan would be carried out through this misdeed. This might be the meaning of הקימותי את דבר ה' – that Hashem’s plan was, ironically enough, fulfilled through Shaul’s mistake. Hope and optimism are integral components of the Jewish experience. We do not give up, we do not despair, and we do not wallow in helplessness or guilt. When we encounter difficult situations – and even when we created these situations through our own mistakes and wrongdoing – we do not break down. We maintain our belief that Hashem can turn every curse into a blessing, and can transform any misfortune into a source of joy. Instead of despairing, we get to work doing everything we can to help one another, and to try to grow from the experience. Just as the Jews utilized the crisis of Haman’s edict as a catalyst for positive change and growth, we, too, must strive to turn every challenge and every failure into a meaningful learning experience, recognizing that they, too, are very much part of Hashem’s plan, and that they offer us the opportunity to improve ourselves and strengthen our connection to Him.
The Gemara in Masechet Megillah (12a) tells that the students of Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai asked him why the Jews at the time of Mordechai and Ester deserved the decree of annihilation. Rabbi Shimon challenged them to suggest their own answer. They proposed that the Jews deserved to be destroyed because they participated in Ahashverosh’s feast. Rabbi Shimon noted that if this were true, then only the Jews of Shushan deserved the decree, because the king’s feast was only for the city’s inhabitants. But what about the rest of the Jews? Why were they also condemned to annihilation? The answer, Rabbi Shimon said, is that השתחוו לצלם – the people had bowed to the statue of the Babylonian emperor Nevuchadnetzar. For this misdeed, G-d decreed that they should be killed. Rabbi Shimon’s students then asked him why the decree was ultimately rescinded. If they were indeed guilty of bowing to an idol, then why were they not destroyed? Rabbi Shimon answered, הם לא עשו אלא לפנים אף הקב"ה לא עשה עמהן אלא לפנים . This means that since they did not really intend to worship the idol, even though they appeared to, Hashem similarly made it appear that they would be annihilated, whereas they were in fact spared. What is this exchange all about? How does this discussion add to our understanding of the Purim story? The answer is found in a pasuk in the Book of Vayikra (16:16) that says about Hashem, השוכן אתם בתוך טומאתם – He resides among us even in our state of impurity. The Rabbis explain that no matter how low a Jew falls, he has a spark of sanctity within him that continues to burn. We have an element of kedushah (sanctity) inside us that remains even when we sin, even if we sin repeatedly, and even if we sin severely. This spark is like the pilot light of old gas stoves. Even if the burners were all turned off, they could be easily ignited because the pilot light always remained on. Similarly, even if we fall into a state of impurity, we can be “ignited” again because of the spark of spirituality within us. There is, however, one exception to this rule, one “Kryptonite” that can extinguish that inner spark. And that is false or distorted beliefs. If people act wrongly and fall into bad habits due to their normal human weaknesses, the “pilot light” will still burn. But once they subscribe to foreign ideologies, and reject Torah beliefs, that inner spark could, G-d forbid, be extinguished. This concept lies at the heart of the discussion regarding the Purim story. If the people were guilty of excessive or inappropriate indulgence, participating in Ahashverosh’s decadent feast, this would not extinguish their spark. Rabbi Shimon’s students understood that if this were the people’s sin, they could recover and have the decree rescinded because of the spark of kedushah that remained within them. But if their sin was idolatry, bowing to a statue, then how could they be forgiven? False beliefs and ideologies destroy everything. Why were the people saved? Rabbi Shimon answered that the Jews of that time did not actually embrace idolatrous beliefs. They bowed down to the idol due to the pressure applied by the people around them – which was wrong – but deep inside, the “pilot light” continued burning strong. This explains the time-honored custom to dress up in costumes on Purim. This is not just silliness. It contains a very profound message – that we are far more than what we outwardly appear to be. True, we are far from perfect, we often make mistakes, and we do things wrong from time to time. But all this is just a “costume.” Our true selves, concealed deep within our beings, are pure and sacred. Our failures don’t define who we are. Our true essence is holiness and spirituality. We are sometimes lured by external pressures and temptations, but deep inside, we are pure and righteous. This might also be the symbolism of the hamantaschen treat that we customarily eat on Purim. The outside is plain dough, but inside there is a sweet filling – because deep inside, we are all “sweet.” Our inner greatness and purity are often hidden – but on Purim, we remind ourselves that of who we really are. Purim assures us of our potential to be great, to shine, and to excel. We must not feel discouraged by our mistakes and failures, because they do not represent our true selves. We must always remember that our core essence is pure and sacred, that we have a spark that is waiting to be ignited into a giant, raging flame of spiritual greatness.
Parashat Vayakhel begins with Moshe Rabbenu assembling Beneh Yisrael to convey to them the commands for the building of the Mishkan . But before speaking about the Mishkan , Moshe first told the people that they must observe Shabbat each week. The Rabbis explained that the mitzvah of Shabbat is connected to the construction of the Mishkan because the 39 melachot , or categories of activity that are forbidden on Shabbat, are derived from the building of the Mishkan . The 39 types of work that were needed for the building of the Mishkan are the 39 types of work which are prohibited on Shabbat. We must ask, why is this the case? Why is it specifically these categories of work – the activities needed when the Mishkan was built – that the Torah forbids us to do on Shabbat? To understand this connection between Shabbat and the Mishkan , let us briefly look at a pasuk in last week’s parashah , Parashat Ki-Tisa, regarding the mitzvah of Shabbat observance: ושמרו בני ישראל את השבת, לעשות את השבת לדורותם – “ Beneh Yisrael shall observe Shabbat, to make Shabbat for all their generations” (31:16). It is significant that the Torah here describes Shabbat observance as an action, as something that we are to do, or produce – לעשות . We would have assumed that we observe Shabbat by not doing , by refraining from certain things, by not going to work, by not driving, by not turning on our phones, by not cooking, and so on. To our surprise, the Torah commands us to “make” Shabbat – לעשות את השבת . What does this mean? The answer is that we are to make Shabbat a special day, a sacred day, a day of spiritual elevation. Someone who thinks that all he needs to do on Shabbat is refrain from the activities that are forbidden will not properly observe Shabbat. It goes without saying that abstaining from these activities is crucially important. But that is not enough. We need to “make” Shabbat by utilizing it not just for physical rest, but for kedushah , for spirituality, to grow and to deepen our connection with Hashem. We might draw an analogy to a spouse who simply checks off everything on the list of obligations to the other spouse. Practically, the spouse does everything required, but he or she does not invest time or emotional energy into the relationship, and does not work to build an emotional connection. Nobody would consider this person a good spouse. Checking all the boxes isn’t enough. The couple is expected to build something far more special and far more meaningful than just a practical arrangement whereby each side fulfills certain responsibilities. The same is true of Shabbat. Even if we ensure to avoid doing everything that is forbidden on Shabbat, we haven’t properly observed Shabbat unless we “make” Shabbat, turning it into a special day, a day of kedushah . This explains the connection between Shabbat and the Mishkan . Shabbat is to time what the Mishkan is to space. Just as the Mishkan is a special place of sanctity, distinct from everywhere else, so must Shabbat be a special time of holiness that is completely different from every other day. Shabbat cannot be just a Sunday without driving and without phones. It must be a Mishkan , a time when we reconnect with our families, with Torah, and with Hashem. Not coincidentally, the Torah begins this parashah by telling us that Moshe assembled Beneh Yisrael : ויקהל משה את כל עדת בני ישראל , Since time immemorial, Shabbat has been a time of gathering, when Jews come together for prayer, for Torah learning, and for spiritual elevation. A key component of “making” Shabbat is ויקהל , coming to shul for prayer and attending Torah classes. This is one of the important ways we make a Shabbat a sacred day. A second way is indicated by Moshe’s instruction to the people in this parashah : לא תבערו אש בכל מושבותיכם ביום השבת – “You shall not kindle a fire in all your residences on the day of Shabbat” (35:3). Of all the many different Shabbat prohibitions, lighting a fire is the only one which is stated explicitly by the Torah. The explanation might be that the Torah here is teaching us to keep away the “fire” of stress and negativity on Shabbat. Throughout the week, we “light fire,” dealing with the stresses and struggles of life, and exposing ourselves to all the negativity in the media and social media. On Shabbat, all this needs to be kept out. If Shabbat is going to be our “ Mishkan ,” an experience of kedushah , we need to block out all the noise, all the tension, the controversies, the arguments, and the struggles. Shabbat must be a day of peace, joy and serenity, free of the “fire” of negativity. Let us make a commitment to not just keep Shabbat, but to “build” Shabbat like our ancestors built a Mishkan , making it a special day that uplifts us and rejuvenates both our bodies and our souls.
The Gemara (Gittin 56b) tells a mysterious story about Titus, the Roman general who destroyed the Bet Ha’mikdash . Titus was exceptionally arrogant, and boasted that he was far more powerful than the G-d of Israel. Hashem punished Titus by having a tiny mosquito fly into his nostril and up into his head. There it continually pecked, causing Titus extreme pain. Hashem showed Titus that he could be defeated by the tiniest of creatures. The Gemara concludes the story by telling that after Titus’ passing, his head was opened, and it was discovered that the minuscule mosquito had grown to the size of a very large bird. Much of this story, of course, is a mystery. But on the symbolic level, its message, I think, is very clear. The Gemara here is describing how very small, trivial things become very big things in our head. Something somebody said or did bothers us, and we turn it into a much bigger deal than it is. We have some small problem to deal with, and it becomes an enormous “bird” in our heads, causing us a great deal of anxiety, “pecking” away incessantly, preventing us from functioning normally. Often, this “bird” is something that another person has that we don’t. We see that person’s house, car, clothes or kids, and we are overcome by jealousy or resentment. We see somebody who excels or achieves in a way that we don’t, and it eats us up. It becomes a gigantic “bird” in our minds, incessantly “pecking” at our brains, not allowing us a moment of joy and contentment. The opening pesukim of Parashat Ki-Tisa perhaps teach us how to handle these feelings, how to get rid of this “bird” once and for all. These pesukim introduce the mitzvah of מחצית השקל – the half-shekel tax that every member of the nation would donate each year during the times of the Bet Ha’mikdash . The Torah commands that everybody must give this precise amount – half a shekel. Nobody was allowed to give more or less. Many have asked the question of why the Torah required specifically this amount – a half-shekel. Why shouldn’t the people be obligated, or at least allowed, to donate a full shekel? The answer might be that the Torah wants us all to acknowledge that we have only a “half,” that we are not “whole,” that we all have things which we think we need, things that we lack, things that bother us, things that make us upset. There is not a single person who is “whole,” whose life is perfect, who has everything he needs and wants. If we ever find ourselves feeling jealous or resentful of another person who has something that we don’t, we need to know a little secret: that person, and all people, are lacking something. They, too, have problems. They, too, are struggling and having a hard time with something. We are all just half a shekel. If we want to get rid of the “bird” in our heads, we need to recognize this reality of the מחצית השקל , that everyone has only “half,” only some of what they want. Nobody is whole. Hashem gives us all a מחצית , some of what we want, but not all, and we are to feel content with what He has given us. This perspective will prevent the “mosquito” from turning into a “bird.” It will help us to stop obsessing over the small problems and issues that we deal with, as we realize that Hashem gives everybody some – but not all – of what we want, because He, and only He, knows what we need to achieve and maximize our potential. As just one example, I will share a story that is, basically, true, with some of the details changed. Two sisters had a successful business, working together baking and selling cupcakes. Everything we going well until one sister decided to break away and start her own business, taking all the customers with her. The other sister was enraged. She was so angry that she nearly lost her mind, and could not function. I tried explaining to her that the real problem was not that her sister took away her customers, but rather that she was obsessing over it, that she was allowing this to become a “bird,” that this was causing her debilitating anger and resentment. If she could just get this “bird” out of her head, then she could focus on rebuilding her business. And the way to do this is through emunah , by realizing that Hashem has given her the מחצית that she needs. This has nothing to do with her sister. If her sister did something wrong, then this is Hashem’s business. Her job is to move on. Let us prevent the mosquito from becoming a bird. Let’s stop obsessing, worrying, resenting and feeling jealous, and always feel happy and content with the מחצית that Hashem has graciously given us, trusting that this is exactly what we need.
In Parashat Tetzaveh, the Torah elaborates at great length on the topic of the bigdeh kehuna , the special garments worn by the kohanim . Every kohen was to wear four special garments, and the kohen gadol wore an additional four garments. The Torah takes these garments very, very seriously. If a kohen performs the service in the Bet Ha’mikdash and is missing even one of the required garments, he is חייב מיתה בידי שמיים – liable to death at the hands of G-d. The Sefer Ha’hinuch explains the reason why the Torah was so strict in demanding that kohanim wear these special garments. Wearing this clothing, the Sefer Ha’hinuch writes, reminds the kohen of his unique status, of his distinguished position as a servant of Hashem in the Bet Ha’mikdash . There will be days when a kohen is not so focused, when he feels unmotivated, when he is simply “not in the mood” to do the work that he is required to do. When he puts on these special garments, this has an effect on his mentality. It makes him mindful of his importance, of the significance of his role, of the great responsibility that he bears. Underlying these comments of the Sefer Ha’hinuch is a general principle that our mindset is impacted by our actions. If we’re not in the mood to do something, the best solution is to get started, to take the first steps. If we feel incapable of change, if we feel stuck, the best advice is to take action, to make one small change. Even if we don’t feel connected to Hashem, and we feel unmotivated to perform the mitzvot , we should try to do something, to say one prayer, to attend one class, to do one mitzvah , and this will have the effect of slowly changing our mood and attitude. The concept of the bigdeh kehuna is directly relevant to each and every one of us in another way, as well. The Gemara teaches that Rabbi Yohanan would refer to his clothing as מכבדותי – “that which gives me dignity.” A person’s clothing gives him his respect and dignity. When we wear an old, worn-out t-shirt and walk around in our slippers, we do not take ourselves as seriously as we do when we’re dressed in fine, formal attire. Like the kohanim , we all have a job to do. We all have to serve Hashem, each person in his or her own capacity. And like the kohanim , we need to dress in a manner that suits our job. If we dress respectably, we are far more likely to take ourselves seriously, be mindful of our importance and worth, and do our job to the very best of our ability. Indeed, studies have shown that employers place a great deal of importance on a job candidate’s dress and appearance during the hiring process. A person who dresses in a respectable manner is more likely to do his or her job well. This message is important also for another reason. Many people feel that they do not receive respect from the people around them – from their spouse, from their children, from their peers, etc. The most important thing we can do to earn respect is to carry ourselves with respect and dignity. Children are unlikely to respect a parent who slouches, who walks around the house in old, worn-out clothes, and who does not speak in a dignified manner. When we carry ourselves with dignity, this will enhance our own sense of self-worth, and will, in turn, invite the respect of other people. Instead of complaining that we do not receive respect, we need simply to begin respecting ourselves – and this begins with dressing, speaking and acting in a dignified manner. If we conduct ourselves respectfully, we will respect ourselves – and we will then be respected by other people, too.
Parashat Teruma tells about the Mishkan , the portable sanctuary which Beneh Yisrael built at Mount Sinai, and which they took with them as they traveled through the wilderness and crossed into the Land of Israel. It was eventually replaced by the Bet Ha’mikdash in Jerusalem. The main area of the Mishkan featured three furnishings: 1) a menorah , which was kindled each evening; 2) a mizbe’ah (altar); 3) a shulhan (table), on which bread was displayed. The commentators explained that these three pieces of furniture in the Mishkan allude to the three ways in we are to turn our homes into “sanctuaries,” into places of holiness, worthy of Hashem’s presence. First, we need to have a menorah – the “light” of Torah. The pasuk in Mishleh (6:23) states, כי נר מצוה ותורה אור – Torah is likened to light, as it illuminates our path, showing us how to live our lives. The menorah is the symbol of Torah learning, and its presence in the Mishkan teaches us of the need to make our homes places of Torah study. Secondly, our homes need to feature a mizbe’ah – representing the service of Hashem. The offerings brought in the Bet Ha’mikdash are substituted today with prayer. This, too, must be a regular fixture in our home. If we want Hashem’s presence in our homes, we need to bring Him there by regularly calling to Him in prayer. The final piece of furniture in the main area of the Mishkan was the shulhan . The table, where we have our meals, represents hesed (kindness), using our “bread” – our livelihood – for dispensing kindness. This is the third thing we need to do so our homes become a sanctuary – make them places of hesed , where we give to other people. As the famous Mishna in the beginning of Pirkeh Avot teaches: על שלשה דברים העולם עומד – על התורה ועל העבודה ועל גמילות חסדים . The world rests on the three “pillars” of Torah learning, service of Hashem, and kindness. Correspondingly, we make our homes into places of kedushah (sanctity), worthy of Hashem’s presence, by using them for these three “pillars.” Many of us probably think that we already do this. They proudly display Torah books on the shelves, they make time for Torah classes, they pray, and they give charity. If we do this, does this mean that we’ve succeeded into making our homes into a Mishkan ? The story is told of a school which told its students before parent-teacher meetings to write on a piece of paper the most important rule in their homes. The school wanted that when the parents arrived for meetings that night, they would see what their children feel is the most important rule enforced in the home. The parents arrived, expecting to find notes such as, “Say a berachah before eating”; “No lashon ha’ra ”; “Say Shema before bedtime.” Instead, they found notes such as, “Don’t walk with shoes on the carpet”; “No hands on the shades.” These parents were shown that while they certainly paid lip service to Torah and mitzvot , the message they were giving their kids was that the house’s physical appearance was the most important thing. When parents speak to their children about their future, how much time do they spend talking about college and employment, and how much time do they spend talking about religious observance, about allocating significant time for Torah, and for praying with a minyan ? How much time is spent at the table talking about celebrities, such as sports players and politicians, and how much time is spent talking about great Rabbis and what we can learn from them? How much time is spent talking about sports and politics, and how much time is spent sharing divreh Torah ? There was one more piece of “furniture” in the Mishkan – the sacred aron (ark), which contained the tablets which Moshe Rabbenu brought from Mount Sinai, as well as the first Torah scroll. The aron was kept behind a curtain, and nobody ever went inside that section of the Mishkan , except the kohen gadol on Yom Kippur. The aron represents the essence of what the Mishkan was about. It wasn’t seen, but everyone was aware that this is what was kept inside the Mishkan , and it defined the building’s core identity. If our children would be asked, “What is the aron of your home? What is its core essence, its identity?” – what would they answer? In order to turn our homes into a Bet Ha’mikdash , we need to strive to ensure that “deep inside,” the thing that our homes are all about, is Hashem. Torah, prayer and hesed must not merely be things that we do from time to time, activities that we fit into our schedule. We need to make it clear to our children – and to ourselves – that these are the essence of the home, the “pillars,” the foundations upon which we build our homes. If we can do this, then we will turn our homes into a Mishkan , worthy of Hashem’s presence and Hashem’s endless blessings.
Many years ago, a father brought his son before his bar-mitzvah to meet a certain Hassidic Rebbe. The Rebbe, to the boy’s astonishment, turned to him and asked if he was a sports fan. “Sure,” the boy replied. “I follow baseball.” “What team do you root for?” the Rebbe asked. “The Brooklyn Dodgers.” The Rebbe then asked the boy if he ever attended a Dodgers game. “Of course,” the boy said. “Actually, my father took me to a game just a few days ago.” The Rebbe asked what happened in the game. “It was a terrible game,” the boy said. “By the seventh inning, the Dodgers were losing 10-0, so we just left. There was no reason to stay.” “I see,” the Rebbe said. “But what about the Dodgers players? Did they also leave?” The boy giggled. “Of course not. They need to stay and play the whole game. I’m just a fan, so I can leave whenever I want.” The Rebbe smiled. “You’re becoming a bar-mitzvah, which is very exciting,” the Rebbe explained. “Once you become a bar-mitzvah, you’re a member of the team. And you know what that means? It means that you can’t leave during a ‘bad game.’ “Every baseball player knows that not every game is going to be good. It’s not always going to go well. But he has to show up and play his hardest even when his team is losing 10-0 in the seventh inning. And the same is true about being a member of Am Yisrael ’s ‘team.’ We have to stick with it even it’s hard. We can’t just leave and give up when things get difficult or complicated.” Parashat Mishpatim continues the description of the events of Matan Torah , which began in last week’s parashah , Parashat Yitro. Surprisingly, the Torah interrupts the story of Matan Torah with a series of detailed and intricate laws, dealing mainly with situations of civil disputes. We find in this parashah laws regarding theft, damages, accidental murder, fights that break out between people, people who physically assault their parents, items that one borrowed or was asked to watch and which were lost, and helping one’s enemy who is struggling with his cargo. Why does this series of laws interrupt the exciting, dramatic narrative of Matan Torah ? The Rabbis teach that as Beneh Yisrael stood at Mount Sinai to receive the Torah, they were in a state of perfection. They had been fully cleansed of all spiritual impurities. Even physically, they were cured of all illnesses, and healed of all injuries. They were also completely unified, with no fighting or tension between the people. Hashem wanted to teach them that the Torah they were now receiving is binding not only in a state of perfection, but also in a state of imperfection. The Torah governs our lives even when our lives get very complicated and very difficult. It guides us even in unfortunate situations of theft, even when people are in a fight, when property gets damaged, when children rise up against their parents, when things go terribly wrong. I don’t know anyone who isn’t fighting a battle of some kind. Some deal with a medical issue. Some struggle with a child or several children. Some have difficulties in their marriage. Some can’t pay their bills. Some are in a fight with family members, neighbors, business associates, or others. And some are dealing with several of these kinds of problems simultaneously. It is for this reason that the story of Matan Torah is interrupted by the mishpatim , the section of civil laws. The complications of life are an integral part of Torah life. The Torah was not given only for a perfect reality. It was given to empower us to overcome even very imperfect realities, to grow and achieve even when we struggle and face difficult challenges. We must “play” every “inning” and every “game,” even the “games” that aren’t going well. We must never break down or despair when we face challenges. We must firmly believe that Hashem has sent us these challenges for us to overcome, and that He has given us the strength to overcome them. We are privileged to “play” on the greatest “team” in the world, and this requires us to keep going even on bad days. Let us respond to all our struggles with faith and conviction, realizing that Hashem has given us what it takes to meet every challenge that He sends our way.
ממלכת כוהנים וגוי קדוש Parashat Yitro tells the story of מעמד הר סיני – Hashem’s revelation to Beneh Yisrael , when He presented them the Torah. Prior to this event, Hashem delivered a message to the people through Moshe Rabbenu, explaining to them the purpose of מעמד הר סיני , and, in essence, their mission as a nation. He declared that if they observe the commands of the Torah, then והייתם לי סגולה מכל העמים – “You shall be a treasure for Me, from among all the other nations” (Shemot 19:5). He then added: ואתם תהיו לי ממלכת כוהנים וגוי קדוש – “And you shall be for Me a kingdom of kohanim , and a sacred nation” (19:6). We need to understand the precise meaning of these three pronouncements – that we will be a סגולה , a ממלכת כוהנים , and a גוי קדוש . The Ketav Sofer explains that the first is a promise, and the next two are our mission. Hashem promises us that once we accept the Torah, if we make a sincere commitment to follow its laws, then forever more, we are a סגולה , His “treasure.” Even if we at times fail to comply, we are nevertheless His beloved nation. No matter how far we fall, we are guaranteed to be His סגולה , and thus capable of performing teshuvah and coming close to Him again. The next pasuk informs us of our two obligations as His nation. The first is to be a ממלכת כוהנים – to live elevated lives, lives of prayer, Torah study, Shabbat observance, and so on, dressing and conducting ourselves in a “regal” manner. The second obligation is to be a גוי קדוש – a “sacred nation.” The term קדושה is commonly associated with פרישות – “separation,” withdrawing from excessive indulgence, and avoiding inappropriate behaviors. Being a גוי קדוש means having the discipline to refrain from improper conduct, and the courage to act differently than people from other nations. I would posit that in our time, living as a ממלכת כוהנים is easier than it ever was, whereas living as a גוי קדוש is more difficult than it ever was. It is easier than ever to learn Torah, to become close to Rabbis, to observe Shabbat, to dress religiously, to pray in shul, to watch videos about emunah , and to generally “be religious.” But it is more difficult than ever to be קדוש , to be “separate,” to refrain from inappropriate behavior, to have the discipline and self-restraint to avoid doing things that we aren’t supposed to do. The Gemara in Masechet Nedarim (81a) makes a very famous – and startling – comment about the destruction of the Bet Ha’mikdash . It states that the reason why Hashem brought the hurban (destruction) is because the people did not recite the berachah before learning Torah. They made time to learn Torah – but they did not recite the berachah before learning, and for this reason, Yerushalayim was destroyed. Many Rabbis addressed the question of how this could be. Why would this be the reason for the destruction and the exile? Maybe we can offer an answer by looking at the text of the berachah recited before learning Torah. In this berachah we thank Hashem אשר בחר בנו מכל העמים ונתן לנו את תורתו – “who chose us from among all the nations, and gave us the Torah.” This berachah speaks about our being different, our having been selected from among all the other nations. Learning Torah is, of course, wonderful, and important. But it isn’t enough just to learn. Learning is part of the obligation of ממלכת כוהנים , but we cannot neglect the requirement to be a גוי קדוש , which means remembering that בחר בנו מכל העמים – that we must be different. We cannot learn the Torah which Hashem chose us to receive, study and observe, while still doing the same things that the nations around us do. We cannot learn Torah and talk the way other people talk, eat the way other people eat, watch what other people watch, and waste our time the way other people waste theirs. In order to live religious lives, we need to separate ourselves. We cannot continue doing what the people around us do. Living a Torah life, and growing in religion, is sometimes difficult. It requires making difficult decisions, and pulling away from things that we want. But I guarantee you that it is so worth it. There is no greater feeling than living as a ממלכת כוהנים וגוי קדוש , living a life of holiness, knowing that we are connected to Hashem. Let us strive to live a complete Torah life, fully committed to all its laws, values and guidelines, and we will then experience the unparalleled joy and satisfaction of kedushah and spiritual greatness.
In the beginning of Parashat Beshalah, the Torah informs us that as Beneh Yisrael left Egypt, Moshe ensured to bring with him the bones of Yosef, who had died many years earlier: ויקח משה את עצמות יוסף עמו (13:19). Moshe did this in fulfillment of Yosef’s command to his brothers before he died, that his remains should be brought out of Egypt and be buried in the Land of Israel. Why is it important for us to know? Why, amid all the drama of Yetziat Mitzrayim , did the Torah find it necessary to inform us that Yosef’s remains accompanied them as they went out into the desert? We can answer this question by taking a quick look at Yosef’s extraordinary life. When he was young, he enjoyed a wonderful life, as his father’s most beloved child, and receiving special gifts. But, on the other hand, his brothers despised him. His dreams of leadership could not be realized. It was only many years later, after being thrown into a pit, sold as a slave, and then imprisoned on false charges, that Yosef emerged as a leader. As long as his life was easy, he could not achieve greatness. It was by facing and overcoming adversity that Yosef actualized his full potential and fulfilled his mission. The opening pasuk of Parashat Beshalah tells us that Hashem specifically chose NOT to lead Beneh Yisrael along the direct route to Eretz Yisrael , and instead brought them through the desert. This was going to be a long, difficult, complicated process. But this was how they would become a great nation and fulfill the mission for which they were brought out of Egypt. This might be why this opening pasuk begins, ויהי בשלח פרעה את העם – referring to Beneh Yisrael as העם , “the nation,” and not as בני ישראל . It is only at the end of the next pasuk , after the Torah tells that Hashem decided to bring the people through the desert, that they are referred to by name – וחמושים עלו בני ישראל מארץ מצרים . Just leaving Egypt did not turn the people into בני ישראל , into a special nation with a special connection to Hashem. This happened only over the course of their difficult journey through the desert. It is by overcoming challenges that we attain greatness. This is the significance of Yosef’s bones accompanying Beneh Yisrael through the desert. They were reminded of Yosef’s story; they were shown that greatness is attained by enduring the “desert,” by facing challenging circumstances and overcoming them. The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (6:4) teaches: כך היא דרכה של תורה: פת במלח תאכל ומים במשורה תשתה ועל הארץ תישן וחיי צער תחיה ובתורה אתה עמל. This is the path of Torah: You eat bread with salt, you drink water in small quantities, you sleep on the floor, and you live uncomfortable lives – and you labor in Torah. This should not be understood to mean that living a Torah life requires suffering poverty. It does mean, however, that challenges and discomfort are part of the process of growth. If we always have everything we want, if life is always easy, simple and straightforward, then we are not going to grow and achieve greatness. Let us, then, embrace life’s challenges, rather than resent them. When we find ourselves in a “desert,” enduring some difficult circumstance, let us understand that this is an opportunity for us to grow, to realize our full potential, and become the great people that we are expected to become.
Immediately after Beneh Yisrael left Egypt, Hashem presented a number of commands that are intended to commemorate and memorialize this miraculous event. One of these mitzvot is pidyon ha’ben – the “redemption” of the firstborn. Hashem declared that on the night of Yetziat Mitzrayim , when He brought a plague that killed the firstborns of Egypt, but spared the firstborn of Beneh Yisrael , all bechorim (male firstborns) of Beneh Yisrael became holy. Forever more, every male firstborn in the Jewish Nation has a special status of kedushah (holiness), because the bechorim were miraculously saved from the plague in Egypt. In order for the boy to be able to live a normal life, he must be “redeemed.” This is done by the father giving a sum of money to a kohen , a mitzvah that applies even today. Interestingly, it is customary to make a festive celebration at the time of a pidyon ha’ben . The father does not just give money to a kohen – but he invites friends and family for a large meal, similar to the celebration of a berit milah . We might ask, why is this something celebrate? This infant was just “downgraded” from being consecrated for the service of Hashem, to the status of an ordinary person, who can live in an ordinary way. Why is this a cause for celebration? Shouldn’t this be a somber moment, as the child’s level of kedushah is lowered? One of the commentators explains that Judaism does not celebrate perfect, pristine holiness as an ideal. Some other religions believe that in order to live a spiritual life, one must disconnect entirely from physical life. We, however, believe in striving for kedushah from within our physical reality. This concept is expressed in the korbanot that were brought in the Bet Ha’mikdash . Non-Jews were allowed to offer sacrifices in the Bet Ha’mikdash – but only the korban olah , the sacrifice that was burned entirely on the mizbe’ah (altar). This is because the non-Jewish conception of kedushah is withdrawing from physical life. We, however, offer several different kinds of korbanot , including sacrifices that were eaten, some only by the kohanim , and some also by the person who brought the sacrifice. Because for us, eating is not contradictory to holiness. The Torah teaches us not to abstain from worldly enjoyment, but to uplift it, to elevate the mundane parts of life. This finds expression also in the observance of Shabbat. The Gemara (Betzah 16a) teaches that on Shabbat, we receive a נשמה יתירה – an “extra soul.” (This is why we smell besamim when Shabbat ends – to ease the distress of losing this “extra soul.”) Rashi explains, surprisingly enough, that this “extra soul” gives us an especially hearty appetite on Shabbat. We enjoy eating more on Shabbat because of our heightened level of kedushah . The Torah sees no contradiction whatsoever between spirituality and physical enjoyment. Kedushah means not that we abstain from physical enjoyment, but rather that we elevate it, by enjoying the world in a dignified, sanctified way. This is why we celebrate a pidyon ha’ben . Now that the child is “lowered” from his lofty status of kedushah , he is able to do the work that we Jews are supposed to do – living a physical life in a spiritual way, elevating the mundane aspects of our lives. This means that we cannot separate between our religious and mundane lives. Spirituality does not end when we leave shul, or when we go to work, or when we go on vacation. To the contrary, spirituality means that we go about our mundane lives in a holy way. It means ensuring to make time for tefilah and for Torah learning even when we’re away with the family on vacation, ensuring to recite all the berachot when we eat, and ensuring to conduct our business affairs honestly and respectably, as the Torah demands. Religion is not reserved for the shul, or for the yeshiva. It must inform every aspect of our lives, and elevate and enhance everything that we do throughout the day, each day of our lives.
Parashat Vaera begins in the middle of a difficult exchange between Hashem and Moshe Rabbenu. To briefly review, Hashem had sent Moshe to come before Pharaoh and demand that he release Beneh Yisrael . Moshe did as he was told, and Pharaoh not only refused, but increased the people’s workload, significantly intensifying their suffering. Moshe then turned to Hashem and asked, “Why have You done evil to Your people? Why did you send me?” Hashem reassured Moshe that He would force Pharaoh to let Beneh Yisrael go. In the beginning of Parashat Vaera, Hashem continues His response to Moshe, telling him, “I am Hashem; and I appeared to Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov with [the Name] ‘Kel Sha-ddai’.” The commentators explain this to mean that Hashem made promises to the Avot (patriarchs), but did not show them the fulfillment of these promises. He promised to produce from them a large nation that would inhabit the Land of Israel, but they never lived to see these promises realized. Nevertheless, they did not complain or protest, as Moshe did when G-d’s promise to free Beneh Yisrael was not immediately fulfilled. It goes without saying that Moshe had perfect faith in Hashem. At no point did he doubt that Hashem would fulfill His promise to free Beneh Yisrael . Rather, as Seforno (5:22) explains, Moshe was asking why he was part of this. “Why did you send me?” He of course realized that Hashem had his reasons for making Beneh Yisrael ’s conditions worse. But he felt like a failure. He did what Hashem sent him to do, and he failed. His efforts had the precise opposite effect of what he was supposed to achieve. This is what troubled him – that his work and efforts were futile. Hashem responded by pointing to the example of Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov. They never felt like failures, even though they never saw the realization of their mission. Each time they heard Hashem’s promise of a great nation, they encountered hardships. Avraham had no children, and had to leave the land because of a famine. Yitzhak had to struggle with the Pelishtim who chased him away and then stole his wells. Yaakov received Hashem’s promise, and then had to deal with Lavan and Esav. Later, his daughter was abducted, and his sons sold their brother as a slave. But the Avot did not feel like failures. They recognized their greatness and importance, and the great value of their efforts, and trusted that Hashem will eventually fulfill His promises. As mentioned, Parashat Vaera begins with Hashem telling Moshe, “I appeared to Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov…” Rashi makes a very unusual remark on this verse. Commenting on the word “Vaera” (“I appeared”), Rashi writes, “El Ha’avot” – “to the patriarchs.” For some reason, Rashi found it necessary to clarify that Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov were the “Avot,” our nation’s founding fathers. Aren’t we already well aware of this? Do we not already know who Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov were? The answer might be that Rashi here is teaching us what a parent’s role is, what makes someone into an “Av,” a father or mother. A parent’s primary job is to model for his or her children this quality mentioned here in this pasuk – the quality of resilience in times of failure and disappointment. Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov are our “fathers” because they showed us how to remain confident, strong and determined even when things do not work out, even when the chips are down, even when our efforts do not succeed. They continued believing in Hashem, and – no less importantly – believing in themselves ,even in times of crisis and hardship. At no point did they see themselves as failures, as hopeless, or as unimportant, even when their efforts did not yield the results they wanted. And this is what makes them our “fathers.” Our generation suffers from a lack of self-confidence and self-esteem. Youngsters today see other people’s success and achievements and feel unimportant and insignificant, like failures. The most critical job that parents have, especially in our generation, is to instill within their children a keen sense of their importance and worth, to assure them of their potential for greatness, to make them realize how much they can accomplish, and how much they matter. Children should never see themselves as failures, regardless of their grades, social standing, or any other factor. They need to know that they have the potential for greatness, that they have so much to contribute to the world, even if they have met with disappointment and failure. If we can do this, then we are doing our job as parents, following the example of our saintly Avot.
Parashat Shemot tells of the first time Hashem spoke to Moshe Rabbenu. He appeared to Moshe in the סנה , the burning bush, appointing him Beneh Yisrael ’s prophet and leader, who would bring them out of Egypt. The Torah writes that Moshe saw the burning bush and received this prophecy when he was working as a shepherd for his father-in-law, Yitro, and, specifically, when he brought the sheep out into the desert: וינהג את הצאן אחר המדבר (3:1). The Midrash Tanhuma comments that this pasuk has a deep symbolic meaning. The Torah is telling us that Moshe was drawn to the מדבר , to the desert, because he foresaw great things happening in the desert. It was in the desert that Beneh Yisrael received the Torah, and were given mitzvot to observe. It was in the desert that Beneh Yisrael constructed the Mishkan , where the Shechinah (divine presence) rested. It was in the desert that Beneh Yisrael received miraculous sustenance, with manna falling from the heavens each morning, and a well of water that traveled with them. Moshe was drawn to the desert because he was drawn to greatness, and he sensed that greatness would be attained specifically there in the desert. The Malbim, one of the famous later commentators, develops this symbolism further. He explains that a desert, a region that is desolate and uninhabitable, represents the absence of physicality. It is a place where one’s physical needs can barely be provided, where one can, at best, survive in the most minimal way. The מדבר thus symbolizes complete spirituality, divesting oneself of all physical activities. The Malbim explains that Moshe sought kedushah . He wanted to live a life of pristine holiness, without any physical qualities whatsoever. This is the meaning of וינהג את הצאן אחר המדבר . He wanted to go out into the desert, to leave the normal, physical world, and live an entirely spiritual existence. When Moshe first saw the burning bush, and started going towards it, Hashem commanded, אל תקרב הלום – “Do not come close” (3:5). The Malbim explains that Hashem was telling him that he cannot divest himself completely of all physicality. After all, all human beings – even Moshe Rabbenu – have a body, and so we all have physical needs to tend to. We are urged to go out into the מדבר , to leave our physical existence, while recognizing that we are not able to remove our physicality altogether. The Malbim here teaches us that in order to live lives of kedushah , we need to go into the “desert,” meaning, we need to eliminate certain things from our lives. In contemporary terms, this means we need to “leave” our society’s culture. Of course, living here in the Diaspora, among non-Jews, in a non-Jewish environment, we cannot isolate ourselves completely. Nevertheless, it is imperative that we create some sort of “desert” in our homes, that we carefully discern what we allow inside. To some extent, we need to withdraw from society and create for ourselves a “desert,” a place that is free of outside influences. Imagine if we traveled to a poverty-stricken society in a Third World country, where people live without electricity, without running water, and without the sanitary conditions that we are all accustomed to. We see them living on dirt floors, with insects and flies in their bowls and plates, and sleeping on run-down beds. Now imagine we invite the people to come live in our society, with all the comforts and with the standards of hygiene and cleanliness that we enjoy. We describe to them how we live, and we ask if they would want to live with us, rather than living in the dirt and with the insects and flies. We would find it very strange if they refuse, if they would say, “No thank you, this is the way we live, and we’re happy with it.” Sadly, however, this is how many people feel when it comes to spiritual “dirt.” We expose ourselves and our children to material that none of us should be exposed to, figuring that this is just the way it is, this is how we live in our society. But the truth is that we do not have to live this way. We do not – and should not – have to live with filth. Of course, I’m not saying that we should actually go into a “desert,” that we should abandon all of modern life. We do, however, need to set limits, and use discretion. If we are going to live meaningful religious lives, we are going to have to withdraw from much of what the surrounding society consumes and indulges in. We cannot allow into our homes and into our lives everything that the surrounding society deems acceptable. Moshe Rabbenu, the greatest prophet who ever lived, showed us that we are chosen to pursue greatness, and in order to attain greatness, we need to go out into the “desert,” setting limits on what we consume and what we bring into our world.
We read in Parashat Vayehi of the special blessings that Yaakov Avinu gave to Yosef’s two sons, Efrayim and Menashe. After Yaakov took ill, Yosef brought his sons to Yaakov so that he could bless them. Yaakov embraced them and then proclaimed the following famous blessing: המלאך הגואל אותי מכל רע יברך את הנערים, ויקרא בהם שמי ושם אבותי אברהם ויצחק, וידגו לרוב בקרב הארץ. The angel who has redeemed me from all evil shall bless the youths, and my name – and the names of my fathers, Avraham and Yitzchak – shall be called upon them, and they shall be fruitful like fish in the midst of the land. (48:16) Why did Yaakov draw a comparison here specifically to fish? To introduce the answer, we need to examine the difference between two terms: victim, and victimhood. Throughout our history, the Jewish People have been victims. We have been subject to all kinds of mistreatment and persecution. And yet, never did we resort to victimhood. We never embraced victimhood as our identity. We always remained strong and resolute, and maintained our dignity and our belief in our potential for greatness and in the glorious future that awaits us. Often, when a child gets upset or offended at the table, he will go to the couch and sulk. Some children will remain that way for a long time, embracing their victimhood, wallowing in self-pity, feeling sorry for themselves. Other kids, however, will get up after a few minutes and return to the table. These kids choose not to identify themselves as victims, and to instead pick themselves up and move on. This is, in a sense, who the Jewish People are. We get hurt, we get knocked down, but we don’t wallow in self-pity. We are victims, but we do not fall into victimhood, into a sense of helplessness and powerlessness. We “get off the couch.” We feel confident in ourselves and in our capacity for greatness, no matter what happens to us. Nobody embodied this concept better than Yosef and his children. Yosef was violently betrayed by his brothers, then falsely accused of a heinous crime, and imprisoned for many years – but was not broken. His sons were born and raised in a foreign country, far away from their grandfather and his family, but they still emerged as among the founders of the twelve tribes of Israel. The berachah that Yaakov was giving them was that this should always continue. He blessed them ויקרא בהם שמי, ושם אבותי אברהם ויצחק – that they should follow the legacy of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, all of whom were tested and persevered. The Keli Yakar explains the word ויקרא in this pasuk to mean יקר – precious and glorious. Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov recognized their inner greatness and glory even in difficult times. This is the blessing that Yaakov conferred upon Yosef’s children – that ויקרא , they should always realize their “preciousness,” no matter what they are going through. He then added וידגו לרוב – that they should resemble fish, that propagate underwater, where nobody sees them, where we would not imagine that life could exist and flourish. וידגו לרוב refers to the ability to succeed and achieve even “underwater,” even in circumstances where this does not seem possible. And this is one of the Jewish Nation’s greatest qualities. We have excelled and accomplished even in trying times. Rather than fall into victimhood and despair, and regard ourselves as helpless, we push forward, we build, we grow, and we achieve. Yaakov told Yosef, בך יברך ישראל לאמר: ישימך אלוקים כאפרים וכמנשה – for all time, parents will bless their sons that they should be like Efrayim and Menashe. The greatest blessing that a parent can wish upon his child is the blessing of perseverance, of resisting victimhood, of remaining confident and ambitious even in hard times. We are all “victims” of something, at one point or another. All of us have had to face adversity. We have all found ourselves “underwater,” in places where it seems inevitable that we will “drown,” and where there appears to be no chance of succeeding. But we have received from our righteous ancestors the power to resist victimhood even when we are victims; the power of וידגו לרוב , to prosper and flourish even under trying circumstances. Let us always be emboldened and encouraged by this precious legacy that we carry, and always remember that even when we are victims, we have the ability to “get off the couch,” hold our heads high, and achieve greatness.
Parashat Vayigash tells the dramatic story of Yosef’s revealing his identity to his brothers. In the years after they sold him a slave, Yosef miraculously rose to the position of vizier in Egypt. When the brothers came many years later to purchase grain from Egypt, they would never have imagined that the Egyptian ruler before whom they stood was their brother. Now, Yosef finally told his brothers who he was. After Yosef revealed his identity, the Torah tells, ויפל על צוארי בנימן אחיו ויבך, ובנימן בכה על צואריו – Yosef fell on Binyamin’s neck and cried, and Binyamin cried on Yosef’s neck (45:14). This pasuk seems rather straightforward. Yosef and Binyamin were the only two sons of Rachel, and they thus felt a special bond with one another. This was an exceedingly emotional moment for them, as they were finally reunited, and so naturally, they embraced and wept. Rashi, however, teaches us that they cried for a different reason. Yosef foresaw that the Bet Ha’mikdash , which would, centuries later, be built in the territory of the tribe of Binyamin, would twice be destroyed. And Binyamin foresaw that the Mishkan in the town of Shilo, which is the region of the tribe of Efrayim, one of Yosef’s sons, would be destroyed. This is why they cried. Yosef cried for Binyamin’s “neck” – the Bet Ha’mikdash – and Binyamin cried for Yosef’s “neck” – the Mishkan in Shilo. Rashi’s comments require explanation. Why would Yosef and Binyamin be crying over these future tragedies right now, at this dramatic, emotional moment? And why are the Mishkan and Bet Ha’mikdash symbolized by the neck? Yosef and Binyamin understood that although the brothers have now achieved reconciliation, and the hatred and jealousy of the past had been forgotten, this was not going to be the end of the story, the end of the tragic שנאת חינם (baseless hatred) among our people. Centuries later, Hashem would destroy the Mishkan and the Bet Ha’mikdash because the unfortunate story of Yosef and his brothers would be repeated. Instead of celebrating and rejoicing in other people’s success, we would, sadly, feel jealous and resentful of one another, just as Yosef’s brothers envied and resented him. These feelings of hostility would cause a great deal of pain and devastation, just as it did to Yosef’s family. This is why they cried. The neck marks the point of connection between the head and the heart. It symbolizes the need for the mind to step in and control our emotions. The key to curing the ill of שנאת חינם is the “neck” – exercising reason when we feel angry, embittered or resentful. The way we repair the destruction wrought by שנאת חינם is through the “neck,” by never allowing the heart to be isolated from the mind. We are all human beings, and so we are going to at times, or even often, feel jealous. When we see or hear of somebody going on a luxury vacation that we cannot afford, or buy a car or summer home that we cannot afford, it is only natural to feel jealous. When somebody with older singles hears about his friend’s twenty-year-old daughter getting engaged, it is natural to feel jealous. Other people’s success in areas in which we struggle will make us feel envious and perhaps resentful. We must realize that there is nothing wrong with feeling this way. There is nothing wrong with being human! But our obligation at such times is to put the “neck” into action – to use our minds to control our reactions and the way we handle the situation. And when we think about it rationally, we realize that another person’s success does not really affect us in any way. There is no logical reason why other people’s good fortune should make us feel unhappy or dissatisfied with our lives. And, using our minds, we recognize that Hashem runs the world and gives us all precisely what we need, precisely when we need it. Rationally, there is no reason for jealousy or resentment. The heart is going to feel this way – but when it does, we need to activate the mind to counteract the negative feelings. The ability to do this is truly life-altering. Life becomes so much happier and more enjoyable when we are able to celebrate other people’s successes, when we are able to genuinely rejoice in the good fortune of our peers. If we allow our feelings of envy to fester, then we will never be happy. There will always be people with blessings that we do not have, and if we let this bother us, we will be miserable all the time. One of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves is the ability to be happy for other people’s success, to treat their good fortune as our good fortune. This is how we cure the ill of שנאת חינם , and to live happily and joyously at all times.
Parashat Miketz continues the story of Yosef, who was sold as a slave by his brothers, and brought down to Egypt. He miraculously became the vizier of Egypt, second only to Pharaoh himself. When the surrounding countries faced a harsh famine, many people – including Yosef’s brothers – came to Egypt to buy grain. At one point in the story, Yosef ordered that a special feast be prepared for him and his brothers. He instructed his servants, וטבוח טבח והכן – that they should slaughter an animal to prepare meat for the feast (43:16). Several commentaries pointed out that these words contain an allusion to Hanukah, as the letter ח at the end of the word טבח , together with the letters of the next word, והכן , spell חנוכה . Indeed, Parashat Miketz is read during Hanukah, or, in some years (such as this year), immediately after Hanukah. What connection is there between the story of Yosef and the story of Hanukah? The answer might be found in Rashi’s comments later, in Parashat Shemot (1:5). The Torah there says, ויוסף היה במצרים (“And Yosef was in Egypt”), and Rashi explains this to mean: להודיעך צדקתו של יוסף - הוא יוסף הרועה את צאן אביו, הוא יוסף שהיה במצרים ונעשה מלך ועומד בצדקו . This teaches you Yosef’s piety. He was Yosef who shepherded his father’s sheep, and he was Yosef who was in Egypt and became a king – and retained his piety. One of Yosef’s outstanding qualities is his ability to maintain his values and his faith even while living alone in a foreign culture. All around him, people had different beliefs than him, and led a drastically different lifestyle than him. Nevertheless, he remained steadfastly committed to the beliefs, traditions and values he received in his father’s home. This is, in essence, the story of Hanukah. The Greeks tried to impose their thinking and their beliefs upon the Jews, but the Hashmonaim and their supporters refused. They were insistent on preserving their faith and their way of life no matter what kind of pressure was applied. Yosef’s story is, in a sense, the Hashmonaim ’s story – the story of retaining Torah commitment even in the face of pressure. This explains also another curious connection between Hanukah and the story of Yosef, which is indicated by the Gemara. The Gemara discusses the halachot of Hanukah in a small section consisting of several pages, in the second chapter of Masechet Shabbat. Surprisingly, in the middle of this discussion (22a), the Gemara makes a seemingly unrelated comment about the story of Yosef. It brings the Torah’s description of the pit into which Yosef’s brothers threw him: והבור רק אין בו מים – “and the pit was empty; there was no water in it” (Bereshit 37:24). The Gemara explains that מים אין בו, נחשים וערבים יש בו – the pit had no water, but it had snakes and scorpions. Yosef miraculously survived the pit, despite the fact that it contained deadly creatures. I believe there is a deeper message being taught here, one which is very relevant to the story of Hanukah. Water is often used as a metaphor for Torah. Just as water is essential for sustaining physical life, Torah learning is essential for sustaining spiritual life. The Gemara is telling us that if מים אין בו , if we do not fill our minds with Torah, then נחשים ועקרבים יש בו – our minds will become filled with dangerous ideas. There is no vacuum. A person’s mind will be occupied by something. And if it isn’t filled with Torah, then it will be filled with spiritually harmful material. As we recite in the על הניסים prayer added on Hanukah, the Greeks’ plan was להשכיחם תורתך – to make the Jews forget the Torah. They understood that once the Jews stopped learning Torah, the “pit” will be filled with “snakes and scorpions,” the Jews will fill the void with Greek beliefs and culture. This is why the Gemara teaches us about Yosef and the pit in the context of its discussion of Hanukah – because the symbolism of the pit is extremely relevant to the Hanukah story. Today, society is trying to force its values and ideas into our minds. It wants us to accept beliefs and ideologies that are so foreign to Torah. The way we resist these efforts is to fill our minds with מים , with Torah knowledge. Never before has it been more important to fill our minds with Torah – and, fortunately, never before has it been easier to do so. Technology poses many difficult challenges, but it also has given us so many wonderful opportunities for Torah learning. In our time, there is simply no excuse for not spending time learning Torah. Classes are available in our community, and online, for people on all levels, and on every Torah topic. If we are going to follow the examples of Yosef and the Hashmonaim , and resist the cultural pressures that we face, then we must make an effort to fill our minds with as much Torah as possible. We need to put in the time and work to learn, to hear what the Torah tells us, to imbibe its sanctity, and this will give us the strength we need to protect ourselves against the foreign influences that abound.
Parashat Vayeshev tells the tragic story of mechirat Yosef – the brothers’ selling Yosef as a slave. They at first plotted to kill him, but eventually they decided to lift him from the pit into which they had thrown him, and sell him to merchants as a slave. These merchants then brought Yosef down to Egypt and sold him to a nobleman named Potifar. The Midrash teaches us something very peculiar about this transaction. It tells that Yosef’s brothers used the money they received in exchange for Yosef to buy themselves shoes. This is the meaning of the pasuk in the Book of Amos (2:6) that speaks of a righteous person being sold for shoes: על מכרם בכסף צדיק ואביון בעבור נעליים . The Targum Yonatan writes that the צדיק mentioned in this pasuk is Yosef, whom the brothers sold in exchange for shoes, as they used the money they received to purchase shoes. Why is it significant that the brothers bought shoes? Why do we need to be told this? What might the shoes symbolize? After Adam and Havah’s sin in Gan Eden , Hashem told Adam, ארורה האדמה בעבורך, בעצבון תאכלנה – “The ground is cursed because of you; you shall eat it in sorrow” (Bereshit 3:17). Hashem placed a curse upon the earth, whereby earning a living will entail עצבון , aggravation and hard work. I do not know a single person, rich or struggling, whose livelihood does not entail challenges. This was Hashem’s decree after Adam’s sin – that making a living is going to be difficult. This is the curse declared upon the ground – ארורה האדמה . Shoes have the effect of elevating a person from the ground. Symbolically, then, shoes allude to our ability to rise above the “curse,” the frustrations and hardships of life. Wearing shoes represents our refusal to get stuck in the “curse” that we’re struggling with, our determination to rise above it, to keep our heads held high, to see the blessing and opportunities in every situation, rather than wallow in paralyzing sorrow and despair. This is why a mourner removes his shoes, and why we all remove our shoes on Tisha B’Av, when we all mourn the destruction of the Bet Ha’mikdash . During mourning, we are to fully feel and experience the “curse,” the pain and angst of what has been lost. Conversely, kohanim did not wear shoes in the area of the Bet Ha’mikdash , because this territory is sacred ground, where there is no curse. For the same reason, we do not wear shoes on Yom Kippur, when we live a sacred existence, as though we return to Adam’s state before his sin, before the curse. Nobody embodies the quality of rising above life’s curses than Yosef. As a 17-year-old boy, he was betrayed by his own brothers, and brought to a foreign country as a slave. There he was tempted by his master’s wife, confronting the most difficult of all spiritual tests, and he prevailed. The Rabbis teach that Yosef’s triumph over the lure of immorality is what protected Am Yisrael throughout the 210 years they spent in Egypt, which was the most immoral society in the ancient world. Yosef’s strength and resolve set a precedent that kept our nation pure throughout the years of slavery in Egypt. Yosef rose above the “curse,” and transformed his personal challenges into a great achievement that ended up guaranteeing the nation’s spiritual survival. This is why shoes are associated with mechirat Yosef . The brothers thought they were destroying Yosef, but he did not let himself be destroyed. He succeeded in lifting himself up, and using his tragic situation into an opportunity to achieve greatness. This is an example for all of us to follow. We all face periods of עצבון , times of sorrow, pain, loss, frustration, and anguish. In the case of the passing of a loved one, Heaven forbid, halachah tells the mourner to remove his shoes, to focus on the void, on what has been lost, and on the pain. At other times, however, we are to “wear our shoes,” to rise above the “curse,” to not allow ourselves to get stuck in negativity. We, like Yosef, have the strength to grow from life’s challenges, to use our difficulties to lift us up and make us great.
We read in Parashat Vayishlah that as Yaakov Avinu made his way back to Eretz Yisrael , a mysterious man attacked him, and wrestled with him throughout the night. Yaakov ultimately emerged victorious, although he sustained an injury to his hip, that made him limp. The Rabbis explained that this mysterious attacker was שרו של עשיו – the angel of Eisav, the Satan , the force of evil, the yetzer ha’ra that tries to lead us to sin. To understand the significance of this incident, we need to take note of the word used to describe the fight between Yaakov and this angel: ויאבק (32:25). The root of this word is אבק , which means “dust.” Rashi explains that this word is used because when two people wrestle with one another, they kick up dust into the air. The Gemara (Hulin 91a) teaches that the dust that Yaakov and the angel kicked up during their fight ascended all the way to the heavens. In other words, the fight between good and evil, the struggle that we wage against our yetzer ha’ra , is a fight about the dust. What does this mean? The Gemara elsewhere (Baba Batra 165a) teaches that virtually all people are guilty of אבק לשון הרע – literally, “the dust of lashon ha’ra .” Most committed Jews avoid outright lashon ha’ra . We don’t sit and indulge in gossip and spread embarrassing information about people. But almost everyone is guilty of “sort of” lashon ha’ra – of innuendos, of remarks which might not qualify as direct lashon ha’ra , but are clearly intended to make somebody else look not great. This is what אבק , “dust,” means – the subtle, small particles of “dust” that we put on an otherwise clean, beautiful Torah life. The yetzer ha’ra doesn’t approach us and try to get us to violate Shabbat or eat non-kosher food. The yetzer ha’ra doesn’t tempt us to go over to somebody we’re upset at and say, “You’re a terrible person,” or “I hate you.” We are all good people who are committed to Torah values. And we’re nice and ethical. We aren’t going to do something awful. But what the yetzer ha’ra does instead is get us to kick up “dirt.” It gets us to make a somewhat insensitive comment that hurts somebody, to say something subtly offensive, to do something that isn’t precisely proper according to halachah . This is the battle that we face. The pasuk in Mishleh (10:32) says, שפתי צדיק ידעון רצון – “The lips of the righteous person know how to earn favor.” Rashi explains that a tzadik , a righteous person, knows how to earn Hashem’s favor through his prayer, and also knows how to make people feel good with his words. Knowing how to say the right thing, how to speak sensitively, how to speak to people in a way which makes them comfortable and at ease around you, is very difficult. Somebody who does this all the time is a tzadik . This doesn’t mean that the rest of us are bad people. It just means that the rest of us kick up “dust” in our relationships. We’re good people, we’re nice, and we don’t want to hurt people, but sometimes we say the wrong thing, we create “dust.” This is the struggle that we face, and this is the struggle that we must try to win. Rabbi Paysach Krohn told the story of a man who was part of a daily Torah learning group that got together to learn every morning. This fellow was in charge of giving out coffee to all the participants. He made a point of knowing exactly how each and every member of the group liked his coffee – with milk, without milk, with or without sugar, with or without artificial sweetener, strong or not too strong, very hot or not too hot, etc. He ensured to give each person precisely the coffee that he wanted. But there was something very peculiar about the way he served the people their coffee – he always brought them half a cup. If they finished and wanted more, he would happily bring them more, but he always gave them no more than half a cup. One morning, he was not feeling well, so he sent his son to serve everybody their coffee. He prepared for his son a detailed list explaining how each member of the group liked their coffee. As the son was preparing the coffee in the shul, the father showed up. “Dad, I thought you weren’t feeling well,” his son asked. “Yes, but I needed to come because I forgot to tell you something very important – you need to make sure to give everyone only half a cup at a time!” The son didn’t understand. He asked why he couldn’t just give everybody a full cup. The father explained that there were two elderly members of the group whose hands shook somewhat. Unless their cup of coffee was only half full, the coffee would spill on their Gemara. And since they needed half a cup, he gave everybody half a cup, so they would not feel embarrassed. This is an example of a tzadik who understands how to avoid the “dust,” how to live a perfectly “clean” Torah life, without causing anyone any sort of discomfort or pain. Let us be strong and resolute in waging this battle, and keep all our relationships, both at home and outside the home, clean of any “dust,” always trying to make people feel comfortable and at ease around us.
Parashat Vayetzeh begins with Yaakov Avinu fleeing from his home, as his brother, Esav, was trying to kill him. The Torah tells us: ויפגע במקום וילן שם כי בא השמש – “He came upon a place, and he slept there, because the sun set.” As he slept, Yaakov beheld the famous dream of a ladder extending to the heavens, with angels ascending and descending the ladder. When we read this pasuk, we get the impression that Yaakov happened to arrive at some random place, and it was getting late, so he went to sleep. Rashi, however, brings from earlier sources that there was so much more going on. First of all, this was not just a random place. ויפגע במקום means that Yaakov arrived at the holiest place on earth – the site where the Bet Ha’mikdash would be built centuries later. Secondly, the sun did not just set. Hashem made the sun set early, before it was supposed to, because He wanted Yaakov to sleep there, at this site, the site of the Bet Ha’mikdash. It was here where Yaakov was to behold his vision, and receive Hashem’s prophecy guaranteeing him protection along his journey, and promising that his descendants would receive the Land of Israel. We must ask, if there was so much going on, if Hashem made it dark early so that Yaakov would sleep at the most sacred place in the world, then why does the pasuk make it seem like this was all random? Why does the Torah give us the impression that Yaakov just slept where he happened to find himself when it got dark? The answer might be that the Torah is teaching us that we can connect Hashem under all circumstances, even during times of transition and during periods of uncertainty. Yaakov was now experiencing a time of instability. He was running for his life. He was older and still not married. He would have to live with his crooked uncle. His entire life was shaken up, and he did not know what the future held for him. With all this happening, he went to sleep along the road – and right there, in that spot, at that moment, he received prophecy. This shows us that we do not have to wait until we have our lives completely in order, with everything going exactly as planned, in order to build our relationship with Hashem. In fact, often, it is specifically during times of fear, uncertainty and instability that we are able to build a stronger connection. The Gemara teaches that Hashem created our world with the letter ה, and the next world with the letter י. This is indicated by the pasuk כי בי-ה ה' צור עולמים (Yeshayahu 26:4), which means that G-d created the “worlds” with the Name י-ה: one world with the letter י, and the other with the letter ה. These two letters together in gematria equal 15. This the number of steps that connected the two sections of the outdoor area of the Bet Ha’mikdash, a higher section and a lower section. And it was on these steps that the Leviyim would sing their praise to Hashem. The symbolism of these 15 steps is very powerful. They represent the point of connection between י and ה, between the upper worlds and the lower worlds. It is precisely on these steps, during the process of transition from one stage to another, where we sing praise to Hashem. When we face instability and uncertainty, when we are working to ascend, or, G-d forbid, when we feel we are descending, we have an opportunity to turn to Hashem and reinforce our relationship with Him. This is the message of the ladder in Yaakov’s dream. The ladder, like the steps in the Bet Ha’mikdash, symbolizes transition and movement. During periods of uncertainty, like Yaakov experienced, we can build our connection to Hashem in an especially meaningful way. ויפגע במקום. When we feel that our lives are just random, that we are just in some “place” without any direction, when we feel lost, lonely, anxious, or nervous about the future, we must remember that Hashem is right here with us. He put us במקום, in this precise spot where we find ourselves, for a purpose. And is ready to take us by the hand and lead us to the next stage, leading us along the direction we need to go.
The Torah in Parashat Toldot tells what we should probably see as the first instance of antisemitism. Yitzhak Avinu was forced by a drought to settle among the Pelishtim , and they disliked him and fought with him. A focal point of the fighting was the group of wells that Yitzhak dug. These wells had actually been dug years earlier by his father, Avraham. But after Avraham died, the Pelishtim filled the wells with earth, so they could not be used. Now, Yitzhak dug them anew. And the Pelishtim fought with him over these wells. Avraham brought a new idea into the world, the concept of ethical monotheism, the belief in Hashem, in morality, in our responsibility for other people, in kindness and compassion. The people decided to “stuff the wells,” to put an end to his teachings, because they did not want to have to bear this burden. Yitzhak, though, kept digging. He didn’t give up, even in the face of hostility. In our time, too, we face a frightening wave of antisemitism. We need to be strong and resolute, like Yitzhak Avinu, and continue to “dig the wells” of our ancestors, and proudly carry our heritage and traditions. But there’s also something else we need to be doing. The opening pesukim of this parashah tell that Yitzhak and Rivka were childless for twenty years before having children. During those years, the Torah writes, ויעתר יצחק לה' – Yitzhak prayed to Hashem, until he was finally answered and Rivka conceived. The commentators point out that the Torah uses an unusual word for prayer – ויעתר . We are familiar with other words, such as תפילה , תחינה and בקשה . What does ויעתר mean? Rashi explains, הרבה והפציר בתפילה . Meaning, Yitzhak didn’t just pray. He begged. And he begged more. And then some more. He kept asking and begging and crying and pleading. Yitzhak’s name ( יצחק ) is gematria equals 208, and Rivka’s name ( רבקה ) equals 307. Together, they equal 515. This is the same number of tefilot that Moshe Rabbenu prayed when he asked to be allowed to enter the Land of Israel, as indicated by the pasuk ואתחנן אל ה' – “I pleaded to Hashem” (the word ואתחנן equals 515). Moshe Rabbenu kept begging and begging, without stopping until Hashem told him to stop ( אל תוסף דבר אלי – Devarim 3:26). This is how Yitzhak and Rivka prayed for the blessing of children. They begged. They pleaded. They cried. And they didn’t stop. The story is told of a Rabbi who was walking with his students, and they came across a young boy who was crying. The Rabbi kneeled down to ask the boy what was wrong. The boy explained that he and his friends were playing hide-and-go-seek, and he was the one who hid. His friends never found him. “So what’s the problem?” the Rabbi asked. “Isn’t that what you want to happen?” “Yes, the boy said, but they eventually stopped looking for me. And that’s why I’m sad.” The Rabbi turned to his students and said that this is the true of our relationship with Hashem, as well. Sometimes, He hides. For reasons we are not supposed to know, He brings upon us difficult challenges, situations where it seems as though He isn’t here helping us. What He wants during these times, the Rabbi explained, is for us to continue looking for Him, without ever giving up. We need to continue begging, unrelentingly, until He finally answers. This is what is needed now, as well. It isn’t enough to just recite a few chapters of Tehillim for the captives and for our soldiers, and then call it a day. We need ויעתר – to keep asking and pleading. We need to stop praying and start begging; to stop talking and start crying; to stop using just words and start pleading with our hearts. Hashem wants us to keep searching, to keep pleading, until we find Him, and He will then come to help us and bring our nation the peace and tranquility that we so desperately want. May it happen speedily, amen .
Parashat Hayeh-Sara tells the famous story of Eliezer, Avraham Avinu’s servant, who traveled to Aram Nahariyim to find a suitable match for Avraham’s son, Yitzhak. At the well outside the city, he met Rivka, and brought her back to Israel to marry Yitzhak. Something mysterious happened when Rivka saw Yitzhak for the first time. Yitzhak had gone out to the fields to pray, and Rivka, who was riding a camel, saw him. She promptly fell off the camel. Why did Rivka fall off the camel when she saw Yitzhak? Why did the sight of Yitzchak praying have such an impact on her? One explanation is that Rivka at this moment discovered that Yitzhak was not precisely the person she thought he was. Rivka was a paragon of hesed , loving kindness. When Eliezer saw her at the well outside her city, he approached her and ask for some water, and she proceeded to draw water for all his ten camels. It was then when Eliezer determined that she should marry Avraham’s son – because Avraham was, of course, the embodiment of hesed . It seemed like the perfect match – a young woman who excelled in the area of hesed , marrying the son of Avraham, the greatest exemplar of hesed that the world has ever known. Yitzhak, however, differed from his father. He of course performed hesed , but this was not his primary characteristic. He excelled mainly in the area of gevurah (literally, “power”) – self-discipline and self-sacrifice in the devoted service of Hashem. His strength was in prayer and in serving Hashem, not in extending hesed to other people. This is what Rivka realized when she saw him praying outside in the field. She had expected Yitzhak to be just like her, and she now recognized that he wasn’t. He differed somewhat from her expectations. ותפול מעל הגמל – Rivka fell from the גמל (camel). The word גמל alludes to גמילות חסדים – extending kindness. The Torah is telling us that Rivka made the decision to adjust, to adapt to what Yitzhak was. Needless to say, both she and Yitzhak were still kind and giving people. But Rivka realized that Yitzhak’s primary area of excellence was something else, and so she needed to adapt accordingly. She needed to “get down” from her focus on גמילות חסדים . This insight presents a crucial lesson to every young man and young woman in the process of seeking a marriage partner, or who is beginning marriage. A successful marriage requires a degree of flexibility. Almost every husband and wife realize at some point early on in the marriage that their partner is not precisely what they expected. There is always something about the spouse that comes as a surprise. And so marriage partners need to “fall off the camel,” to descend from their lofty expectations, and accept each other for who they are. Many of the problems that arise in marriage result from inflexibility, an unwillingness to “fall off the camel,” to adjust. The more flexible we are, the happier a relationship we will be able to create. Rivka understood that although Yitzhak was not precisely what she expected, this did not mean there was something wrong with him. It meant simply that he was great in a different way. This is what we need to understand in our relationships, too. Just because somebody is not precisely what we want him to be, this is not a reason to lose respect for that person. We need to train ourselves to “fall off the camel,” to have some flexibility, and appreciate people for who they are even when we expected something a little different.
The Torah in Parashat Vayera tells of the way Avraham Avinu invited guests, serving three strangers – who, he did not realize, were angels – a full meal. Abraham did not only host guests, but went out of his way to find people who needed hospitality. Just several days after undergoing berit milah at an advanced age, he sat outside in the sun to look for people he could invite and host. In fact, the Gemara notes that Hashem appeared to Avraham on that day, and Avraham disrupted his “meeting” with Hashem in order to tend to these guests. The Gemara derives from this incident that welcoming guests is more important that meeting with Hashem. When Avraham first spoke to the angels, he said, יוקח נא מעט מים – offering “a little bit” of water (18:4). Avraham served them a large meal, but offered only “a little” water. Why? Rav Yisrael Salanter explained that Avraham here speaks in the passive form – יוקח – saying that “water will be brought,” and not, “I will bring water.” Avraham could not carry the water himself; he needed to have somebody else do this for him. And for this reason, he could not offer copious amounts of water. Avraham understood that he had no right to offer favors to people at somebody else’s expense. As much as he wanted to generously host his guests, he limited himself in order not to unduly inconvenience his household. The Peleh Yoetz devotes a section of the book to the importance of the mitzvah of הכנסת אורחים (welcoming guests). But after elaborating on the value of hospitality, he adds a very significant comment: אבל מצד אחר יש פסידא כשאשת בעל הבית היא תתגרש ואינה מסבה עם בעלה על השלחן, שאפשר יכבד עליהם יותר ישיבת האורח ולא יראו העת שילך לו. This means that sometimes, inviting guests can be the wrong thing to do – if it causes the family members to feel they are not part of the meal, or if it causes them a great deal of inconvenience. In our busy world, when we are always rushing and running about, trying to get more and more done, and our eyes always seem to be pointed toward a screen, Shabbat has become more important for family life than ever before. It is the only time when parents are free to focus on their children, and on one another. Having guests interferes with this golden opportunity, preventing us from giving our spouse and our children the attention they need and deserve. As important as הכנסת אורחים is, it must not come at the expense of our families. What, then, are we to do? If הכנסת אורחים is such an important mitzvah , but it can take its toll on the family, then should we invite guests or not? The Peleh Yoetz concludes: לכן כל ערום יעשה בדעת – “Therefore, every intelligent person should act wisely.” Meaning, we have to use our common sense to find the right balance. Of course hosting is wonderful and important. But we must take into account the needs and wishes of the family. We need to consult with them – even with the young children – and determine when and whom to invite. We must follow the example of Avraham Avinu, who went out of his way to welcome guests – but while ensuring not to overlook the needs of his family.
The Midrash tells a fable about a man who was walking along the road and decided to sit down, eat something, and relax. As he sat, he saw two birds fighting. One bird pecked the other, killing it. Then, the live bird took some pieces of grass lying on the ground, and dropped them on the dead bird. In an instant, the dead bird came back to life. They both flew away. The man who witnessed this unusual scene was astonished. The plant in front of him had the power to revive the dead! He grabbed some of it and headed off, so he could use it to restore life. Sometime later, he saw a lion lying lifeless on a rock. He took the grass in his hand and sprinkled it on the lion. Sure enough, the lion came back to life – and immediately proceeded to devour the man who had revived it… What is the lesson of this Midrash? What is this parable meant to teach us? Rav Yaakov Galinsky explained that this is the story of so many of us. Like the man in the story, most people, at one point or another, discover that they have some “superpower,” some special talent, some gift, some kind of outstanding potential. And, like the man, they go around looking for an opportunity to use our special power. Unfortunately, this man used his power for the wrong purpose. He could have revived his parents, or the great tzadikim . Instead, he used it to revive a dead lion – which ended up destroying himself. Similarly, so many people use their power for the wrong purpose, and end up destroying themselves, wasting the precious time they are given here in the world. A football fan with great leadership skills, a great personality, and outstanding organizational talent puts together a fantasy football team. For the next several months, he and his peers spend hundreds of hours watching and discussing football. This fellow is great at what he does – but he uses it for the wrong purpose. We all have some “superpower.” Everyone is bright, intelligent and talented in some way. But are we using our power the right way? Are we bringing “life” to those who really need it? Or are we wasting our talents on a dead lion? This is ultimately, what this time of year is all about. We are to take stock of ourselves, to determine which “superpower” we have been given, and to ask ourselves if we are using it the right way, to excel and to make the greatest contribution that we can make. Best-selling author Jim Collins wrote a book entitled Good to Great , in which he studies a number of “good” companies that became “great” companies; companies that did ok, and then eventually took off and became wildly successful. In his introduction, Collins poses the question of why this is rare. Usually, businesses either fail, do ok, or take off. It is uncommon to find companies that do ok for many years before becoming great. The reason, Collins determined, is because “good is the enemy of great.” If someone is a good parent, a good employee, a good businessman, or good at anything else he does, he does not feel motivated to push himself further to become great. It is precisely because a business is doing well that it does not become great. There is no motivation to achieve more. Rosh Hashanah is the anniversary of the creation of man, a time when we reflect on the purpose for which we are here. We were not brought to the world to be “ok.” We weren’t given a superpower so we can revive dead lions. We are here to be great, to achieve, to excel, to accomplish the most we can. Let us use this period of introspection and teshuvah to identify our superpower, to see which potential has not yet been used to its fullest, and make a commitment to never settle for “ok,” but to instead strive for greatness in every area of our lives.
The Torah calls Rosh Hashanah יום תרועה – a day when a teru’ah sound is blown with a shofar (Bamidbar 29:1) The Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 33b) sets out to explain what the word תרועה actually means, and it begins by citing the ancient Aramaic translation to the Torah by Onkelos, which translates this word as יבבא . To determine the meaning of יבבא , the Gemara brings a pasuk from the Book of Shoftim (5:28) that speaks of Beneh Yisrael ’s miraculous victory over one of the powerful enemy nations in the Land of Israel. There was a general named Sisera who led an enormous army that fought Beneh Yisrael . With Hashem’s help, Beneh Yisrael defeated Sisera’s army, and he was forced to flee. He ended up in the tent of a woman named Yael, who fed him and gave him a bed to sleep in. As he slept, she killed him. The pasuk brought by the Gemara describes how Sisera’s mother wept as she waited in panic for her son to return home safely: ותיבב אם סיסרא . The word ותיבב is used in reference to Sisera’s mother’s crying, and so the Gemara concludes that the word תרועה , which Onkelos translates as יבבא , means “crying.” The teru’ah sound that we blow with the shofar thus resembles a weeping sound. We must ask, what connection could there be between the story of Sisera’s mother and the shofar blowing on Rosh Hashanah? Why is her crying as she waited in vain for her son to return the model of crying on Rosh Hashanah? The answer might be that on Rosh Hashanah, Hashem “cries,” as it were, for the same reason that Sisera’s mother cried. Sisera’s mother sat by the window, wondering why her son hasn’t returned from battle. Her son was a powerful, successful, decorated general. He knew how to win wars. Why, then, wasn’t he triumphantly walking through the door? On Rosh Hashanah, Hashem looks down from the heavens, so-to-speak, and cries for His beloved children. He knows how strong we are, how much potential we have, how great we could be. And He “cries” because He longs for us to return “home” to our true selves, to rise to the challenge, to “triumph” in the “battle” of life, to achieve the greatness that we are meant to achieve. Hashem, our father, is crying for us. He knows how powerful we are, and He cries because He wants us to win, to be victorious. The Rambam in Hilchot Teshuvah (3:4) writes that the sounding of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah is to serve as a “wakeup call.” It is like the alarm that wakes us up in the morning. So many of us go through life “sleeping,” blissfully staying in place, without working to realize our full potential. We stay comfortably in our beds, rather than go out to fight the battle, to win, to achieve, to grow. And this is why Hashem cries, as it were, hoping that His children “wake up” and do what we need do. Let us hear the cry, and respond accordingly, rousing ourselves from our “slumber” and making the commitment to put in the work to become the truly great people that we are supposed to be.
In Parashat Nisavim, Moshe foresees the time when, after Beneh Yisrael are driven into exile, they will repent, and G-d will then bring them back to their land, and bless them. The Or Ha’haim (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743) notes that Moshe seems to speak here of three different stages of repentance. First, Moshe says, “Ve’shabta Ad Hashem Elokecha Ve’shamata Be’kolo” – “You will return to Hashem your G-d, and heed His voice” (30:2). In response, Moshe continues, Hashem will bring the people back from exile. Then, “Hashem your G-d will circumcise your heart and the heart of your offspring” (30:6), in response to which G-d will punish the enemy nations who had persecuted Am Yisrael. Finally, Moshe speaks of the time when “you will return and heed Hashem’s voice, and perform all His commands” (30:8). Thereupon, Hashem will bless the people with great material prosperity (30:9). The Or Ha’haim explains that Moshe refers to three different aspects of the Teshuba process. The first is a return to Torah study, as the verse states, “Ve’shamata Be’kolo” – “and heed His voice,” meaning, listening to what Hashem communicates to us through the Torah. The Or Ha’haim cites the prophecy of Yirmiyahu (9:11-12) in which G-d says that the Land of Israel was destroyed “because they abandoned My Torah” (“Al Ozbam Et Torati”) – meaning, the people stopped learning Torah. Hence, as the Or Ha’haim brings from the Zohar (vol. 3, 270a), the Jewish People’s redemption from exile depends on their commitment to Torah study. Therefore, Moshe assures the people that in response to the first stage of their process of repentance – their study of Torah – G-d will bring them back from exile. The second stage of the nation’s repentance, the Or Ha’haim explains, is the “circumcision” of the people’s hearts – referring to their refraining from sinful behaviors. The metaphor of “circumcision” describes the elimination of evil tendencies and desires. Refraining from forbidden conduct is rewarded with G-d’s punishing the enemy nations who cause us harm. The third and final stage of the process is “you will return and heed Hashem’s voice” – referring to the performance of the Misvot Aseh (affirmative commands). After committing to refrain from forbidden conduct, the people will then commit to perform the Misvot, to proactively serve G-d to the best of their ability, pursuing Misva opportunities. This will be rewarded with material blessings. As we prepare for the new year, as we introspect and seek to grow and improve, we must not forget the vital role of Torah learning in this process. For good reason, the Or Ha’haim understood Moshe’s comments as indicating that Torah learning constitutes the first stage of Teshuba. In order to grow in our observance, we must open our minds and listen to what Hashem tells us to do. If we do not acknowledge that we have a great deal left to learn, that there is so much that we still do not know, we cannot possibly hope to change. The first critical stage of the growth process is Torah learning, immersing ourselves in the sacred texts and the teachings of our Sages to listen to what Hashem expects of us, what our obligations are, and how we are to live our lives. Only once we commit to learning and understanding Hashem’s will can we then proceed to begin working towards fulfilling it.
The Torah states in Parashat Ki-Tavo, והלכת בדרכיו – “You shall follow His ways” (28:9). The Rambam understands this pasuk as establishing a Torah obligation to resemble Hashem, by following His example. Just as Hashem is רחום וחנון – compassionate and merciful – we, too, are to be compassionate and merciful to other people. This mitzvah , I believe, is telling us something very important, and very profound. We need to be merciful to other people because we, too, need mercy. We are all in the same boat. We all have struggles. We all do some things right, and do some things wrong. We all succeed in some ways, and we all fail in some ways. We all mess up on occasion. Every one of us, without exception, needs Hashem’s mercy and compassion. And so when we see somebody else who is struggling, who needs help, who messed up, who failed – we need to show compassion. So many of us silently relish other people’s mistakes and failures. When we hear about other people who are dealing with some difficult problem or crisis, there is often a part of us that celebrates the opportunity to feel superior, to feel that we’ve got our lives more in order than that person. Of course, we would never communicate these feelings, and, of course, we will certainly try to help if we can. We’re not mean, and we’re not bad people! But somewhere deep inside, we feel gratified to hear that somebody is struggling, because it allows us to feel that we’re doing better than others. But this feeling of gratification is so fake. We all struggle, we all fail sometimes, we all have problems. מה הוא רחום, אף אתה היה רחום . We all require Hashem’s mercy and kindness, so we should extend mercy and kindness to others, as well. When we hear of somebody who is struggling, we must remember that we struggle, too. We aren’t necessarily any better. Somebody once approached Rav Avigdor Miller and asked how he should prepare for the judgment of Rosh Hashanah. Rav Miller looked at him and said: “Smile!” The fellow was startled. Smile? This is what we should do to prepare for our judgment? Few of us would ever have included “smile” in our list of 20 things we should be doing to get ourselves ready for Rosh Hashanah. Rav Miller explained by way of an analogy to a businessman who owned a chain of retail stores that were losing business. He proceeded to review all the stores and take inventory, to determine which products should be sold at a discounted price, which stores to close, and which employees to lay off. As he spoke to the manager of one store, the manager told him that a certain employee needed to remain, and could not be fired under any circumstances. “This guy is so warm and friendly,” the manager explained. “He greets every customer with a smile, and makes them feel welcome. People come into the store just because of him and his smile. He cannot be laid off.” If we smile and are friendly to all of Hashem’s “customers,” Rav Miller explained, we can’t be “laid off.” We are needed. If we make people feel good about themselves, if we uplift them, if we are encouraging and helpful, then we are worthy of a favorable judgment. The best thing we can do to help ourselves going into Rosh Hashanah is to smile to everyone, to show everyone compassion and graciousness, to realize that we are all in the same boat, that we all struggle. If we smile and act kindly to others, then Hashem will smile and act kindly to us, and inscribe us for a happy, healthy, prosperous year, amen .
The Mishna in Masechet Rosh Hashanah teaches that on Rosh Hashanah, כל באי העולם עוברין לפניו כבני מרון – all people in the world pass before Hashem like בני מרון . The Gemara presents three possibilities as to what this refers to. · The first explanation is that בני מרון are sheep passing through the door to the corral as they are counted. The door had enough space for one sheep to pass at a time. We, too, come before Hashem one-by-one for judgment. · The second interpretation is that בני מרון refers to people climbing a certain steep mountain. As they near the mountaintop, the path is very narrow, with room for only one person at a time, because if two people climb side-by-side, there is a chance that one of them might fall off. · The third understanding is that בני מרון refers to the soldiers in King David’s army, who go out to war single-file. The obvious question is, why do we need three different explanations? All three point in the same direction – that on Rosh Hashanah, we are each judged by Hashem individually, one at a time. Why does the Gemara give us three different analogies? The Avodat David commentary explains that the Gemara is describing the different ways in which different people approach the judgment of Rosh Hashanah. On the lowest level stand those who go through this time of year mindlessly, like sheep. They don’t think about it at all, either because they are not aware that they are being judged, or because they prefer to ignore it. Like sheep being counted without understanding what is happening, these people are judged without even thinking about the fact that they are being judged. The higher level is the experience of those who approach this time of year with fear, like people climbing a dangerously steep mountain. These people are really frightened, and feel very uneasy and uncomfortable with what is happening. The Gemara is teaching us that while this experience of fear certainly has value, it is not the highest level. The preferred way to approach this time of year is like the soldiers in the king’s army. They know there is danger, they know what might happen, but their primary emotion is not fear, but pride. They feel pride going to the battlefield to represent their king and their nation, to defend their people. Their feelings of fear are overwhelmed by their feelings of pride. This should be our mindset as we head into the Yamim Noraim (High Holidays). We should feel proud of our royal stature, that we are Hashem’s soldiers, that we are part of the “royal family.” Rosh Hashanah is the time when we reaffirm our membership in this family. Certainly, this can be scary, because with royalty comes great responsibility. As people of royalty, we are held to a stricter standard than others, we have more rules and regulations to follow. But we would never give up this stature for anything. We understand the great privilege that we have to be part of Hashem’s “royal family.” The Gemara comments that we add an additional set of shofar blasts on Rosh Hashanah כדי לערבב את השטן – “in order to confound the Satan .” Tosafot explains this to mean that when the Satan hears the additional shofar sounds, it assumes that Mashiah has come, and it is thus overcome by fear, knowing that it will meet its demise at the time of the Jewish People’s final redemption. Later commentaries note that year after year, for centuries, we’ve been blowing the extra shofar sounds, and Mashiah still hasn’t come. Yet, each and every time, Satan is still afraid that this year might be different, that this might be the year of Mashiah . The reason, the Rabbis explain, is because Satan knows more than we do just how special we are, and how close we are to our redemption. As we prepare for Rosh Hashanah, we need to remind ourselves of our royal stature, of what it means that we are part of Hashem’s “royal family,” that we are special. This is a time not only for fear, but, mainly, for pride. We should take pride in ourselves and in Am Yisrael , and recommit ourselves to embrace our royalty and reaffirm our commitment to live the way Hashem’s “soldiers” are expected to live.
Parashat Shoftim presents the laws relevant to the Jewish king, imposing on the king three restrictions: 11) לא ירבה לו סוסים – he may not own too many horses; 22) לא ירבה לו נשים – he may not marry too many wives; 33) וכסף וזהב לא ירבה לו מאד - he may not amass too much wealth. As we know, King Shlomo married many wives, despite this prohibition. The Torah forbade a king from marrying too many wives because of the possibility that his heart would turn away from Hashem ( ולא יסור לבבו ), and Shlomo was confident that this would not happen to him, and so he felt he was allowed to marry a large number of women. The Midrash tells that the Hebrew letter י' , the first letter in the word ירבה in this pasuk , came before Hashem to protest what Shlomo did. It said, “Didn’t You promise that not a single letter from the Torah will ever be erased? And now Shlomo took me out of the Torah!” What does it mean that the letter י' complained to Hashem? Why was it specifically this letter that decided to voice a protest? The Ateret Mordechai commentary explains that the letter י' is significant because of its grammatical function. When this letter is placed before a verb, it transforms the verb from the past test to the future tense. To take a simple example, the word אמר means “said,” but if we place a י' before it, we get the word יאמר , which means “will say.” The י' came before Hashem to protest because it was worried about the future. It understood why Shlomo did what he did – because he felt confident that he would resist the temptation to turn away from Hashem. But the Midrash is telling us that Shlomo should have been concerned about the future generations. People who are much less righteous than Shlomo would follow his example, and get themselves into trouble. This Midrash, then, is warning us about how our priorities affect our future – our offspring. When we place too much emphasis on materialism and physical indulgence, this is going to impact our children and grandchildren. After issuing these three prohibitions, the Torah commands the king to write a sefer Torah which he must carry around with him wherever he goes – והייתה עמו וקרא בו כל ימי חייו . Instead of prioritizing indulgence and money, he should prioritize Torah learning and Torah values. This is a lesson not only for the king, but for all of us. Children notice their parents’ priorities. They notice if the father makes a point never to miss minyan or his shiur , or never to miss his favorite show or sporting event. They notice if their mother spends more time involved in chesed projects or getting her nails done. They are very perceptive, and see exactly what’s important to their parents. Parents bear the obligation to have their priorities straight, as their children learn from them what’s more important and what’s less important. I once heard a disturbing conversation in shul after the end of the prayer, between a grandfather and his teenage grandson. The grandfather said to his grandson, “In this community, the only thing that matters is money. The important people here are those with money. If you have money, then you’re successful. That’s what you need.” I shudder to think what effects this conversation would have if it remained reverberating in the child’s mind. I would imagine that if a child grows up with this message, then he will do anything necessary to attain wealth, ignoring Torah and ethics. And if he can’t attain wealth, then he will feel like a failure, and suffer depression and inferiority, which, as we all know, can be exceedingly damaging and destructive. We have to be so careful in developing our children’s priority scales. We need to make it clear to them that adhering to our Torah values is the highest priority, and is far more important than wealth. Of course, there is nothing wrong with making money and enjoying it. The problem is when we make this pursuit the most important thing in life. The way we give over these priorities to our children is by setting our own priorities straight. When we ourselves emphasize Torah commitment over everything else, then our children will absorb this message, and they will grow with this same commitment, this same emphasis, and these same priorities.
Parashat Re’eh begins with Moshe Rabbenu telling the people, ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה – “See that I give you this day a blessing and a curse.” He then explains that if we follow the mitzvot , we earn blessing, and if we don’t, then we receive the opposite, G-d forbid. The Kedushat Levi raises the question of why Moshe first says he is presenting ברכה וקללה , a blessing and a curse, and then goes back to explain the ברכה and the קללה . Seemingly, it would have made more sense for him to say, “I am presenting to you a ברכה , if you follow the mitzvot , and a קללה if you do not.” Why was it important for Moshe to first mention the words ברכה and קללה together? The Gemara (Berachot 40a) says that human beings have the quality of כלי ריקן מחזיק מלא אינו מחזיק – “an empty vessel contains, a full vessel cannot contain.” Meaning, if a utensil is full, it cannot contain anymore, but if it is empty, more can be added to it. The Noam Elimelech explains what this means that how this applies to people. We can be “filled,” we can grow, only if we recognize that we are “empty,” that we are incomplete, that we have a lot more to learn and we have much to improve. If a person feels he is מלא , that he is already complete, that he is already the person he is supposed to be, then אינו מחזיק – he cannot be “filled” anymore, he will never grow. We can grow and change only when we recognize that we need to grow and change. So many have us have bad habits that we know we should change, but we don’t. People have bad eating habits, bad sleeping habits, and so on. We tell ourselves that we need to change, but we don’t, because we’ve managed ok until now. A person knows he goes to sleep too late, but then he stays up late again because he got through that day, and the day before, and the day before, despite going to sleep late, so he’ll get through tomorrow, too. Sadly, this is why people fall into addictions. They know they need to stop, but they see that they’ve managed somehow despite the addiction, so they continue. When does an addict realize he needs help, that he can’t continue? When he hits rock bottom. When his wife threatens to leave him, when he loses his job, when his life is about to unravel. Failure can be the greatest blessing, because it is a powerful motivator to change. When a person fails, he becomes a כלי ריקן , an empty vessel, which can be filled. Failure facilitates growth like nothing else. So often, it is specifically when a person fails miserably that he begins the road that leads to greatness and success. This is why Moshe Rabbenu told the people, אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה – that he is presenting with them “with a blessing and a curse,” together. Because very often, they are one and the same – the curse turns out to be a blessing. When we experience a קללה , when we fail terribly, we recognize our “emptiness,” and this recognition allows the growth process to begin, bringing us the ברכה . Let us all have the strength, the courage, the honesty and the humility to acknowledge our “emptiness,” to realize that we need to change, and to then make those changes. Let us not wait until we hit rock bottom. If there’s any area in our lives that we know requires fixing – let’s pick ourselves and get to work fixing it, so that our lives will be filled with ברכה in every way.
ועתה ישראל מה ה' אלוקיך שואל מעמך, כי אם ליראה את ה' – “And now, Yisrael, all that Hashem your G-d asks of you is that you fear G-d…” (Devarim 10:12) Moshe Rabbenu here turns to the people and says: “What’s the big deal? All that Hashem wants from you is that you have יראת ה' , that you fear Him!” Already the Gemara (Berachot 33b) raises the question, אטו יראת שמים מילתא זוטרתא היא – is fear of Hashem an easy thing? Why does Moshe say that this is “all” that Hashem wants, as though this is easy? If somebody would approach us and ask us to give him $2 million, we would of course think that this is very difficult. And if, after we refuse, he would say, “Come on, what’s the big deal? I’m just asking for $2 million! That’s it!” – we would of course dismiss him as a lunatic. But if the fellow guarantees that the $2 million investment will yield a $1 billion return, then our perspective changes. Suddenly, $2 million doesn’t seem like too much at all… It really is a small sum in comparison to what we will receive in return. True, living with יראת ה' can be difficult. But it really is a very small investment when we consider what we receive in return. The pasuk in Mishleh (10:27) teaches, יראת ה' תוסיף ימים – “Fear of Hashem increases one’s days.” When we live with יראת ה' , our lives become qualitatively better. We aren’t anxious, worried, upset, or frustrated. If we truly believe, understand, and are aware that Hashem is running the world and taking care of us, everything changes. We will feel grateful for all the wonderful blessings He has given us, and will stop complaining about the things that aren’t precisely how we would want them, because we trust that He is in change and He is taking care of us. Earlier in Parashat Ekev (8:10), the Torah introduces the mitzvah of birkat ha’mazon : ואכלת ושבעת וברכת את ה' אלוקיך – “You will eat, you will be satiated, and you shall bless Hashem your G-d.” On one level, of course, the Torah here is commanding us וברכת , that we must recite a special berachah after eating a meal. But additionally, this pasuk is telling us that we should strive to reach the level when וברכת comes automatically, that right after ואכלת ושבעת , after we eat and feel satiated, we will feel grateful to Hashem. Many of us spend a good part of our meals complaining. We complain about so many things. What we forget is that we’re sitting around a table, under a roof, in a comfortable home, with all the food that we need to satisfy our hunger. When we think about it, it is astounding that people sit with their families, all of whom are generally in good health, in a comfortable, air-conditioned dining room, safely and peacefully – and they still find what to complain about. Instead of feeling happy and grateful for the incredible blessings that they have, they spend so much of the meal complaining. A large portion of the Torah’s description of our ancestors’ experiences in the desert is devoted to the people’s complaints to Hashem, and how He punished them for it. The Torah is telling us very clearly, without any ambiguity, and very emphatically, that Hashem does not like when we complain. Beneh Yisrael complained about the powerful armies in Eretz Yisrael – just like we sometimes complain about the security situation and the strength of enemy nations. Beneh Yisrael complained about the manna they were fed in the desert – just like we often complain about the economy and inflation. We are careful to fulfill all the mitzvot , but, for some reason, we think it’s fine to complain – when so much of the Torah is a warning about Hashem’s reaction to complaints. יראת ה' תוסיף ימים . Life without complaints is so much better than life with complaints. When we stop complaining, we start appreciating, which brings us more contentment and happiness, and makes every day a truly beautiful and fulfilling day.
In Parashat Vaet’hanan, Moshe Rabbenu tells Beneh Yisrael that when they enter the Land of Israel, they will find things readymade for them: ערים גדולות וטובות אשר לא בנית, ובתים מלאים כל טוב אשר לא מלאת, ובורות חצובים אשר לא חצבת, כרמים וזיתים אשר לא נטעת... Large, good cities which you did not build; homes filled with goods that you did not fill; hewn cisterns which you did not dig; vineyards and olive trees which you did not plant. (6:10-11) Moshe warns the people that when this happens: השמר לך פן תשכח את ה' – they must be very careful not to forget Hashem. When we go into situations that were just given to us, without having had to work for them, there is danger. The hard work and challenges involved in building something molds our character and prepares us to use it properly. The building process makes us stronger, makes us smarter, makes us wiser, makes us more patient, and gives us the experience that we need. There is great danger when we are given things on a silver platter, without having worked for them, because we haven’t gone through the process of building ourselves sufficiently to know how to use our blessings. Many young couples struggle in marriage because they did not adequately prepare for marriage. They did not do the hard work to grow and build themselves before entering this stage. Already in their teens, youths must be taught to push themselves to grow, to work on skills such as patience, communication, empathy, compassion, humility, compromise, listening, and other qualities which are so vital for a successful marriage. In order to get married, a young man or woman needs to make himself or herself into someone who can be a kind, generous, sensitive, responsible spouse. And this cannot happen without hard work. No growth process can transpire without a focused effort to grow. Several pesukim earlier, we read the famous mitzva of ושננתם לבניך – to teach Torah to our children (6:7). Rashi explains the word ושננתם to mean שיהיו דברי תורה מחודדים בפיך – “that the words of Torah must be ‘sharp’ in your mouths.” We need to familiarize ourselves with Torah, to the extent that we are fluent and well-versed. The commentaries note that the Torah here commands us to teach our children Torah – ושננתם לבניך – and in these same words, we are commanded to make sure that we know Torah. In order to teach properly, we need to first build our own knowledge. We cannot educate our children if we have not educated ourselves. Before a couple sets out to build a home, they need to build themselves. And even if a couple is already married – if they want to maintain a strong, happy marriage, and to build a happy family, they need to continually work on themselves and grow. The better people we are, the better marriages we will have, and the happier families we be able to build. The most important thing we need to do to build a strong, happy home is to build ourselves, our own characters, so that we will be the best spouses and the best parents that we can be.
The first pasuk of Parashat Devarim tells us that Moshe Rabbenu spoke to Beneh Yisrael at several different locations: במדבר, בערבה, מול סוף, בין פארן ובין תופל, ולבן וחצרות ודי-זהב . Rashi, based on earlier sources, explains that these are not actually names of places, but rather subtle references to serious sins which the people committed. Moshe here subtly chastised the people for the mistakes they made; in order to preserve their dignity, he listed names of places which were actually indirect allusions to their sins. The expression די-זהב , the Gemara (Berachot 32a) explains, refers to the עגל הזהב – the golden calf. The word די means “enough,” and so ודי זהב alludes to the fact that Hashem had showered Beneh Yisrael with so much gold עד שאמרו די – “until they said: enough!” – and this is what led to the sin of the golden calf. One of the commentators raised a simple question. Have we ever met anybody who thinks he has enough money? Don’t all people always want more, no matter how much they have? How was it possible that Beneh Yisrael said די – that they had enough, that they did not need any more? This commentator’s answer is so important, and so relevant to each and every one of us. He explains that in truth, we all would feel די , that we have enough, that we don’t need more than what we already have – but we don’t feel this way, because we see what other people have. When we see somebody with something we don’t have, we feel dissatisfied; we are upset that there’s something we should have but we don’t. Beneh Yisrael had gold in the desert because they brought the Egyptians’ riches with them when they left Egypt, and because the Egyptian horsemen had gold jewelry which washed ashore after the miracle of the splitting of the sea. The people all took the same amount, and so there was no discontentment. They felt they had enough, because they didn’t see anyone with something which they did not have. There is a rampant lie going around in our community. This lie is being told by the size of some people’s houses. We pass by a large house, with a long, wide driveway, and a beautiful garden illuminated by a magnificent lighting system – and we assume that life in that house must be great. The house’s appearance tells us that the people who live in the house have a perfect life. In some instances, of course, this is true. It is very possible that the house we see is the home of a happy family enjoying a beautiful life. But sometimes, the house is lying to us. The only thing we know for certain about the people living there is that they have a house that looks beautiful. That’s all. We know nothing about their health, about the relationship between the husband and wife, about the relationship between the kids, whether or not someone in the family is struggling with an addiction, or about the kind of pressure they are under to be able to afford this house. We know nothing. Case in point, I was once speaking with a woman who lives in a magnificent, enormous house, and she was telling me that she wished she lived in a much smaller home. I was astonished. I asked her why she would want to give up her beautiful, large house. She explains, “You have no idea what goes on inside the house. I would love to have simplicity.” Once again – we are certainly not insinuating that anyone with a large house is unhappy. This is of course not true. The point being made is that we don’t know. The fact that somebody has a larger home or a more expensive car, or goes on more lavish vacations, does not mean that he or she is living a better life than we do. In order to experience ודי זהב , a genuine sense of contentment and satisfaction, we have to stop believing the lies that our brains tell us. Our brains try to get us upset and frustrated by convincing us that other people have it better than we do, that they’re living the right way and we aren’t. This is simply a lie. It isn’t true. If we liked our house before we saw the house up the block, then we should like our house after we saw the house up the block. It is only if we lie to ourselves, telling ourselves that the person up the block must be happier than we are, that we will feel down and upset. Let’s stop these lies. ודי זהב . We have enough. Our lives are good. Sure, there are things missing, there are things that we want that we don’t have. But this doesn’t mean we need to be upset or frustrated. We can feel satisfied – as long as we stick to the truth, and stop lying to ourselves.
Parashat Maseh discusses the subject of ערי מקלט – the “cities of refuge” which were to be designated for the purpose of protecting people who killed somebody by accident. Angry relatives of the victim might want to murder the killer, and so the Torah commanded setting aside special cities where the killer could escape to and be protected from the victim’s relatives seeking revenge. Included in this mitzvah is a requirement to post signs directing people to these cities. In order to ensure that the accidental killer could reach the עיר מקלט swiftly and easily, without too much trouble or delay, the authorities were to put up signs throughout the country showing the way to these cities. Rav Aharon Kotler raised the question of why there is no requirement to put up signs directing people to Yerushalayim and the Bet Ha’mikdash . Three times a year – on Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot – there was an obligation of עלייה לרגל , to go to the Bet Ha’mikdash . People would also go there on other occasions, when they needed to bring a sacrifice. Why would the Torah make a point of requiring signs directing accidental killers to the ערי המקלט – something which, hopefully, was not needed very often – but did not require signs to help people each time they needed to go to the Bet Ha’mikdash , which happened at least three times a year? Rav Kotler gave what I believe is a very important and relevant answer. He explained that if there were no signs to the ערי מקלט , then the killer would need to ask people along the road for directions. They would then likely start asking him what happened, and he would have to tell them about how he tragically caused somebody’s death. The Torah wants to minimize negative talk, and so it required placing signs, such that the killer would not have to get into this conversation. When somebody is traveling to the Bet Ha’mikdash , however, the Torah specifically wants him to speak to people and tell them where he’s going. They will respond enthusiastically, wishing him a happy Yom Tov, and talking about the privilege of seeing the Bet Ha’mikdash . The Torah did not want signs directing people to the Bet Ha’mikdash so that they will ask for directions, leading to an upbeat, joyous conversation about the Bet Ha’mikdash . A crucial part of creating and maintaining a nurturing home environment, in which our children can thrive, is generating positivity and avoiding negativity. We need to try, as much as possible, to avoid negative comments and complaints, and to instead shower our children with compliments and praise. We should keep criticism to a minimum, and speak positively as much as we can. This is the kind of environment the Torah wants us to create as a nation, and this is the kind of environment that every family needs to create in their home. It is such an environment in which our children will feel safe, secure, loved, cherished and valued, a feeling which is necessary for them to grow and develop into the outstanding, accomplished people that they are capable of becoming.
Parashat Maseh begins with a list of Beneh Yisrael’s 42 journeys from their initial trek out of Egypt, until their final station at the banks of the Jordan River, before crossing into the Land of Israel. The Torah introduces this list with the words, “Eleh Maseh Beneh Yisrael” – “These are the journeys of the Children of Israel…” The Or Ha’haim Ha’kadosh (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743), commenting on this verse, notes the tradition explaining the difference between the words “Eleh” (“These”) and “Ve’eleh” (“And these”). When the Torah introduces a topic with the word “Eleh,” without the conjunction “And,” it seeks to emphasize that the information presented is to the exclusion of something else. The word “Eleh” should be understood to mean, “Specifically these,” as opposed to other things. The word “Ve’eleh,” by contrast, does not imply exclusion, and simply introduces information without setting it apart from anything else. The question thus arises as to the Torah’s intent in introducing the list of Beneh Yisrael’s journeys with the expression “Eleh Maseh Beneh Yisrael.” What is the Torah excluding? Why is the Torah telling us that specifically these are Beneh Yisrael’s journeys? The Or Ha’haim answers based on the Kabbalistic teaching that Beneh Yisrael’s journeys through the wilderness were necessary for the purpose of extracting the “Nisoseh Ha’kedusha” – “sparks of sanctity” – from the areas where they traveled. These regions were overrun by the forces of impurity, and Beneh Yisrael were required to journey and encamp at specific locations in order to retrieve the “sparks” of holiness which would otherwise fall prey to these harmful forces. This endeavor, the Or Ha’haim explains, could be achieved only in a state of what he calls “Kedusha Ha’shelema” – “perfect sanctity.” During the years of travel through the wilderness, Beneh Yisrael journeyed all together, with the presence of the Shechina, and they were engrossed in Torah learning. This combination of the entirety of Am Yisrael, Torah learning, and the divine presence created the powerful spiritual force necessary to wrestle the “Nisoseh Ha’kedusha” from the forces of impurity in the desert. The Or Ha’haim writes that Am Yisrael has never returned to this level since the generation of the wilderness; this powerful force of Kedusha was attained only during that time. For this reason, the Or Ha’haim writes, the Torah introduces this section with the words, “Eleh Maseh Beneh Yisrael” – indicating that only these were Beneh Yisrael’s journeys. The Torah is telling us that these journeys represented the pinnacle of journeying, the highest level of travel that has ever been attained. The greatest trip we can ever take is one which has a profound spiritual effect on the place where we travel to, and no trip ever achieved this goal to the same extent as Beneh Yisrael’s travels through the wilderness. Wherever we find ourselves, and wherever we travel, we must make it our priority to “retrieve the sparks of sanctity,” to generate Kedusha, through prayer, Misva observance, and Torah study. If we achieve this goal, then our journey will have been truly significant and meaningful, in a manner resembling the journeys of our righteous ancestors through the wilderness.
Parashat Pinhas begins with Hashem announcing the reward that would be given to Pinhas, the grandson of Aharon, who saved Beneh Yisrael during the tragic incident of Ba’al Pe’or . The people had committed severe sins with the women of Moav, and Hashem punished them by bringing a deadly plague that killed thousands of people. The plague ended only when Pinhas stood up and killed two public violators – the leader of one of the tribes, woman from Midyan with whom he committed a public sinful act. Hashem would have destroyed the entire nation if Pinhas had not done what he did. Hashem announced that Pinhas’ reward would be בריתי שלום – “My covenant of peace.” According to one view, this means that Pinhas would be Eliyahu Ha’navi, who will come in the future to prepare the Jewish People for Mashiah . Just as Pinhas brought peace between Hashem and the people at the time of the sin of Ba’al Pe’or , he will also bring peace between Hashem and His nation in the future, at the time of the final redemption. What does all this mean for us? And what is the connection between Pinhas’ act and Mashiah ? The idea to lure Beneh Yisrael to sin was conceived by Bilam, whom we read about in the previous parashah , Parashat Balak. He was hired to place a curse on Beneh Yisrael , but he was not successful, and so he advised luring the people to sin, instead – a plan which, unfortunately, succeeded. Bilam describes himself as שתום העין – a man with a “closed eye.” The Rabbis explain that we are created with two eyes because we are to look at the world from two different viewpoints. One eye is to see the here-and-now, our current and immediate needs and wants. The other eye is to look beyond the here-and-now, toward our long-term goals, seeing the purpose for which we were brought into this world, and all that we are meant to accomplish during our brief sojourn on earth. Bilam set out to destroy Beneh Yisrael by “closing” their second “eye,” by having them see only the here-and-now, the enjoyment that they could experience in the present. Most of the mistakes that people make result from the closing of the second eye, from their failure to see beyond the present moment. They forget their long-term goals and purpose, and focus only on the vain pleasures available to them right now. This is how Bilam nearly succeeded in destroying Beneh Yisrael – by closing their second eye. Pinhas ended the plague by doing something drastic, redirecting the people’s attention toward the things that really matter. He in essence opened their second eye, making them look beyond the present moment, and be mindful of the greater purpose for which they were created. The Mishnah (Eduyot 8:7) teaches that Eliyahu Ha’navi is going to come before Mashiah לרחק המקורבין...ולקרב המרוחקין – “to distance those who are close…and to bring close those who are distant.” One explanation of this teaching is that Eliyahu will come to fix our priorities, to show us that the things which are “close,” that we focus our attention on, that we spend a great deal of time of on, should be “distanced,” and moved down to a lower rung of our priority scale. And he will show us how to bring “closer” into focus that which we have “distanced,” the important things, the things that really matter, the goals and ambitions that should be our highest priority. This is why Pinhas is Eliyahu – because both “open our eyes” to give us proper perspective. They teach us that we need to look beyond the here-and-now, beyond the vain matters that take up our time and to which we devote our attention, to see the greater purpose of life, the important goals that we ought to be pursuing. Let us all work to keep both eyes open, to of course tend to our needs and enjoy the world, while always remaining cognizant of the important missions that we have been brought here to accomplish.
The Torah in Parashat Pinhas tells about the census taken of Beneh Yisrael shortly before they crossed into the Land of Israel. We find in the Torah’s account of this census a list of the families of each tribe. The tribe of Yissachar, for example, consisted of four families, established by the four sons of Yissachar – Tola, Puva, Yashub and Shimron (26:23-24). The Or Ha’haim Ha’kadosh (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743) comments that the name “Yissachar,” and the names of his sons, actually convey to us various lessons relevant to Torah learning. Tradition teaches that the tribe of Yissachar devoted itself to learning and became outstanding scholars, and were supported by the people of the tribe of Zebulun, who worked as merchants and shared their earnings with the scholars of Yissachar. The name “Yissachar,” the Or Ha’haim writes, represents the phrase “Yesh Sachar” – “there is reward,” indicating to us that the greatest reward we can earn is the reward for immersion in Torah study. Likewise, the names of Yissachar’s sons, which then became the names of the families of this tribe of scholars, teach us about the way to approach the pursuit of Torah scholarship. Yissachar’s first son is called “Tola,” which means “worm.” This alludes to the quality of humility, which is vital for succeeding in learning. Moreover, the silkworm produces precious silk from its mouth – a symbol of how much one can achieve and produce through his mouth, by speaking words of Torah. Yissachar’s second child is named “Puva,” which is related to the word “Peh” – mouth, but with the letter “Heh” substituted with a “Vav.” The Or Ha’haim notes that according to the wisdom of Kabbala, the letter “Vav” is associated with Torah, and thus the name “Puva” expresses the quality of utilizing one’s mouth for Torah learning. The family that descended from this son is known as the “Puni” family, a word that resembles “Panui” – cleared, or emptied. In order to attain Torah scholarship, one must reduce his indulgence in food, and in idle chatter and frivolity, “clearing” his mouth so that it can be used exclusively to speak the sacred words of the Torah. The name “Yashub,” the Or Ha’haim writes, alludes to “Yeshiba” (literally, “sitting”), the need to devote a great deal of time and effort to Torah study. The Or Ha’haim explains that “Yeshiba” connotes permanence, consistent attendance and regular learning, as opposed to an occasional visit to the study hall. This commitment is an indispensable prerequisite to achievement in Torah learning. Finally, the fourth son is called “Shimron,” a name derived from the root “SH.M.R.,” which means “guard.” A student of Torah must exercise extreme care in all his behavior, to ensure to not even appear to act improperly. The Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (86a) tells of certain great Sages who refrained from activities which are, in and of themselves, perfectly acceptable, but could be misunderstood as inappropriate. A student of Torah must see himself as a representative of Torah, as an ambassador, because this is how others see him. His behavior will help shape other people’s opinion of Torah and of dedicated religious Jews. And thus one of Yissachar’s children was named “Shimron” – emphasizing the importance of “Shemira,” of guarding oneself to ensure that he does not do anything which could potentially reflect negatively on the Torah and its adherents.
Parashat Balak tells the story of two men – Balak and Bilam – who worked together to try to destroy Beneh Yisrael . Balak was the king of Moav, and he was afraid that Beneh Yisrael might wage war against his country. He hired Bilam to place a curse on them so they would be destroyed. But Hashem intervened and forced Bilam to bless Beneh Yisrael , instead. The Gaon of Vilna makes a comment about the names of these two men – בלק and בלעם . The letters of these two names – ב,ל,ק,ב,ל,ע,מ – can be rearranged to spell the names of two nations that waged war against Beneh Yisrael : בבל and עמלק . Balak and Bilam brought together the evil forces of these two nations – Bavel (Babylonia) and Amalek – thus posing an especially dangerous threat to our people. Let us examine what these two nations represent, in order to understand why this combination is so dangerous. The area of Bavel was so named because it was there where the people tried to rebel against Hashem by building a tower to the heavens, resulting in בלל ה' את שפת האדם – Hashem “mixed together” people’s languages. The word בבל means “mixture,” of many different things coming together, and Bavel was the place where different languages and cultures became mixed. Interestingly, the Gemara in Masechet Sanhedrin gives another explanation for the name בבל , stating that it alludes to the Talmud, which was written there in Babylonia (and is thus called the תלמוד בבלי ), and which is a “mixture” of all the different parts of Torah. “Mixing” many different things together can be both very good and very bad. When we are open to mixing together different things, we can come up with something beautiful and powerful like the תלמוד בבלי , the Gemara. But on the other hand, being open to “mixtures” of all kinds allows for the acceptance of ideas and behaviors that should never be accepted. The United States of America was founded on two principles – freedom, and equality. These two foundational concepts are what allow American Jews to live and flourish in this country, practicing our religion and building wonderful Torah institutions. Never throughout our two thousand years of exile have we had it any better, and we must be extremely grateful to the United States for granting us this opportunity. However, this country’s quality of בבל , of allowing everything into a “mixture,” has resulted in everything being accepted. It has become taboo to call something “wrong” and sinful. Behaviors that should never be considered acceptable have now been normalized, even in our community. What makes this problem especially difficult to deal with is that it is combined with “Amalek.” Amalek is the nation that waged war against Beneh Yisrael soon after they left Egypt. When all other nations recognized Hashem and stood in awe of Beneh Yisrael , Amalek went to fight them. Amalek, then, represents the effort to forcefully oppose our values. Today, unfortunately, society is trying to force anti-Torah values down our throats. In the name of progressivism and equality, we are being told that we must accept things which the Torah rejects. This is particularly so in universities, where students are expected to conform to the prevailing values and attitudes, many of which run in direct contrast to the Torah. In response to Amalek’s attack, Moshe appointed his disciple, Yehoshua, to lead the battle against Amalek. Yehoshua embodies the concept of מסורה , of receiving the tradition from the previous generation. The first Mishna in Pirkeh Avot teaches, משה קיבל תורה מסיני ומסרה ליהושע – “Moshe received the Torah from Sinai, and transmitted it to Yehoshua .” In order to defend ourselves against Amalek, we need to recommit ourselves to the process of מסורה , of conveying our tradition. Parents need to speak to their children about what the Torah teaches us, about what we believe, about what Hashem expects of us. This must be done in a way the children can understand and relate to, so they are equipped with the knowledge and commitment to ward off the dangerous influences that are all around us. In Parashat Balak, Hashem protected us from Balak and Bilam. He is helping us today, too, in our struggle against the modern-day combination of Bavel and Amalek. But we must do our part, fortifying ourselves and our children with Torah values so we can stand strong and resilient in our struggle against the powerful cultural forces that we are up against.
At the end of Parashat Beha’alotecha, the Torah tells a story about Miriam, Moshe Rabbenu’s sister, who made some unkind remarks about Moshe to their brother, Aharon. Moshe, due to his special stature as a prophet, separated from his wife, and Miriam thought this was wrong. Hashem instantly punished Miriam with tzara’at for speaking lashon ha’ra about Moshe Rabbenu. In the middle of this story, the Torah interjects by telling us something about Moshe: והאיש משה עניו מאד מכל האדם אשר על פני האדמה – Moshe was the humblest man on the face of the earth. Why are we told that here, in this context? How is Moshe Rabbenu’s unparalleled humility relevant to the story of Miriam’s lashon ha’ra ? The commentaries explain that the Torah here is making the point that Moshe was not bothered at all by Miriam’s remarks. He heard about what she said, and he did not respond. He could have very easily told her: “Are you serious?! Do you not know who I am? Do you not realize that I spent forty days in the heavens without eating, receiving the Torah directly from G-d?! Are you really in a position to question why I had to do this?” But he did not respond. He remained silent. The Rambam writes that this is one of the things we learn from the story of Miriam. If she was punished for making comments which were not especially hurtful, and which did not bother Moshe Rabbenu at all, then certainly one must avoid speaking lashon ha’ra that is truly damaging and can cause harm to the person spoken about. Moshe’s silence after Miriam’s lashon ha’ra provides us with an instructive example of an important teaching in the Gemara: הנעלבין ואינן עולבים, שומעין חרפתן ואין משיבין, עושין מאהבה ושמחין ביסורין – עליהן הכתוב אומר, "ואוהביו כצאת השמש בגבורתו." Those who are insulted but do not insult, who hear their shame but do not react, who act with love and rejoice in suffering – about them the verse says, “Those who love Him are like the sun going out in all its force.” The Gemara here emphasizes the great power – בגבורתו – of a person who can remain silent in the face of an insult. One of the most effective ways to earn Hashem’s blessings is to master this most difficult skill – to not respond, to keep quiet, to prevent an insensitive or hurtful remark from snowballing into a full-blown fight. The Gemara similarly teaches us elsewhere: אין העולם מתקיים אלא בשביל מי שבולם את עצמו בשעת מריבה – “The world exists only in the merit of one who restrains himself in a time of argument.” The merit of keeping silent, instead of turning an insult into a fight, is so powerful that it could sustain the entire earth. Why is this quality so powerful? What makes the merit of remaining silent so unique? Other mitzvot can be prepared for in advance. If a person becomes inspired to begin praying three times a day, he can figure out how to arrange his schedule and set reminders for himself to make sure he fulfills his prayer obligations. This is not easy, of course, but it something that a person can plan ahead of time. Likewise, if a person makes the courageous decision to start being more careful about Shabbat observance, he can prepare during the week so that he can properly observe Shabbat. But the quality of שומעין חרפתם ואינן משיבין , remaining silent after hearing an insult, is a spur-of-the-moment decision. It means that when, out of the blue, somebody says something hurtful, right there at the heat of the moment we choose to keep our mouth closed and not say anything. This is not something we can prepare for ahead of time. It requires us to develop our humble character, learning from Moshe Rabbenu, recognizing that what others say about us does not deserve our attention or our anxiety. Stories abound of people who were in a situation where they remained silent after being insulted or embarrassed, and then experienced great blessing. This is not some esoteric Kabbalistic concept; it is something that is stated explicitly in the Gemara, and has been attested to by many people throughout the ages. This is a quality that we should all try to master. If we develop this powerful skill, then we will save ourselves, our families and our community so much fighting, aggravation and unpleasantness, and we will bring upon ourselves Hashem’s limitless blessings.
The Torah in Parashat Naso presents the famous mitzvah of birkat kohanim – the blessing that the kohanim give to the rest of the people. In our community, this mitzvah is observed each day even in our time – every morning, the kohanim stand in front of the synagogue and pronounce the berachah dictated by the Torah. This berachah consists of three parts: יברכך ה' וישמרך – “Hashem shall bless you and protect you” יאר ה' פניך אליך ויחונך – “Hashem shall shine His countenance upon you and give you grace” ישא ה' פניו אליך וישם לך שלום – “Hashem shall show you favor, and grant you peace” The Hatam Sofer offers an important explanation for these three blessings that comprise birkat kohanim . The first blessing – יברכך ה' וישמרך – as early commentators explain, is a wish for material blessing. The kohanim bless us that Hashem should grant us wealth, and then protect that wealth ( וישמרך ) from being lost. However, wealth can create a number of problems. Often, when people enjoy financial success, they become competitive. They start looking at what other people have – their homes, their cars, their designer clothing – and try to compete. Instead of enjoying their newfound prosperity, they are worried about and preoccupied with rivaling the people around them. The kohanim therefore bless the people that after achieving success, יאר ה' פניו אליך ויחנך – Hashem should give them the ability to enjoy their blessings, without feeling the pressure to compete with other people. Additionally, many people who begin to achieve financial success crave more. They cannot enjoy what they have, because they feel they need even more. And so the kohanim bless, ישא ה' פניו אליך וישם לך שלום – that Hashem should grant us inner peace and contentment, that we should be able to enjoy all that we have without worrying about what we do not have. Too many people are not happy in life because they are waiting for something to happen. Instead of enjoying their children, they are waiting for them to grow up, or to get married. Instead of enjoying their job, they are waiting for the next promotion or raise. Instead of enjoying their home, they are waiting until they can afford to expand or move into a bigger home. In order to experience true happiness and inner peace, we need to enjoy the present, and to celebrate the blessings we already have. We must enjoy our children when they are young, and when they still live with us at home, before they move on and get married. We must enjoy the money Hashem has given us right now, without worrying about when we will have more. The kohanim bless us each day that we should experience inner peace. But in order for this to happen, we need to do our part, and strive to feel grateful for, and happy with, that which we already have, rather than discontentedly and impatiently waiting until we have more.
Is it ok for a husband not to enjoy running the errands that his wife sends him on? Is it enough to get them done, even if he does so begrudgingly? And is it ok for a wife to not enjoy the housework that she does, preparing meals and straightening up, even though she knows that she’s doing it for her husband? Of course it’s ok. Husbands and wives have obligations to one another, and as long as they fulfill those obligations, it’s fine. They don’t have to enjoy it. But this is not true of spending time with one another, talking to one another, bonding with one another. This is the core essence of the relationship. If a husband or wife does not enjoy the time spent with one another, then there is a problem. Spending time together is not a responsibility, but the actual relationship, and if it isn’t enjoyable, then there is something very wrong with the relationship. It’s ok not to enjoy going to the cleaners, but it’s not ok not to enjoy being together. The same is true of our relationship with Hashem. When it comes to almost all the mitzvot , the important thing is that the obligation is fulfilled, even if one does not find the mitzvah enjoyable. Of course, mitzvot like Shabbat, holidays, praying, tallit and tefillin are so much easier if they are enjoyable. But they don’t have to be enjoyable. One can be a good Jew by performing the mitzvot even if he or she does not enjoy it. The important exception is Torah learning. The pasuk says, שלום רב ל אוהבי תורתך – those who love Torah are rewarded with an abundance of peace. Learning Torah doesn’t suffice; one has to love learning. It has to be enjoyable. The reason is because learning Torah is the way we “spend time” with Hashem. This is how we build our relationship with Him. The other mitzvot are like the “errands” and “chores” that we have to get done. They’re necessary for the relationship, but they’re not the relationship. Learning Torah is our relationship with Hashem – and so we need to enjoy it. Which brings us to the obvious question: what if one doesn’t enjoy learning? What if a person tries learning and doesn’t find it enjoyable? I once brought a group of students to Lakewood, to observe the yeshiva and kollel students learning with rigor and passion. They then met with one of the great rabbis there, Rav Gershon Ribner, and they asked him this exact question: how does a person develop a love for learning Torah? He answered by suggesting an analogy to swimming. A person who doesn’t know how to swim hates going into the water. He is not comfortable, he is scared, and he can’t wait to get out. But once a person figures out what to do, he doesn’t want to leave. A person who knows how to swim loves swimming. In order to develop a love for learning, Rav Ribner said, we have to “dive” into it, and learn how to “swim,” how to do it. Of course, it will be difficult and not particularly enjoyable at first. It’s not going to be fun right away. But once we “dive in” and figure it out, we won’t want to leave. The Torah in the Book of Shemot tells that after Beneh Yisrael crossed the sea, they journeyed for several days in the desert without finding any water, until they found bitter, undrinkable water. Hashem commanded Moshe to throw a branch into the water, and this miraculously sweetened the water. Some Rabbis saw this story as teaching us about the process of Torah learning. At first, the experience might be “bitter.” The “waters” of Torah do not “taste” good when one first tries. It is only after one “throws” himself into Torah – like the branch which Moshe threw into the water – that it becomes sweet and enjoyable. The holiday of Shavuot, when we celebrate Matan Torah , is the perfect opportunity to “dive” into Torah. For those who until now have felt uncomfortable learning, or haven’t really found learning enjoyable, this is the time to try to “dive in,” to make a commitment to struggle and work hard, and trust that the “bitter waters” will become “sweet.” Let us use this opportunity to take the “dive,” to immerse ourselves in Torah even if we find it difficult, realizing that this is how we build our relationship with Hashem, which is the “sweetest” joy we can ever experience.
Parashat Bamidbar is almost always read on the Shabbat immediately preceding Shavuot. What is the connection between this parashah and Matan Torah , the event that we celebrate on Shavuot? Parashat Bamidbar tells us how Beneh Yisrael encamped in the desert. Each tribe lived together in its designated place, with its unique banner. The Mishkan , where the Shechinah (divine presence) rested, was situated in the center of the camp. This arrangement symbolizes the fact that although the Jewish People consists of different groups, each with different ways of doing things, we are, ultimately, all part of one nation, of one entity, devoted to Hashem, which must be at the center of our lives. I once posed the following question to a group of young men and women from our community: If you find yourself sitting on a bus, and to your right is a Hassidic person, and to your left is a non-Jew, to which of these passengers do you relate more? To my dismay, several of the youngsters replied that they would relate more to the non-Jew. They explained that their lives far more closely resemble those of non-Jews than to the lives of Hassidic Jews who don’t use the same technology, who observe different customs, many of whom speak Yiddish, and who follow stricter halachic standards. This mistake, I believe, stems from a preoccupation with externals, from losing sight of our core identity. If we identify ourselves based on our iPhone, on our Instagram page, the videos we watch, the kinds of houses we live in, the vacations we go on, and the clothes we wear, then indeed, we might find ourselves feeling closer to our non-Jewish neighbors than to Jews from different communities and backgrounds. But this is not how we should be identifying ourselves. We are identified by our commitment to Hashem, by our mitzvot , by the Torah we learn, by the principles of emunah that we live by, and by the tefilot we recite. And if this is our core identity, then we feel a special kinship and connection with all our fellow Jews, no matter how different their lifestyle and customs are from ours. Once our identity is formed by our belief in Hashem and the Torah, then everything else is external and of limited significance. If our priority is Torah and mitzvot , then we feel a close bond with all others who share this commitment, even if they express it differently than we do. Let us take the example of siblings who find themselves in a fight. Usually, when siblings fight, it’s because they are too concerned with things that shouldn’t matter that much to them, such as money or personal honor. But when one of the two quarreling siblings faces some dire crisis, Heaven forbid, they in most cases come together and forget about the fight. Times of crisis redirects our focus onto what really matters, onto what’s really important. And when this is our focus, we realize that what we have in common far exceeds what divides us. The Torah says that when Beneh Yisrael arrived at Mount Sinai to receive the Torah, ויחן שם ישראל נגד ההר – they encamped facing the mountain. Rashi, in one of the most famous and oft-quoted passages in his Torah commentary, notes that the Torah uses the singular form – ויחן , instead of the plural form, ויחנו . The singular form is used, Rashi explains, to indicate to us that the nation encamped at Mount Sinai כאיש אחד בלב אחד – “as one person, with one heart,” with perfect unity. Previously, the pasuk says, ויחנו במדבר – “they encamped in the desert,” using the plural form. At first, they were not united. But once they focused their minds on receiving the Torah, and their attention was redirected onto what really matters, they bonded together, כאיש אחד בלב אחד . When we have our priorities straight, and we focus on what’s truly valuable and important, we find that we have so much in common with all our fellow Jews. Of course, we absolutely must be respectful, friendly, courteous and kind to all people, Jew and non-Jew alike. Every human being is endowed with the image of G-d and must be respected. But our fellow Jews must be viewed and loved as family, no matter how different they are from us. This is why Parashat Bamidbar is always read before Shavuot. We are divided into different “tribes,” each in its own territory, and each with its own “flag,” its own unique characteristics and ways of doing things. But we must feel a close bond with one another, despite our differences. Shavuot celebrates Matan Torah , the event that gave us our core identity. The Torah defines who we are – a nation charged with a special mission. The more we recognize that this is who we are, that our Torah commitment defines us far more than our homes, our cars, our clothes and our vacations, the more closely we will feel connected with all our fellow Jews, and bond with them “like one person with one heart.”
Parashat Behar begins with the mitzvah of shemitah , which forbids a farmer from working the land for an entire year every seven years. The Torah emphasizes that Hashem taught this mitzvah to Moshe Rabbenu בהר סיני , at Mount Sinai. Rashi, in one of the most famous passages in his Torah commentary, raises the question, מה עניין שמיטה אצל הר סיני – how is shemitah related to Mount Sinai? All the mitzvot were given to us at Mount Sinai, so why did the Torah need to tell us that the mitzvah of the shemitah was given at Mount Sinai? Rashi answers that the Torah made this point to clarify that just as all the details of the laws of shemitah were given at Mount Sinai, the details of the other mitzvot were given at Mount Sinai, as well. We might have assumed that only the generalities of the mitzvot were given at Mount Sinai. The Torah therefore specified that the detailed laws of shemitah were given at Sinai, to make it known that the details of all the mitzvot were given at Sinai. Still, the question remains, why was shemitah chosen to be the mitzvah that would teach us this? Of all the mitzvot , G-d chose the mitzvah of shemitah as the one about which the Torah would emphasize that even the details were given at Mount Sinai, showing us that this is true of all the mitzvot . Why? All mitzvot require us to stop and place our trust in Hashem. On Friday afternoon, we have to stop, leave work, close our businesses, and trust that Hashem will take care of us. Every morning, no matter how busy we are, no matter how many things we have to do, we need to first pray. Every afternoon and evening, no matter what’s going on, no matter how much pressure we have, we stop and pray minhah and arvit . Every year in Nissan. we need to take the time to thoroughly clean the house and prepare for Pesach. When we buy a house, no matter how much it cost us and how big a mortgage we have to pay, we need to buy mezuzot and put them on the doorposts. Whenever our parents need our help, we are to stop what we’re doing and help them. Every mitzvah requires some kind of sacrifice, some kind of investment of time or money, and it requires us to trust that Hashem is taking care of us. When seen from this perspective, shemitah is the quintessential mitzvah . No other mitzvah requires a greater sacrifice, and a greater amount of emunah , than shemitah . For an entire year, the farmer has to take off from work, and let anyone who wishes take produce from his fields. This is an incredible sacrifice, which is possible only if one has firm faith in Hashem. This is why the Torah chose shemitah as the model of all other mitzvot – because it teaches us the core concept underlying all mitzvot , the notion of stopping what we’re doing, and placing our trust in Hashem. There is a famous Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot that we all know, but very few of us are able to put into practice: איזהו עשיר, השמח בחלקו – “Who is wealthy? He who is happy with his portion” (4:1). So many people are unhappy and dissatisfied. They have many blessings, but there is something missing that they crave, and which makes them discontented. One way we can overcome this tendency is to consider the Hatam Sofer ’s comments on this Mishnah. The Hatam Sofer explains the Mishnah to mean that we should feel content by recognizing that everything a person has in his life is חלקו , just a portion of the blessings that Hashem has in store for him. We feel unhappy because we feel stuck in our current position, we assume that things will never change. The Mishnah teaches us that we can enjoy happiness if we trust that Hashem has much more to give us, that what we have now is just חלקו , a portion of what He will still give us. This is the message of shemitah – to recognize that true happiness and serenity comes when we place our faith in Hashem, and are able to let go, to stop what we’re doing, and have faith that He is caring for us, has always been caring for us, and will continue caring for us. If we master this skill, the ability to stop and trust in Hashem, then we will truly be עשיר , living with real joy and contentment.
At the end of Parashat Emor, the Torah tells an upsetting story about a man from Beneh Yisrael who got into a fight, and as a result, he publicly cursed Hashem, Heaven forbid. The Rabbis explain that he had lost a court case against his fellow, and he was so angry that he went into public and blasphemed the Name of G-d. Moshe Rabbenu did not know how to respond, and Hashem spoke to Him and taught that somebody who commits such a terrible act must be put to death. There is much to say about and to learn from this incident. For one thing, this man’s behavior shows us the precise opposite of how we are to react to an adverse situation, when things don’t go our way. He cursed Hashem – teaching us that the right thing to do in times of challenge is to have emunah , to trust that Hashem is leading us the right way, and that every difficult situation is an opportunity for us to grow and learn so we become greater people. But there is also another aspect of this story that is worth considering. This is one of five instances in the Torah where a situation arose and Moshe did not know how to respond. The others are: · When the מקושש עצים publicly desecrated Shabbat, and Moshe did not know how he should be punished. Hashem said that the man should be put to death. · When the daughters of Tzelofhad, a man who had died with no sons and only daughters, asked to receive the portion in the Land of Israel that had been allotted to him. Hashem said that they indeed should receive their father’s portion, establishing this as the halachah in cases where a man dies and leaves only daughters. · When a group of people could not offer the korban pesach because of their state of impurity, and they asked Moshe for the opportunity to offer the sacrifice. G-d established the halachah of פסח שני , whereby people who cannot offer the sacrifice on Pesach can do so the next month, on the 14 th of Iyar. · When a man named Zimri committed a public sin with a woman from the nation of Moav, Moshe did not know how to respond, until Pinhas arose and killed the violators, based on an exceptional halachah authorizing a zealous person to kill the violators in this kind of extreme situation. These were all unpleasant, unwanted situations that arose, and which resulted in the teaching of new mitzvot . In all four instances, kedushah was added to the Jewish People because of something terrible, or at least undesirable, that took place. Winston Churchill said: “A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.” When we confront an unwanted situation, our reaction must be to keep moving forward, to do the best we can, trusting that somewhere in this situation is an opportunity for achievement and growth. These five stories in the Humash of times when Moshe Rabbenu needed to learn a new halachah shows us that problems and crises are actually opportunities to learn more, to lift ourselves higher, and to become better people. Instead of falling apart in hard times, like the blasphemer in our parashah , let us instead try to find the opportunity within even difficulty, and turn every situation we find ourselves in into a meaningful and valuable learning experience.
One of the commands in Parashat Kedoshim is לא תעוננו (19:26), which refers to a certain type of witchcraft which was common in the ancient world. The people would decide what to do based on superstitions, determinig that certain days of the week or the month were “luckier” than others. They would choose what to do, and when to do it, based on irrational factors, using various superstitious theories. We are forbidden from following these practices, because we are to make decisions sensibly, based on reason, and with emunah , recognizing that ultimately, the outcome of our decisions rests in Hashem’s hand, and He will determine whether our decisions will succeed. Many people struggle when it comes to making decisions. Whenever they need to decide, they have a very difficult time. Indecisiveness can be stifling. It consumes a great deal of time and energy, leaving us exhausted, and preventing us from being accomplished. The tendency to be indecisive, the fear of making the wrong decision, is likely what led the idolaters in the ancient world to their superstition. They came up with random systems to decide for them, so they would not have to make the decisions themselves. One thing we can do to help cure the ill of indecisiveness is to remember that everything depends on Hashem. We are of course to make the best decision we can, to think the issue through and give it our best shot. But once we recognize that the outcome is determined solely by Hashem, the process becomes so much easier, so much less stressful, and so much less time-consuming. When we have a major decision to make, such as where to live, whom to marry, which career path to take, and so on, we need to think through all the different factors, while placing our faith in Hashem, and trusting that everything is ultimately in His hands. In the 19 th century, there was an illustrious yeshiva in Lithuania that was known as the “mother” of all yeshivot. The Volozhin Yeshiva produced the greatest Torah minds of Eastern Europe, and many outstanding yeshivot were outgrowths of this yeshiva. It was a citadel of Torah learning, the crown jewel of advanced Torah scholarship at that time. In 1892, the decision was made to close the yeshiva. The Russian government wanted to exert its control over the yeshiva, and sought to impose changes to the curriculum. There was a great deal of controversy surrounding the question of what the yeshiva should do, and ultimately, the decision was made to shut its doors. Fast forward 130 years later. There is a town in New Jersey with a large yeshiva – the largest yeshiva outside Israel – that was established following the model of Volozhin. This town now has dozens upon dozens of yeshivot, and thousands of yeshiva and kollel students. This town, of course, is Lakewood. Interestingly enough, there is a sign in Lakewood that reads, “Established 1892.” The Rabbis who decided to close the Volozhin Yeshiva made the best decision they could, and left the rest in Hashem’s hands. Sure enough, He was already planting the seeds for the rebirth of the Volozhin style of learning across the ocean, in New Jersey. Making decisions can be frightening, but it becomes less difficult when we approach our decisions with emunah , recognizing that ultimately, the outcome depends on Hashem, who always does what is best for us.
Parashiyot Tazria & Metzora discuss the laws of tzara’at – the afflictions that would affect people guilty of the sin of lashon ha’ra , speaking negatively about other people. The famous work Hovot He’levavot makes a very dramatic statement about the sin of lashon ha’ra . When a person departs this world, the Hovot Ha’levavot writes, he will be presented with a list of the all the wrongs that he had committed during his life. One part of the list will be very familiar to him – he will see all the mistakes that he remembers doing. But then there will be another section, consisting of sins which he never remembers committing. He will then ask why he is being held accountable for these wrongs. It will be explained to him that these are sins committed by other people – but which he spoke about. Since he spoke lashon ha’ra about them, they are transferred into his “account,” and he is responsible for them. I do not claim to fully understand this concept – that a person is held accountable for other people’s sins which he spoke lashon ha’ra about. However, I feel that the Hovot Ha’levavot here is sending us a very powerful message about what makes lashon ha’ra so severe, and why it is so important for us to avoid it. When we talk about other people’s mistakes and other people’s faults, we bring all this into our lives. We engulf ourselves in negativity. We voluntarily choose to bring all this filth into our minds and into our thoughts. When we sit in our living rooms talking gossip, discussing what other people are doing wrong, we’re bringing all these mistakes into our living rooms. All this negativity becomes part of us, part of our lives. Negativity weighs us down. It takes away our energy, our vitality, our enthusiasm for life. This is why the Gemara teaches in Masechet Arachin that lashon ha’ra has the effect of “killing” three people – the person spoken about, the speaker, and the listener. The person spoken about, of course, can have his life ruined because of his tarnished reputation. But in addition, lashon ha’ra ruins the lives of the speaker and the listener, because all this negativity is now part of them. A famous pasuk in the Book of Mishleh (18:21) states, מות וחיים ביד לשון – “Death and life are in the hand of the tongue.” Our words can build and give life, and they can destroy and kill. If we use our faculty of speech to spread positivity, to give encouragement, to express praise, to compliment, to point out all the good in other people and in the world, then we build and create, and we sustain life. But if we use our tongues to gossip, to criticize, to bring down, to disparage, to discourage, to insult and to malign – then we spread negativity, thereby destroying our own world. This is why the process of purification for a person who was cured from tzara’at involves two birds – one of which slaughtered, while the other is dipped in the first bird’s blood and then sent away. Birds, which chirp loudly, symbolize the faculty of speech. The message to the metzora is that he needs to “kill” one part of his speech, but let the other “fly” and soar to great heights. He must work to eliminate the negativity, the gossip, and instead focus on speaking positive words, communicating positive messages. Let us use our mouths to create positivity, to make our world happier and more energized, and try to avoid all negativity which saps us of our energy and undermines our ability to fully enjoy life and achieve to our full potential.
Parashat Shemini has the distinction of marking the halfway point of the Humash. It contains the middle letter of the Torah, and the middle two words of the Torah. In the section listing those creatures which are allowed to be eaten and those that are forbidden, the Torah writes that כל הולך על גחון – creatures that walk about on their belly, meaning, serpents – are forbidden for consumption (11:42). The letter ו in the word גחון is enlarged in the Sefer Torah, indicating that this is the middle letter in the Torah. It is precisely in between the first half of the Torah and the second half. What is the special significance of this pasuk , for which it was chosen to be the halfway mark of the Torah? The snake is the symbol of the yetzer ha’ra (evil inclination). It was the snake that, back in Gan Eden , caused the first sin, by luring Havah to eat the forbidden fruit. Originally, the snake had legs, but as a punishment for luring Havah, G-d took away its legs, causing it to have to move about on its belly. The phrase כל הולך על גחון teaches us how we defeat the “snake,” the yetzer ha’ra , the way to take away its “legs” so it is lowly and powerless. The large ו – which in gematria equals 6 – alludes to the ששה סדרי משנה , the six orders of the Mishnah, which is the foundation of our תורה שבעל פה , the oral law. This is how we defeat the yetzer ha’ra . The Gemara in Masechet Kiddushin teaches that Hashem has told the Jewish People: בראתי יצר הרע, בראתי תורה תבלין – “I have created the evil inclination, and I have created Torah as the antidote.” The way we resist and overcome the yetzer ha’ra is through Torah learning, by engrossing ourselves in the wisdom and holiness of the Torah. And so right in the middle of the Humash, we are told, כל הולך על גחון – that we subdue the “snake,” the evil inclination, through the ו , representing Torah study. As mentioned, this parasha also marks the halfway point in terms of words. In the pasuk , ואת שעיר החטאת דרש דרש משה והנה שורף (literally, “Moshe demanded the goat that was brought as a sin-offering, but it had been burned” – 10:16), the repetitious phrase דרש דרש is the middle point of the Torah – the first דרש is the last word of the first half of the Torah, and the second דרש is the first word of the second half. The word שעיר means “goat,” but is also the name of the nation of Edom, which embodies the forces of evil in the world. The way we “burn” the negative tendencies within us is through דרש דרש – by studying, and then studying more. We overpower the yetzer ha’ra by devoting time and energy to the study of Torah. The spiritual challenges of our generation are unprecedented. Technology consumes so much precious time for so many people, and exposes them to many different kinds of sinful lures and temptations. The values of the surrounding society continue to deteriorate at an alarming rate, as things which were taboo just several years ago are now celebrated. It is probably no exaggeration to say that the yetzer ha’ra has never enjoyed such an advantage as it does in our day and age. However, as the Gemara teaches, בראתי יצר הרע, בראתי תורה תבלין . Hashem has presented us with enormous challenges, but He also provided us with the solution. Just as the yetzer ha’ra has been given unprecedented strength in our generation, so have we been given unprecedented opportunities for Torah learning. Never before in world history have there been so many yeshivot and kollelim, and so many possibilities for ordinary people to devote time to learning. Technology lures us to waste our time and to involve ourselves in things we shouldn’t be getting involved in, but it also gives us endless opportunities to learn, to delve into Torah, to grow, to get inspired. It is no coincidence that the generation that finds itself subject to the greatest temptations also finds itself blessed with the greatest opportunities for Torah learning. Hashem sends us the challenges, but also sends us the תבלין , the secret for overcoming them. Now more than ever, we need to commit ourselves to serious Torah learning. To meet our generation’s unprecedented challenges, we need to seize our generation’s unprecedented opportunities. In order to fight the lures and temptations that surround us, let us use our time for serious Torah learning, and immerse ourselves in the kedushah of Torah as a way of defeating the yetzer ha’ra so we can live the way Hashem wants us to live.
The third of the four questions in the מה נשתנה , which the child asks at the seder , has to do with the two “dippings”: שבכל הלילות אין אנו מטבילים אפילו פעם אחת, הלילה הזה שתי פעמים. The child observes that normally, no foods are dipped into liquids, whereas at the seder , we dip twice – we dip the karpas in salt water or vinegar, and we dip the marror in the haroset . The Skulener Rebbe noted that the seder is not, in fact, the only time when we dip twice. We also dip on the night of Rosh Hashanah – first we dip our challah in honey, and then we dip apple in honey. Why doesn’t the child ask about those dippings on Rosh Hashanah, and is bothered only by the two dippings at the seder ? The Rebbe answered that there is a basic difference between these two sets of dippings: on Rosh Hashanah, we dip in sweet honey, whereas at the seder , we dip first in salt water or vinegar, which is sour, and then in the haroset , which symbolizes the bricks that Beneh Yisrael had to make in Egypt, symbolizing the pain of slavery. Nobody ever asks questions about our “dipping” in “honey,” when we enjoy an abundance of sweetness. When things are going well, nobody asks, “Why me? Why is Hashem doing this to me?” But when we repeatedly are “dipped” in “vinegar” and “ haroset ,” when we go through hard times, when things are difficult – this is when we start asking questions… And so no questions are asked about the dippings on Rosh Hashanah, but they are asked concerning the dippings at the seder . This beautiful insight reminds us that when we find ourselves struggling with some problem, we must not forget all the “sweetness” that we enjoy. It is so important to step back once and a while to appreciate all that is right in our lives, all the remarkable blessings that we have, rather than only complain about the problems that we deal with. But there is also another lesson to take away from the Skulener Rebbe’s symbolic understanding of the “dippings.” The dippings we do on Pesach night are part of the seder – which literally means “order.” We must firmly believe that even the “sour” aspects of life, the hardships that we deal with, are part of Hashem’s “order,” part of His plan for us. Often, it might seem like things happen without any reason, randomly. We need to believe that even life’s struggles are part of the “ seder ,” that somehow, they are for our benefit, and they help us maximize our potential and become the great people that we are supposed to become. On this night, which is all about emunah , our belief that Hashem is always watching us, protecting us, and caring for us, we must remind ourselves that even the “sour” elements of our lives are part of Hashem’s plan, and that He is always helping us, even in life’s challenging moments.
The Gemara (Yevamot 63b) tells of a practice that was observed in some communities in ancient times when a boy would get married. This practice, at first glance, seems very peculiar, but upon further reflection, it presents a vitally important lesson, especially for this time of year, as we prepare for the celebration of Pesach. The people in these communities would turn to the groom and ask, מצא או מוצא – literally, “Found, or find?” The Gemara explains that מצא refers to a pasuk in Mishleh (18:22), מצא אשה מצא טוב – if one found a wife, then he found goodness. The word מוצא alludes to a pasuk in Kohelet (7:26) where King Shlomo states, ומוצא אני מר ממות את האשה – that he finds a bad wife “more bitter than death.” As mentioned, this seems very strange. Why would they ask a groom right at this point if he found “goodness” or if he found a wife “more bitter than death”? He just got married. He is euphoric. What kind of question is this? The answer can be found in one of the שבע ברכות , the special blessings recited under the chuppah and then during the week of celebration after the wedding. In this blessing, we ask Hashem to bring the new couple joy כשמחך יצירך בגן עדן מקדם – just as He brought joy to the very first couple, Adam and Havah, in Gan Eden . The model of joy that we wish for the new couple is the joy of Adam and Havah. The Rabbis explain that Adam had only woman in the world, and Havah had only one man in the world. There was nobody to whom to compare each other. It was clear beyond any shadow of a doubt that they married the right person. And this is our wish for the bride and groom – that they should always see each other the way Adam and Havah saw each other, as unquestionably the right partner. This is what the people meant when they asked the groom, מצא או מוצא . The word מצא is in the past tense, whereas מוצא is in the present tense. The phrase מצא אשה מצא טוב means that if a person gets married and then firmly believes that he already מצא , he found what he was looking for, that his search is over, then מצא טוב , he will feel joy and contentment in marriage. But if מוצא , if he is still searching, if he is still looking at others and comparing them to his wife, then מר ממוות – he is going to have a bitter life. When we compare our lives to others, we are going to be miserable. If we compare our children, our families, our spouses, our incomes, our houses, our vacations, or holidays, with those of the people around us, we are going to be miserable. As a Rabbi, I have had the opportunity to get to know many different kinds of people very well. And every one of them, no matter how wealthy they are, no matter what kind of families they have, no matter what kind of jobs or businesses they have, face something in their lives that really upsets them and troubles them. Everyone has problems. When we compare ourselves to others and feel that they have it better, we ignore this simple fact. We think that their lives are perfect, but they aren’t. Everyone has things in their lives which are difficult. There is no sense in comparing our lives to other people’s lives, because we are all struggling with something. And besides, Hashem has given each of us precisely what we need. The challenges that Hashem sends us are our opportunities for growth, to achieve greatness. Every person has different challenges, because every person has a different mission and unique potential to actualize. Why should I feel jealous about somebody else because he doesn’t have the challenges that I have? He has the challenges that he needs to actualize his potential, and I have the challenges that I need to actualize mine. Pesach celebrates our freedom from slavery. Let us make sure not to enslave ourselves during this season by comparing ourselves to others. There is nothing more confining than the assumption that we all have to be the same and do the same thing. This need to compare ourselves to others denies us contentment, and causes us to do things that we really shouldn’t be doing. Let us free ourselves from comparisons, so we can experience true happiness and fulfillment.
The first chapters of Parshat Vayikra discuss the various forms of sacrifices which people would bring under various circumstances. The Rabbis in the Midrash comment that when children are brought to school to begin learning Torah, the first subject they should learn – even before Parashat Bereshit, the story of creation, and even before the stories of the avot (patriarchs), of Yetziat Mitzrayim and Matan Torah – is this subject, the laws of the sacrifices. The reason, the Midrash explains, is הואיל וקרבנות טהורים והתינוקות טהורים, יבואו טהורים ויתעסקו בטהורים – “since the sacrifices are pure and the young children are pure, let those who are pure involve themselves in that which is pure.” We have the children first learn the subject of sacrifices in order to expose them to the themes of kedushah (holiness) and taharah (purity), expressing that we want them to remain holy and pure. Young children are innocent and pure – and from a very young age, we teach them about matters of holiness and purity so that they retain these qualities. The Rabbis here are teaching us that if we want to influence and motivate our children, we need to reach them when they’re young. We cannot wait until they are older to teach them about Torah life and what it is about; this process has to begin when they are very young. Parashat Vayikra marks the first time Hashem spoke to Moshe inside the Mishkan , which the people had just built. The Torah tells us elsewhere that Hashem’s voice came to Moshe from the top of the aron (ark), specifically, from in between the two keruvim (cherubs) which were placed on top of the aron . The keruvim were images of young children. Hashem’s voice came from the keruvim to teach us that Hashem’s voice can be heard the clearest when we are taught and trained from a young age, as small children. A young tree has soft branches that can be bent with relative ease. As a tree grows older, its branches become tough and sturdy, such that they cannot bend. The same is true of our children. In their younger years, they are impressionable. They are more open to our guidance and influence. Once they grow older, they became “tough” and resistant. Of course, it is never too late to learn and change. But the older a person gets, the more difficult this becomes. Parents need to take advantage of their children’s younger years, the stage when the children are טהורים , to expose them to טהורים , to matters of kedushah , in order to influence them and inspire them to follow Torah. As part of this effort, we need to be especially careful about the kind of messages we unintentionally convey to our children. One example is through the compliments we give them and others. When children hear their parents enthusiastically talk about how good-looking a certain young woman is, the children learn that this is what is important. When children hear their parents enthusiastically raving about other children who are smart and get excellent grades, they learn that what matters is intelligence and test scores, as opposed to hard work and effort. We need to reach our children when they’re young, to convey to them in their earlier years that what matters most is their connection to Hashem, their love of Torah, their middot (fine character traits), and hard work. These lessons cannot wait until they’re older; it is when they are young and טהורים that we must try to expose them to טהורים , to the beauty and kedusha of Torah values and Torah life.
Parashat Vayakhel begins with Moshe commanding the people to observe Shabbat. He says: ששת ימים תעשה מלאכה, וביום השביעי יהיה לכם קודש שבת שבתון לה' – “For six days, work shall be done; and on the seventh, there shall be a sacred day of rest for Hashem” (35:2). Why does Moshe mention the six workdays when telling the people that they must observe Shabbat? Why doesn’t he simply tell them not to work on Shabbat, instead of first saying that work should be done during the other six days? Secondly, we need to understand why Moshe says, ששת ימים תעשה מלאכה – “For six days, work shall be done .” Instead of saying, “You shall do work for six days,” Moshe says that work “will be done.” Why? The answer touches upon the balance between emunah (faith) and hishtadlut – the need to make an effort. Since Adam’s sin in Gan Eden , human beings need to work and struggle to obtain their needs. We don’t get everything we need right away. We have to work. However, the need to work has nothing at all to do with Hashem’s control over the results. We need to work because Hashem determined that we need to work. But the results are entirely up to Hashem. They do not depend on our work. This is why Yetziat Mitzrayim features so prominently in our tefilah , and why we are constantly reminded of the events surrounding our ancestor’s freedom from Egypt. Nobody would ever think that their efforts got them out of Egypt. Nobody would ever think that their jumping into the water made the sea split. It was clear and obvious that Hashem brought them out of Egypt and brought them through the sea. This is how we are to view everything in life. We work because we have to work – but the results depend solely on Hashem, and not on our efforts. People don’t get frustrated when they have to work hard; most people are prepared and even glad to work hard. The frustration comes when they don’t see their hard work yielding results. When they try so hard to get their daughter married, but she’s still single. When they run from interview to interview but still don’t have a job. When they invest so much time and effort into the business, but it’s still not making money. This is where emunah comes in. Once we believe that the work and the results are two completely separate things, life becomes much less frustrating. When we live with this emunah , from the outset we recognize that our efforts might not produce the results we want, and that the results will come from Hashem in the way He chooses. This realization saves us so much aggravation when things don’t work out the way we want. ששת ימים תעשה מלאכה . Moshe here teaches us that throughout the six days of workweek, we must realize that our work is being done, that the results are not dependent on us. Once we have this realization, then ביום השביעי יהיה לכם קודש – we can observe Shabbat properly, with complete serenity and peacefulness. The litmus test of emunah is how we experience Shabbat, if we remain perfectly calm and at ease on Shabbat, leaving everything in Hashem’s hands on this day when we are forbidden from working. Only if during the rest of the week we live with a sense of תעשה מלאכה , knowing with certainty that the results are being produced for us by Hashem, and not by our work, can we experience a true day of rest on Shabbat. And this mindset will also spare us so much anxiety and stress during the week. If we truly believe that תעשה מלאכה , then we will not be frustrated when we don’t see our efforts yielding results – because we already know that the results depend on Hashem, and not on the work that we put in.
Every so often, I am asked as to whether it is permissible to leave the television on during Shabbat. I respond by drawing an analogy to a family that purchases an expensive item on Amazon, and when the box arrives, the child sits on the box and says to his mother, “Wow, Mom, this is such a great box! I love it. Thank you so much for this new box!” The child sees value in the box, which is worth next to nothing – without realizing that there is something many times more valuable inside the box. The same is true of one who leaves the television turned on and watches it during Shabbat. This is not one of the 39 melachot (categories of activity forbidden by the Torah on Shabbat). Halachically speaking, it is far worse to drive, to turn on lights, and even to remove a bad leaf of lettuce from one’s salad on Shabbat. But if a person sees Shabbat as only a time for eating, sleeping, relaxing and socializing, and not a time for spiritual invigoration and inspiration, then he is like a child enjoying the Amazon box without bothering to open it and see what’s inside. The Zohar teaches that a talmid hacham , a Torah scholar, is compared to Shabbat. Somebody who immerses himself in Torah learning withdraws from the vanities of the world, from the things that the people around him are involved in, so that he can reach higher and connect to Hashem. Instead of pursuing the vain pleasures of the world, he devotes his free time to Torah study. This is what Shabbat is for. Throughout the week, we are involved in all kinds of activities, and we are exposed to all kinds of things. We hear and see all the nonsense of the society around us, the values and the ideals that are so foreign to Torah, and to the culture that seems so alluring but is in truth so empty. Shabbat is our time to withdraw, to receive inspiration, to connect with Hashem, to redirect our attention onto that which is really meaningful and really important. The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tisa emphasizes the special importance of observing Shabbat, and explains: כי אות היא ביני וביניכם לדורותיכם, לדעת כי אני ה' מקדשכם – “For it is a sign between Me and You for all your generations, to know that I am Hashem who makes you sacred” (31:13). Shabbat is the reminder that Hashem makes us sacred, that we are special, that we are different, that we are not like other peoples. We turn off our screens, we spend our time with our family and with our community in the synagogue, so we can reach higher. This is what Shabbat is supposed to be. This is the special gift of Shabbat. So if somebody leaves the television on, he might technically still be observing Shabbat, but he is enjoying the box, without opening it to access the valuable merchandise inside. The Talmud Yerushalmi teaches that it was difficult, in a sense, for the Rabbis to permit שאילת שלום – greeting people – on Shabbat. Meaning, although this is allowed, the Rabbis strongly considered forbidding it. How could this be? Isn’t Shabbat specifically a time for socializing, for getting together and spending time with friends? The answer is that once we understand what Shabbat is about, then, in principle, it should not be a time for socialization. Shabbat is a time to connect to Hashem, to build our relationship with Him, and so, theoretically, it is not a time for socializing. As a practical matter, of course, the Rabbis most definitely did not forbid socializing on Shabbat, and, to the contrary, we should make every effort to be friendly and to build our friendships on Shabbat. But the Yerushalmi’s statement teaches us that socializing must not divert our attention from the essence of Shabbat. If Shabbat becomes only about eating, sleeping and socializing, then we’re enjoying the box instead of what’s in the box. Shabbat is a precious gift – especially in our generation. Let us ensure to use it the right way, as a time to be uplifted, to be inspired, and to build our connection with Hashem.
It is well-known that Hashem is never mentioned explicitly in Megilat Ester . The omission of His Name is by design, as the story told in the Megilah appears to unfold randomly, with the events occurring coincidentally, as though Hashem wasn’t there. In truth, of course, Hashem was orchestrating all the events, acting behind the scenes, so-to-speak, to save the Jewish People. To drive home this point, many Rabbis noted, the Megillah makes a number of subtle allusions to Hashem, showing that He was present at every step along the way, however inconspicuously. One of the allusions to Hashem in the Megilah is in Ester’s initial request that Ahashverosh and Haman join her at a feast: יבוא המלך והמן היום אל המשתה אשר עשיתי לו (5:4). The first letters of the words יבוא המלך והמן היום are י , ה , ו and ה , which spell the Name of “ Havayah ,” the Name of Hashem which expresses His mercy and compassion. Why would Hashem’s Name be embedded specifically in this pasuk ? Why is this a fitting context in which for Hashem to be alluded? Rav Elimelech Biderman explains that Hashem’s Name is hinted at in this pasuk precisely because this marked the Jews’ lowest point in the whole story. After hearing of Haman’s decree to annihilate them, the Jews knew that their only hope was Ester, one of their own, who was in the palace. And now Ester was feasting at a party with Ahashverosh and Haman, the evil man who wanted their destruction. Instead of asking Ahashverosh to save the Jews, she decided to feast with him and with Haman. The Jews’ last hope seemed lost at that point. And yet, precisely there we find Hashem’s Name of mercy and compassion – because it is precisely in the most difficult of times when we draw hope and encouragement from our faith in Hashem. One of our nation’s greatest qualities is maintaining hope and never falling into despair, trusting in Hashem even when we see no hope and no solution on the horizon. Specifically at the darkest, gloomiest moment of the Megilah , we see Hashem – because it is during the most difficult periods when we are able to find hope in our emunah . When Beneh Yisrael left Egypt, Moshe took with him the remains of Yosef, to bring them for burial in the Land of Israel (Shemot 13:19). Yosef embodied the quality of retaining hope in the darkest times. Even when he was brought to Egypt as a slave, and then thrown into jail for a crime he did not commit, he never lost hope. His emunah remained strong and steadfast throughout all his ordeals. Moshe Rabbenu took Yosef’s remains with him out of Egypt into the wilderness – because he knew that difficult challenges lay ahead. He knew that he and Beneh Yisrael would face some hard times – and so he took the bones of Yosef, symbolizing Yosef’s unbridled hope and faith. The story of Purim is less about Jewish survival than it is about Jewish revival. The Gemara teaches that after the Purim miracle, קיימו עליהם מה שקיבלו כבר – the Jews reaffirmed their acceptance of Torah. Haman’s decree awakened them, and they strengthened and revitalized their commitment to Hashem and to Torah. This has always been one of our nation’s most important characteristics – not to break and fall apart during hard times, but to emerge from them stronger and more committed to Hashem. Specifically when things become difficult, that is when we find Hashem, cling to Him, and draw hope and encouragement from our belief that He is governing the world and controls everything that happens.
The Torah in Parashat Teruma discusses the construction of the Mishkan and its furnishings. Undoubtedly the most sacred of all the furnishings of the Mishkan was the aron – the ark, which was kept hidden in the קודש קודשים , the inner section of the Mishkan and, later, the Bet Ha’mikdash . The aron was made from wood, but it was plated inside and outside with gold. The Gemara (Yoma 72b) sees this quality of the aron as symbolic of the way a Torah Jew is supposed to be, stating: כל תלמיד חכם שאין תוכו כברו אינו תלמיד חכם - “Any Torah scholar whose inside is not like his outside is not a Torah scholar.” Just as the aron was golden inside and out, so must a Torah Jew be “gold” inside and out. The Gemara here is teaching us about the importance of authenticity, the need to be authentically good. The Torah is concerned far less with the way we outwardly appear, with our image, than with who we truly are. Living a Torah life means not that we are “golden” outwardly, not that we simply make a good impression and appear like we are good, but rather that we are truly “golden” both inside and outside, that we are real, that we are authentic. The Gemara in Masechet Pesahim (68b) says that Rav Yosef would explain the special significance of the holiday of Shavuot, when we celebrate our receiving the Torah, by exclaiming, “If not for this day, there are many Yosefs out in the marketplace.” Meaning, it was the event of Matan Torah , which we celebrate on Shavuot, that made Rav Yosef unique and special. Because he was able to learn and master the Torah, he became distinct, different from all the other “Yosefs” out there. Rashi explains that Rav Yosef saying, שלמדתי תורה ונתרוממתי – “because I learned Torah and was elevated .” Rav Yosef did not just learn Torah; he was elevated by the Torah. The Torah penetrated his being. It made him “golden” both inside and out. Our Torah commitment must be real and genuine, something that is part of who we truly are, something that elevates us, that brings us to a higher level of refinement. If we look around today, it seems that everyone is putting on a show. On social media, people put on a façade, showing their lives to be something that they’re not. People are getting tattoos, piercings, and all kinds of strange haircuts in order to look a certain way, to project a certain image. This is because we live in a society that is obsessed with ברו , the outside, instead of תוכו , the inside. People are focused on appearing a certain way, not with being the type of people that they are really supposed to be. They are preoccupied with the way other people view them, instead of with being truly good people. It isn’t hard to be “golden” on the outside, to go through the motions, to say the right things, to look the right way, and to post pictures that get “likes” and compliments. The real work is to be “golden” on the inside. It is relatively easy to look good; it a lot more difficult to be authentically good. At the center of the Bet Ha’mikdash stood the aron , which contained the original Sefer Torah , and which represented what a Torah Jew is – someone who not only appears “golden,” but truly is “golden,” as pure and good inside as he or she appears on the outside.
Parashat Yitro tells of Ma’amar Har Sinai – Hashem’s revelation to Beneh Yisrael at Mount Sinai, and the Aseret Ha’dibberot (Ten Commandments). Rashi, in his commentary to Shir Hashirim (4:5), makes a fascinating comment about the Aseret Ha’dibberot . He writes that the two sets of commandments – the first five, and the second five – correspond to one another. Meaning, there is a connection between the first commandment of the first group, and the first commandment of the second group; there is also a connection between the second commandment of the first group, and the second commandment of the second group, and so on. For example, the first commandment of the first group is אנוכי ה' אלוקיך , the belief in Hashem, and the first commandment of the second group is לא תרצח , the prohibition against murder. These mitzvot are connected, Rashi explains, because every human being is created in the image of Hashem, and so killing a person diminishes, in a sense, from Hashem’s presence in our world. According to this parallel, the fifth commandment, the mitzva to honor parents ( כבד את אביך ואת אמך ), corresponds to the tenth of the Aseret Ha’dibberot , the command of לא תחמוד , the prohibition against coveting, desiring something which somebody else has. Rashi explains that these two commands are connected because החומד סופו להוליד בן שמקלה אותו ומכבד למי שאינו אביו – somebody who is jealous of other people will have a child who disrespects him, and instead respects other people. How does this work? Why does jealousy have the effect of causing one’s children to disrespect him? The answer, in truth, is quite simple. If children see that their parents are always upset and dissatisfied because they don’t have what other people have, then the children will want to be like those other people. If the message they learn from their parents is that they’re disadvantaged, that other people have it better than them, then they will respect those other people, and not their parents. They will look to their parents as failures, and nobody is going to respect or try to emulate somebody who they see as a failure. The way we avoid this problem is by understanding that Hashem has given us everything we need, and He has given other people exactly what they need. What somebody has or doesn’t have has absolutely nothing to do with us. We have precisely what we’re supposed to have, and other people have precisely what they’re supposed to have. We don’t need to feel jealous, because other people’s assets have no connection to us whatsoever. This is the vibe we should be giving our children – that we are very fortunate and blessed by Hashem, and other people are also fortunate and blessed by Hashem, because He gives each person exactly what he or she needs to succeed. If this is the attitude and mindset, that we have been given a great deal of berachah , then our children will feel grateful and respect us. They will look to us as winners, not losers, and we will gain their respect. They will feel proud and happy to have received these berachot , and will grow to be grateful to Hashem and to their parents who have given them all these wonderful blessings.
Parshat Bo tells the story of Yetziat Mitzrayim , the Exodus from Egypt. Throughout the Torah, the importance of this event, and of remembering this event, is emphasized. And many mitzvot were commanded specifically to ensure that we never forget that we were downtrodden slaves in Egypt until Hashem miraculously brought us to freedom. One reason why the story of Yetziat Mitzrayim is so critically important, and so foundational to the Jewish experience, is because it teaches us about the ability to overcome challenges. Our ancestors were lowly slaves, subjected to unimaginable misery and persecution, and then emerged as a proud nation, standing at Mount Sinai and hearing Hashem speak to them. The story of Yetziat Mitzrayim is thus the story of the Jewish People throughout history – the story of resilience in the face of hardship, the story of triumph over adversity, the story of never losing hope or faith no matter how difficult the situation is. And this is the story that we each must write for ourselves, as well. Yetziat Mitzrayim teaches us that we can overcome any personal challenges that we face by placing our faith in Hashem, that no struggle is too difficult, that we can and must be strong even in hard times. But there is also another reason why the Torah places great emphasis on remembering our ancestors’ experiences in Egypt. The Torah on several occasions commands us to look out for the poor and the downtrodden, and it makes the point that we experienced hardship and suffering in Egypt. We ourselves endured the pain and degradation of slavery – and so we need to empathize with, and care for, those who are hurting, those who are struggling, those who are alone, and those who are vulnerable and afraid. We were there, we know what it’s like, and so we have the responsibility to help them. We place a great deal of emphasis on the first message of Yetziat Mitzrayim – on fighting, on struggling to succeed and triumph in the face of adversity, on trusting our ability to overcome any challenge. Specifically because of this, we aren’t always sufficiently attuned to the plight of those who struggle. We hear and tell ourselves so often that we can overcome anything, and so we might be led to apply this to other people enduring hardship. We might look at people who are struggling and think, “They can get over it. They’re strong. With emunah , anything is possible – so they can handle this and recover.” This attitude overlooks the second message of the story of Egypt – empathizing with people’s pain, and doing what we can to care for them. We have among us many victims, of many different kinds. There are victims of various forms of abuse. There are victims of crime. There are victims of poverty. There are victims of neglect. There are victims of bullying. There are victims of abandonment. And they need to see that we care, that they’re not invisible, that we want to embrace them and help them. Of course, all Am Yisrael are victims; we have been victimized for millennia. And we’ve grown stronger through our extraordinary power of resilience and our faith. But this does not allow us to belittle the pain and the suffering of our brothers and sisters who are in pain. They don’t need to be told to hear classes or read books about emunah , or to be told that they are strong enough to handle anything. They need our empathy, our unconditional support, and the assurance that we are with them and ready to help them. For ourselves, we need to reinforce our faith in Hashem and in our strength to persevere. But for others, we need to show empathy and concern, and extend ourselves as much as we can to alleviate the pain and suffering of our fellow Jew in distress.
When the time came to bring the plagues upon Egypt, Hashem sent Moshe to meet Pharaoh early in the morning at the river, to warn him about the first plague, the plague of blood. Rashi writes that Pharaoh would go to the river early in the morning in order to perform his bodily functions in private. Pharaoh believed himself to be some sort of godly being, and in order to project this image, he needed to ensure that he would never be seen performing his bodily functions, something which, quite obviously, only human beings do. And so Pharaoh would perform his bodily functions just once a day, early in the morning, when nobody would see him. What can we learn from this irrational behavior? Certainly, none of us would be so foolish as to pretend that we are not human. What does Pharaoh’s extreme example of arrogance teach us? Pharaoh’s behavior shows us the dangers of feeling invulnerable, too confident in ourselves. Like Pharaoh, we have the ability to become self-delusional, to fool ourselves into thinking that we’re not susceptible to basic human weaknesses. The Gemara in Masechet Kiddushin (81a-b) tells an unusual story about a certain scholar named Plimo. He was accustomed to mocking the yetzer ha’ra (evil inclination), regularly saying, “An arrow in the eye of the Satan ” – meaning, he was arrogantly poking fun at the yetzer ha’ra that, he felt, had no control over him. Once, the Gemara tells, on Erev Yom Kippur, the Satan appeared as a poor man and came to Plimo’s front door, asking for charity. Plimo offered him some food, but then he asked to come inside. Once inside, the man asked to sit at the table. While sitting at the table, the poor man started acting very inappropriately, engaging in revolting behavior. Finally, the people at the table reprimanded the poor man. He then pretended to die. Word quickly spread that Plimo murdered somebody. Plimo ran to the restroom to hide, and the Satan finally went to him and explained to him what was happening. The Satan explained that instead of saying, “ An arrow in the eye of the Satan ,” Plimo should instead be saying, “May Hashem be angry at the Satan .” This story, at first glance, seems very peculiar. But in truth, it is teaching us the critically important lesson of recognizing our vulnerabilities. If we take a nonchalant attitude toward the yetzer ha’ra , toward human weaknesses, then we are likely to let the Satan into our homes, so-to-speak; we end up allowing these temptations into our lives. And when we do, they can take over our lives, and lead us to places where we do not want to be. Every addiction begins this way. The person feels that this is no big deal, that he can just do it once or twice. He figures he can let this vice through the door, into his life, and soon enough he realizes that it has taken over, that its ugliness is now in control of his life. This is what happens when a person feels invulnerable, like Pharaoh, when he ridicules human weaknesses and temptations, thinking they’re no big deal. Just before the story about Plimo, the Gemara tells an astounding story about Rabbi Akiva, one of the greatest, most righteous scholars who ever lived. The Satan wanted to tempt Rabbi Akiva to sin, and so it appeared as a woman and sat on top of a tree. Rabbi Akiva began climbing the tree to reach the woman. The Satan then left Rabbi Akiva alone. It informed him that he was warned not to try to lure Rabbi Akiva, but if not for this warning, it would have easily succeeded in causing him to commit a grave sin. The Gemara here wants us to realize that nobody is invulnerable. Every single person, no matter how great, is susceptible to sin. Every person has his own weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and we must all act accordingly. If we know that we are weak in a certain area, we need to put the necessary controls in place to protect ourselves in regard to that particular vice. Just to give one small personal example – I have a weakness for junk food. I love junk food. About a half-hour before I go to bed, my craving is especially strong. I am well aware of this craving, and so I know that I need to be exceptionally careful at that time. Every person needs to know their individual weaknesses. The most common weaknesses in our day are alcohol, drugs, gambling, promiscuity and the internet. These are very strong temptations that can easily become addictive and destructive. We must not be delusional like Pharaoh, and think that we are immune to these and other lures. We have to be aware of what our weaknesses are, and put all the necessary safeguards in place to ensure that we avoid these pitfalls and live the best lives that we are capable of living.
Parashat Shemot begins by listing the names of Yaakov Avinu’s sons who had come to live in Egypt. At first glance, this list is entirely unnecessary. We just read several parashiyot about the story of Yaakov’s family, and we are well aware of who his sons were. Why is this information repeated? Rashi explains: אע"פ שמנאן בחייהם בשמותם חזר ומנאם אחר מיתתן, להודיע חבתם, שנמשלו לכוכבים שמוציאם ומכניסם במספר בשמותם. When Hashem brings out the stars each night, and when He brings them away from the sky in the morning, He counts them, calling each one by name. Similarly, He repeatedly lists the names of the Jewish People by name, showing how much He loves them – that they are as great as the stars. What does this mean? In what way are we compared to the stars? And how does this show Hashem’s love for us? There are an enormous number of stars, but each one is significant and plays a vital role in the galaxy. And, although a star seems tiny, it is actually gigantic, and critically important. The Torah wants us to know that we are each a star. Every single one of us plays a vital role, and each one of us can shine brightly, even if other people see us – and we might sometimes see ourselves – as small and insignificant. No one is insignificant. We are all precious and beloved to Hashem, we all have an important place in the world, and we all have the ability to shine brightly. Later in the parashah , we read that Pharaoh rejected Moshe’s demand that he release Beneh Yisrael . He shouted, הן רבים עתה עם הארץ, והשבתם אותם מסבלותם – that there were many slaves with work to do, and Moshe was disrupting their labor by giving them false hopes of freedom (5:5). The Ben Ish Hai notes that Pharaoh referred to Beneh Yisrael here as עם הארץ – “people of the land.” This expression, the Ben Ish Hai explains, means that Pharaoh saw Beneh Yisrael as capable of nothing more than being עם הארץ , people who worked the land. In his eyes, this is who they were, and this is all they could ever be. He insisted that there was no point for them to aspire to anything more – because this is who they were, slaves who worked. Moshe’s message was – and still is, to this very day – that we are not destined to remain עם הארץ . We are capable of much more, and we are destined to much more. We are like stars. People might see us as small, but we are large, important, talented, and capable of shining brightly like the sun. I once had the opportunity to visit the Blind Museum in Holon, Israel. A visit to this museum is a remarkable experience, being led by blind tour guides through a complex in the pitch black, getting a sense of what life is like as a blind person. After the tour, my daughter, who was with me, asked me if it is harder to be blind from birth, or to have become blind during one’s life. I decided to pose this question to our guide. “I don’t know,” the guide said, “because I was born blind. But I do know that I would never want to be able to see.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “You would not want to have the ability to see?!” I asked in astonishment. “No,” the guide confirmed. “I have been blind all my life. This is all I know. I would be scared to see.” I came away from this brief conversation with a crucial insight into human nature. People tend to fall into their comfort zones, accepting their condition, and are afraid to change. Their lives can be so much better. They can shine so much brighter. They can enjoy life so much more, and accomplish so much more. But they’re scared to leave the place where they are. They’re afraid of change, and so they stay stuck in place. Let’s all have the courage to shine as brightly as we can, to realize our full potential, and to stop being afraid. We can be better. We can be a star. So let’s do it.
Join our BIG campaign! Announcing the NEW APP from iTorah.com https://itorah.com/campaigns/ special Before Yaakov Avinu’s death, Yosef came to visit him with his two sons, Efrayim and Menashe. Yaakov gave them a blessing, and then pronounced, בך יברך ישראל לאמר, ישימך אלוקים כאפרים וכמנשה – that forever more, when Jews bless their sons, they will do so by saying, “May Hashem make you like Efrayim and Menashe” (48:20). Why is this the blessing that we give to our children? What makes Efrayim and Menashe so special, that we bless our children that they should be specifically like Efrayim and Menashe? One answer has to do with the story told just several pesukim earlier. When Yaakov blessed Yosef’s sons, Yosef had them positioned with Menashe – the older son – to Yaakov’s right, and Efrayim – the younger son – to his left. But Yaakov crossed his hands, to put his right hand on the head of the younger brother, Efrayim. He explained that both will produce large, important tribes, but the tribe of Efrayim will end up being more distinguished than the tribe of Menashe, and so Yaakov’s placed his right hand on Efrayim’s head, to express his special stature. Throughout this episode, both Efrayim and Menashe remain silent. Efrayim doesn’t gloat, and Menashe doesn’t complain. This might be why we bless our children that they should be like Efrayim and Menashe. Few things are more powerful than not caring about being treated with honor and respect. If we can follow the example set by Yosef’s sons, of entirely disregarding honor, we are so much stronger. It is perfectly normal and natural to care about respect. So much so, in fact, that this expectation yields a halachic requirement. The Torah obligates us to provide a poor person with די מחסורו אשר יחסר לו – everything that he lacks (Devarim 15:8). The Gemara in Masechet Ketubot explains this to mean that if somebody was very wealthy, and was used to riding in a carriage with a servant running in front of him as a display of honor, and this person then lost his money, the mitzva of charity requires providing him a chariot with a servant running in front of it. The Torah recognizes that when a person is accustomed to receiving respect, this becomes his expectation, and it is thus a need that society must fulfill. Unquestionably, we need to be sensitive to people’s expectation of, and need for, respect, and show them that they matter to us. However, if somebody is able to transcend this need that most people have, he has special power. A person who, like Menashe, is immune to feelings of being hurt and offended, has a unique gift – the ability to decide who he is. His identity and self-image depend on nobody in the world. He needs nobody’s approval, nobody’s praise, and nobody’s respect, because he knows precisely who he is, what he is capable of, and what he can accomplish. And there is nothing more powerful than having this awareness. It is normal and reasonable to want and to expect others to show us respect. But we should try, to whatever extent possible, to break our dependence on other people’s respect, to muster the strength to decide entirely on our own who we are, and then harness this unparalleled power to achieve all the greatness that we are capable of achieving.
The Torah in Parashat Vayigash tells the dramatic story of Yosef’s revealing his identity to his brothers. When he decided to finally tell them who he was, he announced to them: אני יוסף אחיכם אשר מכרתם אותי מצרימה – “I am your brother, Yosef, whom you sold to Egypt.” Why did Yosef find it necessary to mention to his brothers at this moment that they had sold him to Egypt? They obviously had not forgotten about what they did. Why is this emphasized when Yosef told them who he was? The answer might be that Yosef was telling his brothers, “It doesn’t matter what you did to me. Even though you sold me as a slave – I am still ‘your brother, Yosef.’ We are still brothers, and we will always be brothers. Nothing you’ve done to me could ever change that.” This is a crucial point that we need to remember when it comes to family: our relationships with our family members last forever. We can end friendships, but we cannot end familial relationships. We will always be our parents’ children, our children’s parents, our siblings’ siblings, and our cousins’ cousins. Nothing that they do or we do can ever change that. Unfortunately, it often happens that the pain of the moment causes people to forget this truism. People feel hurt or offended, and so they react drastically, sometimes to the point of permanently breaking the relationship. Yosef teaches us that there is another way. אני יוסף אחיכם . He realized that no matter what, he was still their brother. Family is forever. Yosef proceeded to tell his brothers, ועתה אל תעצבו...כי מכרתם אותי הנה, כי למחיה שלחני אלוקים לפניכם – “Now, do not be upset…that you sold me here, because G-d sent me before you for sustenance.” Yosef acknowledged that it was only because his brothers sold him that he ended up becoming the viceroy in Egypt and saving the world from starvation. He was brought to Egypt and purchased by Potifar, whose wife falsely accused him of assaulting her, leading to his imprisonment in a dungeon, where he correctly interpreted the dreams of the baker and the cupbearer, and the cupbearer then recommended him to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams. As a result of Yosef’s interpretation of Pharaoh’s dreams, Pharaoh appointed him as leader, and Yosef stored grain so that there would be food during the seven years of famine. The brothers treated him very harshly – but Hashem arranged that this would happen so that Yosef would become the outstanding leader that he was destined to become. We of course do not want family struggles. We want everything to go smoothly, and everyone to get along seamlessly with one another. But when there are struggles, we need to remember – כי למחיה שלחני אלוקים . These struggles are what make us stronger and build us into the people we need to become. We aren’t going to grow by having everything go smoothly all the time. Yosef would not have ended up saving the world if he had enjoyed a peaceful life with his family. He needed to go through what he went through in order to become the outstanding figure that he was. And this is true of all of us. Struggles – especially family struggles – build our characters and help us attain greatness. This is something we need to remember when we feel hurt or offended by a family member. Instead of reacting harshly, we should remind ourselves that family is forever, and family struggles will, in the long run, help us be better people. If we live with this mindset, we will, hopefully, enjoy stronger, closer relationships within the family, avoid unnecessary conflicts and tension, and, perhaps most importantly, develop ourselves into the great people that we are capable of becoming.
Rav Shalom Schwadron, who was known as “the Maggid of Yerushalayim,” once worked as a teacher in a yeshiva, and he noticed that a certain student did not attend the shiur for several nights in a row. He decided to go to the young man’s house and ask him why he had not been in the class, if perhaps he was ill or had some other problem. The boy explained to him that the World Cup soccer competition was going on at that time. He was not attending the shiurim because he needed to watch the games… The boy assured the Rabbi that the following week, once the World Cup was over, he would come back to the shiur . Rav Schwadron asked the boy what soccer was. The boy explained that there are two goals on both sides of the field, and each team has to try to kick the ball, without touching it with their hands, into the opposing team’s goal. “Ok,” the Rabbi replied. “That doesn’t sound too difficult. I could do that.” “No, Rabbi, you don’t understand,” the boy explained. “The opposing team has a goalie that stands in the goal and blocks the ball so it won’t go in.” “I see,” the Rabbi said. “I assume that if we go right now to a soccer field, there won’t be any goalie there. So why don’t we just go right now, and we can kick the ball into the goal all we want!!” The boy laughed. “What would be the point?!” he said. “The whole fun is struggling against the opposing team to try to score goals.” “Exactly!” the Rabbi exclaimed. “The point is to struggle. Attending shiur next week, after the World Cup is over, is simple. The real ‘fun’ is to struggle to attend shiur this week, when it’s not easy, when you have to make a sacrifice for it.” Hashem created the world and our lives in such a way that we have to work hard to achieve. He intentionally did not make things easy – because if things were easy, then there would be no point in “scoring.” We achieve and grow through struggle and hard work. The Bet Yosef (author of the Shulchan Aruch ) poses the famous question of why we celebrate eight days of Hanukah, instead of just seven. After all, there was enough oil for the candles of the menorah to burn the first night; a miracle was needed only for the next seven nights. Thus, the miracle was performed for only seven days. Why, then, do we celebrate for eight days? Many different answers have been given to this question. One especially meaningful answer is that indeed, on the first day of Hanukah, we don’t celebrate a miracle. Instead, we celebrate what we, the Jewish People, did. For seven days, we celebrate the miracle that Hashem performed; on the first day, we celebrate the hard work and sacrifice invested by the Hashmonaim in resisting and defeating the Greeks. Many Jews heroically defied the Greeks’ edicts. They continued learning Torah and performing mitzvot , for which they were killed. And during battle, many soldiers – including some of the Maccabees themselves – fell. The Jews made incredible sacrifices for the sake of Hashem. And so on the first day of Hanukah, we celebrate not what Hashem did, but what our righteous ancestors did, sacrificing and struggling to defeat the Greeks who wanted to destroy the Jewish religion. The importance of this concept cannot be overstated. Of course, we must recognize Hashem’s miracles, and give Him praise. But at the same time, we need to understand that in order for these miracles to happen, we need to earn them. And we earn them through hard work, sacrifice and struggle. We earn them not by kicking the ball into the goalpost late at night when nobody else is on the field; we earn Hashem’s help when we work hard, when we put in the effort to kick the ball past the goalie… Let us draw inspiration from the heroes who struggled and sacrificed to resist the Greeks’ oppression, and learn from them that in order to truly achieve, we need to be prepared to put in the work and make real sacrifices.
Parashat Vayeshev begins with the pasuk , וישב יעקב בארץ מגורי אביו, בארץ כנען – “Yaakov resided in the land where his father dwelled, in the land of Canaan.” Rashi, in a famous passage, comments that וישב here means much more than “resided.” He writes: ביקש יעקב לישב בשלוה – Yaakov wanted to live in tranquility. After all he had gone through already in his life, and now around 100 years old, he wanted to enjoy some peace and serenity. He had been forced to run away from his brother who wanted to kill him, he had spent 20 years with his crooked uncle, Lavan, his daughter had been abducted and violated – he had gone through a great deal. He now wanted לישב בשלוה , to live in peace. But this would not happen. Rashi writes that Hashem says, “Is it not enough for the tzadikim all that is prepared for them in the next world, that they wish to live in tranquility in this world?” Hashem doesn’t want the righteous to live in tranquility. And so Yaakov had to now go through another hardship, with the story of Yosef, his beloved son, whose brothers sold him as a slave to Egypt. What does this mean? Is it wrong to wish to live in tranquility, without problems? My father told me about the time when Rav Nosson Wachtfogel, the esteemed mashgiah (spiritual advisor) of the Lakewood Yeshiva, once visited Deal. When my father inquired as to why he had come, he was told that Rav Wachtfogel was raising funds for a new series of kollels that he wanted to set up throughout the United States. My father was amazed. Rav Wachtfogel at that time was already over 90. We would have expected him to want to just “take it easy.” He had already accomplished so much, influencing thousands of students. But no, he wasn’t done. He had more to do. He had more institutions to build. This is what Rashi is telling us. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with wanting things to be peaceful. But this world is not for לישב בשלוה , sitting comfortably, without working hard and struggling. As long as we are here, as long as Hashem keeps us alive, we need to keep working to achieve more. No matter how much we’ve accomplished, we should be accomplishing more. We’re never done!! This lesson can be seen also in the history of Hashmonaim, the family that led the struggle against the Greeks in the Hanukah story. They were real heroes, who refused to accept the Greeks’ oppression, and fought back. They experienced overt miracles, and they proceeded to rededicate the Bet Ha’mikdash, as we celebrate on Hanukah. But 200 years later, the family had entirely disappeared. None of them remained. The Rabbis explain that after the victory over the Greeks, when the Jews regained sovereignty, the Hashmonaim made themselves kings. They felt that now their work was done, and they could enjoy the comforts and perks of kingship. This was wrong. Once we struggle and score one victory, we must then work towards achieving our next great success. As long as we’re here, we need to work to achieve more. Our culture champions comfort and the “easy life.” The goal of life in our society is to retire with lots of money and then relax for the rest of one’s life. This is antithetical to Torah values. Of course, there is nothing wrong with retiring from work, with an occasional vacation, and with enjoying one’s wealth. But our objective must always be to accomplish, to achieve, to build, to grow, and to produce. Even when we might need a period לישב בשלוה , when we take it easy and relax, this should be only in preparation for our next project, our next challenge. We’re never done – as long as Hashem keeps us here, we need to keep working.
Parashat Vayishlah opens with Yaakov Avinu making his way back to the Land of Israel, anticipating his reunion with his brother, Esav, who sought to kill him. Esav was strong and had a large army. He hated Yaakov because Yaakov had tricked their father into giving him the berachah which was intended for Esav. What message did Yaakov send Esav as he prepared for this dreaded encounter? He began by telling his brother, עם לבן גרתי – “I have lived with Lavan,” which Rashi explains to mean ותרי"ג מצוות שמרתי – that he had observed all the mitzvot . (The word גרתי has the same letters as תרי"ג , the number of mitzvot in the Torah.) He proudly told Esav that he remained loyal to Torah even while living away from his parents, with his wicked uncle, Lavan. He then described to Esav how successful he had been – ויהי לי שור וחמור צאן ועבד ושפחה , that he had accumulated a large fortune. Why are these the messages that Yaakov chose to send to Esav who wanted to kill him? Our body language tells a great deal about our mood and about our feelings. We tend to appear worried and anxious when we feel worried and anxious, and to appear upbeat and confident when we feel upbeat and confident. But very often, the converse is true – our body language dictates our mood. When we carry ourselves with our head lowered, with long faces, with a look of fear, this is likely how we will continue to feel. But if we walk with our head help up straight, taking long, rapid strides, and exude confidence and self-assurance, we are likely to begin feeling that way. We learn this concept from the story of Queen Ester. The Megillah says that when she approached Ahashverosh to intervene on behalf of the Jewish People, ותלבש אסתר מלכות – she “wore royalty.” On the simple level of understanding, this pasuk should be read as though it says ותלבש אסתר בגדי מלכות – she wore royal clothing. However, the Malbim explains that the pasuk is not talking about the clothing Ester wore. It is talking about her demeanor, her facial expression, her body language. Ester was very frightened; as she told Mordechai, she was not allowed to come before Ahashverosh without being called, and if Ahashverosh would be angry, he would have her killed. She also had not eaten for three days. She was both physically and emotionally drained. But she had a strategy – to come before the king looking confident and strong. She walked in knowing precisely who she was, and what she had to do. She “wore” confidence. And this affected the way she felt and the way she spoke. This was Yaakov’s strategy, as well. Logically, he didn’t stand a chance against Esav. But he decided to assume a confident posture, to remind himself who he was, to make it clear that he was not meek, that he was not frail, that he was not a hazit , that he had succeeded in observing the mitzvot and earning wealth under the most difficult conditions. And when he spoke that way, it affected the way he saw himself. By projecting confidence, he became more confident. Each morning, we recite a berachah giving praise to Hashem for being מתיר אסורים – “releasing the bound.” In ancient times, this berachah was recited when people got out of bed, thanking Hashem for allowing them to be “released” from the confines of their beds. Hashem has given us the ability to stand tall and confident. We do not have to remain lying lifeless and shriveled in bed. We can stand upright and outstretched, with the confidence that we are capable of meeting whatever challenges await us that day. Of course, this does not mean we should be cocky and arrogant. In his message to Esav, Yaakov spoke humbly, addressing Esav as his “master” and referring to himself as Esav’s “servant.” He did not try to place himself above Esav, but rather to exude self-confidence. When we feel overwhelmed and beset by problems, we should try to “wear royalty,” to remind ourselves of who we are, of what we’ve accomplished, of the talents we have, of just how capable we are. This confidence will affect our mood, and, ultimately, the results, as we will have the strength and fortitude to move forward and handle the situation in the best way possible.
Parashat Vayetzeh begins with the story of Yaakov Avinu’s departure from his home in Be’er Sheva. We read that he slept along the road, and during the night, he beheld the famous vision of a ladder with angels. But there is something that happened even before the dream that should catch our attention. The Torah tells that as Yaakov prepared to sleep, he took some stones and וישם מראשותיו – he placed them around his head. The commentaries explain that he put them around his head to protect himself from wild animals during the night. At first glance, this seems very difficult to understand. Would these stones really protect Yaakov from wild animals? Was he safe because of some stones around his head? What about the rest of his body? And wouldn’t the animals be able to crawl, climb or jump over the rocks? The answer is simple, but very powerful, and very relevant to each and every one of us. Yaakov did what he could. He was in a difficult situation, forced to flee from his brother, who wanted to kill him. He was traveling far away, and needed to sleep on the side of the road. There was going to be danger. So he did what he could, placing stones around his head, and left the rest up to Hashem. Sure enough, Hashem appeared to him and assured him that He would be protecting him throughout his journey. Anyone who has reached their 40s or 50s has experienced this firsthand. We have all faced situations where we did not know how things were going to work out, problems that seemed to have no solution, but somehow, in the end, we were ok. All of us have seen miracles, whether in regard to livelihood, health, raising children, shidduchim , or some other area of life. When we do what we can, and leave the rest to Hashem, He comes through. As we get older, we aren’t able to do all the things we were able to do when we were younger. We have less energy, and we might also find it difficult to learn new skills. When this happens, we need to just do what we can. We shouldn’t just give up. We need to trust that once we take whatever “stones” we can, Hashem will then help us – just as we’ve seen Him do countless times throughout our lives. Rashi, in his commentary to this parashah , writes, based on the Gemara, that Yaakov originally traveled past the spot where he slept and had his dream. This was the future site of the Bet Ha’mikdash , and after Yaakov passed this area, he realized that he had not stopped to pray at this special location. He turned around and started making his way there so he could pray. Hashem made a miracle and brought Yaakov there quickly, in an instant, so he would not have to travel the whole way. Once we make the decision to work hard, to do the best we can, to put in the effort, Hashem will help us and we will see results. We need just to do our part – and then Hashem will do His.
Rabbi Joey Haber In the beginning of Parashat Toldot, the Torah tells us that Yitzhak married Rivka, “the daughter of Betuel…from Padan Aram, the brother of Lavan.” Rashi points out that we already know all this information. In the previous parashah , Parashat Hayeh-Sara, we read the entire story of how Rivka was chosen to be Yitzhak’s wife, and this story included Rivka’s background – her family, her hometown, and so on. Seemingly, there is no reason for the Torah to repeat all this information now. Rashi explains that the Torah told us about Rivka’s background again in order to praise her, to draw our attention to her greatness. She was the daughter of a wicked person and the brother of a wicked person, and she was raised among wicked people in Padam Aram. And, despite all this, she emerged as a righteous woman. This was Rivka’s greatness. It is very significant that this is how the Torah compliments and praises Rivka – by telling us what she needed to reject, what she needed to oppose. The greatest praise for Rivka is not her hesed , how generous and giving she was, but rather the fact that she turned her back on the beliefs and behaviors of her family and her hometown. The primary way in which we mold ourselves into the people we want to become is by saying “no.” Setting limits, not allowing things into our lives, not allowing ourselves to do or say certain things, does more to define who we are than the things that we do. We become charitable not when we have money to spare and we donate it, but when we have to sacrifice something in order to donate charity. We become devoted parents not when we spend our free time with our children, but when we say “no” to things that we want to do for their sake. We become devoted students of Torah not when we open a book during our free time, but when we say “no” to things that we want to do for the sake of learning Torah. We become true ba’aleh hesed not by showing up to a bake sale, but by saying “no” to things we want to do for the sake of helping other people. This is true of our families and homes, as well. We define our home not by having Torah books on the bookshelf, and not even by keeping Shabbat – but by saying “no,” by putting limits. We define our home as a Torah home by insisting that there are things that we do not bring into the home; there are words that we do not speak; there are foods that we do not eat; there are kinds of clothing that we do not wear; and there are things that we do not do. Somebody I know very well was once given the opportunity to earn a considerably higher among of money, but this would involve going against his principles. He turned down the offer. He later told me, “You have no idea what a powerful experience this was – to say ‘no’ to money because of my principles. I took a stand, and by doing so, I know exactly who I am. By establishing that I cannot be asked to do anything, that I have limits, I made a powerful statement about who I am. And this is far more valuable than some extra money in my bank account.” Rivka was a wonderful ba’alat hesed – but her real strength lay in her ability to say “no,” to say that she was not going to follow the example of the people she grew up with. Saying “no” can be very difficult, but this is what we need to do in order to mold ourselves into the great people that we have been brought into the world to become.
One of the most famous passages in Rashi’s commentary to the Humash is found in the beginning of Parashat Hayeh-Sarah. The Torah tells us that Sarah Imenu lived 127 years, and then repeats, שני חיי שרה – “these were the years of Sarah’s life.” Rashi explains that the Torah repeated this to teach us that הכל שווין לטובה – “they were all equally good.” All of Sarah’s years were “equally good.” The explanation of Rashi’s comment is well-known. Sarah went through a lot of hardship during her life. She and Avraham moved from place to place. She could not bear children until she was very old. She had Avraham marry her maidservant so he would produce children with her, and this caused a great deal of trouble. She dealt with famine. Twice she was abducted by kings. Nevertheless, all her years were “equally good.” She had so much strength, and so much faith in Hashem, that she handled everything calmly and with composure, and felt that everything in her life was good. However, in the very next pasuk , Rashi makes another comment, which seems to contradict this depiction of Sarah. Rashi writes that Sarah died as a result of akedat Yitzhak . The Satan came and told Sarah that her husband bound her son on an altar and slaughtered him as a sacrifice. When Sarah heard this, she went into shock, and her soul departed. We must ask, if Sarah was so strong, and capable of handling even the most difficult situations, then why did she fall apart now, after hearing about the akedah ? Why was she able to remain composed during every difficult test she went through during her life, but not this one? The answer might be that Sarah could not handle the news of her son being slaughtered because her son was not actually slaughtered. What killed Sarah was not the akedah itself, but her imagination. She thought Avraham killed Yitzhak, when in fact he did not. She could handle everything that happened to her, but not that which she mistakenly thought happened to her. This teaches us something very powerful. So often, what breaks us is not the reality, but our perception of the reality. The situation itself, even when it’s difficult and challenging, can be handled. We get into trouble when we overthink, when we start imagining things about the situation which get us anxious, angry, aggravated or distraught. When we face a challenging situation, we need to tell ourselves: “I got this!!” We have to believe in ourselves, we need to trust that we can pass tests, that we can deal with adversity, we can overcome challenges. The problems start when we begin imagining things and reaching conclusions about what’s going on, making the situation seem so much worse, so much more serious, and so much more difficult than it really is. As long as we are dealing with what’s really happening, instead of dealing with our misguided perception of what’s happening, we got this, because Hashem is always with us, and assures us that we can pass every test He sends our way.
Parashat Vayera begins with Avraham Avinu sitting outside his tent during the heat of the day, looking out for guests. Avraham at this time was reeling from his berit milah , which he had performed just days earlier. He waited and waited, but nobody passed by, until eventually Hashem sent three angels disguised as regular travelers, and Avraham invited them and served them a meal. Before the angels arrived, the Torah says, Hashem appeared to Avraham. The Midrash comments that when Hashem appeared to him, he wanted to rise in Hashem’s honor. But Hashem told him to sit, comparing him to the judges of a Bet Din , who sit as they preside over a case, while Hashem is present, standing. The question is obvious. What connection is there between the story of Avraham sitting outside his tent, and the judges in Bet Din ? Why would Hashem compare Avraham’s sitting at that time to the judges sitting in the courtroom? This was a very difficult day for Avraham Avinu. He was used to hosting and serving large groups of guests. Now, he was all alone, in intense pain, weak and frail, sitting in the heat, with nobody to invite. Hashem assured Avraham that even at this low point, He held him in high esteem. Even when Avraham was having a difficult day, he should recognize that he is important and distinguished like a judge sitting in a courtroom. The Midrash here is telling us that even at our lowest point, even when we feel unfulfilled and inadequate, Hashem thinks highly of us. We are unconditionally dear and precious to Him, no matter what is going on. Many people might wonder, why should we perceive ourselves this way? How are we going to grow if we always feel we’re good enough? Don’t we need to recognize our faults and our flaws so that we can grow? And how can it be that Hashem loves us and cherishes us even when we make bad mistakes? To answer this question, let us consider an analogy to a businessman who owns ten stores. Seven of them are doing very well, but three of them are losing money. They are losing so much money, in fact, that the enterprise is netting a loss. Quite obviously, this businessman will be distraught, and likely forced to liquidate those three stores. Now imagine a businessman with ten stores, seven of which are doing well, and three…which did not yet open. They’re still being stocked. How would he feel about these three stores, and about his enterprise? He would be feeling great. The future is full of promise. True, he has three empty stores into which he has already poured lots of money and have yet to earn a dime. But he knows that this is part of the process, and soon they will be stocked and earn profits. This is how we should we look at ourselves. Most of our “stores” are doing very well. For the most part, we are good people who observe the Torah and live the way we are supposed to live. True, a minority of our “stores” are not doing well. But this isn’t because they are failing. It is because we still have work to do. They are not doing well because we still need to grow, just like all people do. We shouldn’t feel down on ourselves, guilty, aggravated, ashamed or dejected because of these minority of “stores.” We should understand that there is work to do, and the work will be done. It might take some time – growth always does! – but the future is bright. We can and will get better. The Midrash teaches that the three angels appeared to Avraham as simple nomads who worshipped idols. Nevertheless, he spoke to them with great respect, welcomed them, served them a meal, and showered them with love and kindness. When Avraham saw flawed people, he viewed them as people with great potential, people with “empty stores” waiting to be “stocked.” And so he treated everybody with great love and respect – because he saw each and every person as a precious soul that hasn’t yet been “stocked,” that just needs some time to grow. This is how we are to look at all people – and at ourselves. We are not perfect, but that doesn’t mean we are failures. It means that we have work to do. Instead of feeling frustrated and ashamed at ourselves, let’s do the work, let’s stock the shelves of our empty stores, trusting that Hashem loves us and thinks highly of us, no matter what position we are in right now.
The Torah in Parashat Lech-Lecha tells of Hashem’s famous command to Avraham Avinu, לך-לך – to go forth, to leave behind his home and travel to the Land of Israel. When he arrived in the land, the Torah says, ויט אהלה – he pitched his tent (12:8). Rashi takes note of the fact that although the pasuk is read as though it says, ויט אהלו – “he pitched his tent,” the word is written אהלה , which means “her tent.” This indicates that Avraham first pitched his wife’s tent before pitching his own tent. He made a point of first tending to his wife’s needs before caring for his own needs. Whenever I am asked to officiate at a wedding, and I meet with the couple before the wedding, I ask them what they find so special about the other. Invariably, they say something to the effect of, “He/she puts my needs ahead of his/her needs.” During the courtship and engagement, the couple is truly devoted to each other, and they each put the other’s needs ahead of theirs. Unfortunately, however, after the wedding, as time goes on, this becomes more difficult. Husbands and wives are far less willing to sacrifice for each other than they were when they were dating and engaged. Avraham Avinu sets for us the example of how marriage is supposed to work, with the husband and wife putting each other’s needs before their own. In order for a marriage to succeed, both spouses are going to have make sacrifices and let go of things for the sake of the relationship. As mentioned, this parashah begins with the command of לך-לך – that Avraham was to leave behind his homeland and his father’s home, and journey to a new land and a new life. We, too, are commanded to לך-לך – to let go of things which hold us back, and prevent us from living the life that we are supposed to live. And this command of לך-לך requires us to let go for our family. For some, this means letting go of laziness, or selfishness, in order to do all the work needed to properly care for their family. For others, it means letting go of some bad habit that negatively affects the family. And for some this requires giving up a hobby or pastime for the sake of tending to the family. Letting go of things which have been an important part of our lives can be difficult. But sometimes, we have no choice but to let go. Hashem promised Avraham that after he settles in the Land of Israel, ואגדלה שמך, והיה ברכה – “I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing” (12:2). We need to trust that these difficult sacrifices will bring us greatness, will grant us blessings, and will make our lives beautiful. When a husband and wife put each other’s needs above their own, they create something magnificent. When they both put their family’s needs ahead of their own, they build a truly beautiful family. Letting go is hard, but it is through the difficult process of sacrifice that we achieve the kind of greatness that the descendants of Avraham Avinu are meant to achieve.
The opening verse of Parashat Noah tells us, "Et Ha’Elokim Hit’halech Noah" – that Noah "walked with G-d." The Seforno (Rav Ovadia Seforno, Italy,1474-1550) explains this to mean that Noah dealt kindly with other people, and sought to help them, just as G-d dispenses kindness and helps people. Specifically, the Seforno writes, Noah reprimanded his contemporaries, in an attempt to convince them to cease their evildoing and conduct themselves properly. Whereas many assume that Noah did not try to lead the people of his time to repent, the Seforno claims that Noah indeed expended great efforts seeking to uplift and inspire the sinners of his generation. He followed G-d’s example of kindness by working to help the people of his time improve their behavior. In fact, the Seforno writes later (6:10) that it was only once Noah began reprimanding the people of his time that he was blessed with children. The Torah tells that Noah begot children at the age of 500 – at a much more advanced age than others – and the Seforno maintains that this was because he was granted the blessing of children only after he started making efforts to lead his contemporaries to repent. Of course, as we know, Noah’s efforts were unsuccessful. His teachings had no effect upon the people, and they persisted in their evildoing, until eventually G-d decided to annihilate all of mankind. We might ask, why were his efforts unsuccessful? How is it possible that he was unable to impact anybody? The answer might be that Noah did not truly believe that the sinful people of his time were capable of repenting. In order for a teacher or rabbi to succeed in inspiring those under his charge, he needs to approach his work with conviction, with passion. He needs to believe wholeheartedly everything he says. If he is trying to convince people to change, he needs to believe in his heart that they can change. Noah, it seems, lacked this conviction. He spoke dispassionately, because he doubted whether he could have any impact. He assumed that the people had fallen too low, that they had drifted too far from proper conduct, to ever improve. Noah failed to realize that very often, it is specifically when people hit "rock bottom" that they are open and receptive to calls for change. Many Ba’aleh Teshuba became influenced to embrace religious observance after having fallen to the lowest depths, when their lives became empty and devoid of meaning and substance. When a person reaches this point, he is looking to change – and it is precisely then when one has the greatest chance of influencing that individual and inspiring him to change. The people in Noah’s time were capable of change specifically because they had sunken to such depths, because they had become so evil and debased. But Noah doubted their capacity to change, and so his efforts were tepid and ultimately unsuccessful. We should never doubt a person’s ability to change. No matter where a person is, no matter how distant he might be from G-d, from Torah, and from a Torah lifestyle, he is capable of changing and returning to observance. Once we recognize this truth, and acknowledge the great potential within each and every person, regardless of his current state, we will speak with greater passion and conviction, and will then be able, with G-d’s help, to inspire our fellow Jews to draw closer to Torah observance, one step at a time.
Hashem had an infinite number of ways in which to rescue Noach and his family from the flood. For example, according to tradition, the flood did not affect the Land of Israel; Hashem could have thus simply had Noach and his family move to Israel so he would be saved. Yet, He had Noach spend 120 years laboring to build an enormous ark, while the people of his time laughed and jeered at him. Why? Rav Yaakov Galinsky spent time in Siberia during World War II. He would later recall that there was a fellow inmate who would wake up every night in the middle of the night, put on a stolen army uniform which he had with him, and walk up and down the barracks like a general. Finally, one night, Rabbi Galinsky asked the inmate why he did this. “I was a general in the Lithuanian army,” the man explained, “and the Soviets captured me and sent me here to Siberia. Right away when I was captured, I knew that they would going to have me perform slave labor and live in miserable conditions, in order to humiliate and disgrace me. I resolved that I was never going to forget who I really am. I promised myself that I would always remember that I am a distinguished army general, not a lowly prisoner. And so every night, I spend a few minutes marching as a proud, strong general, so I never forget who I am.” Noach lived in a world that was overrun by evil and sin. The pressure was overwhelming. The only way he was going to survive was by remembering who he was, by fighting like a general. This was not going to happen if he just relaxed and took it easy. This is why Hashem had him work hard to build an ark. The only way to win this battle was through hard work and sacrifice. By the time Noach was finished, he was able to march onto the ark like a proud general, knowing that he had won the battle. He walked into the ark knowing that he had fought valiantly to achieve this, to stand apart, to resist the pressure, to triumph over the evil that surrounded him. Today, we are all fighting a battle. There is so much hype all around us, and we cannot escape from it. Trillions of dollars are being spent to not only grab our attention, but to get us addicted, to get us obsessed. Whether it’s movies, games, sports, politics, or worse – entire industries exist aimed at pulling us in and keeping us there. We need to remember who we are – that we are proud soldiers in Hashem’s army, and we are dutybound to fight this battle as valiantly as we can. We must understand that we will need to put in effort and make sacrifices in order to win this war, to resist the pressure, to rise above the “floodwaters” of hype that are all around us. Just as Noach had to build an ark to protect himself and his family – so do we need to work hard to protect ourselves and our homes from the “floodwaters,” to remain firmly devoted to Hashem, and to never forget who we really are.
We read in Parashat Bereshit the famous story of Adam and Havah’s sin in Gan Eden . Hashem had commanded Adam and Havah not to eat the fruit of a particular tree, but the snake managed to convince Havah to taste some fruit. She did, and she then shared it with Adam. All three – Adam, Havah and the snake – were punished because of this sin. The Gemara makes a fascinating comment about the snake. Before this sin, the Gemara tells, the snake was the human being’s greatest and most loyal servant. The snake was at Adam’s service, ready to do anything he wanted. It would even go across the world to bring Adam precious jewels. Once the world was cursed because of the sin, the snake no longer served man. What does this mean? In what way was the snake the human being’s greatest “servant”? Let us take a step back and consider what exactly happened when the snake convinced Havah to eat the forbidden fruit. We have all probably wondered, how could Havah have been tempted by this one tree? She was allowed to eat all the other fruit in the garden. How could she have been so foolish, desiring specifically the fruit of the one tree that Hashem had declared forbidden? The answer is that the snake manipulated Havah’s imagination. She had her imagine that eating the forbidden fruit would bring her unparalleled joy and satisfaction. The snake sent her mind spinning, and she was tantalized by the bliss she imagined she would experience. The imagination is such a precious and vital asset for all of us. It is only because of our imagination that we are able to aspire, to have ambitions that we work hard to realize. Imagination is what allowed for the great inventions that human beings have come up with. And it is through our imagination that we work hard to build for ourselves the kind of lives we dream about. This is what the Gemara means when it says that the snake would go across the world and bring Adam precious jewels. Imagination allows us to pursue “jewels,” great achievements. It shows us valuable things “across the world,” that our eyes currently do not see, motivating us to work towards getting them. But our imagination can also destroy us, as it destroyed Adam and Havah. We might say that the snake was the first advertiser, or salesman, in human history. What do advertisers do? They manipulate our imagination. They put into our minds images of bliss that we will experience if we purchase what they are trying to sell. They have us imagine unbridled bliss on a luxury vacation, or riding a luxury car, or looking perfect wearing a certain article of clothing. This is when the imagination becomes our worst enemy, causing us to recklessly spend money on something we don’t need and which won’t make us happy. Imagination also makes us anxious and self-conscious. When we are not invited to an event we expected to be invited to, our imagination gets to work, coming up with all kinds of reasons why we weren’t invited. We feel hurt and insulted, and then angry, because we imagine that the person intentionally scorned us. When we notice a stain on our clothing, or that we accidentally put on the wrong jacket that doesn’t match, we imagine everyone staring at us and secretly laughing at us. And, of course, it is imagination that leads us to sin. Like Havah, we imagine that doing the forbidden act will bring us joy and bliss, when in truth it will leave us feeling ashamed and upset at ourselves. The story of the snake in Gan Eden teaches us how careful we have to be with our imagination. We should use it to dream, to aspire to greatness, to motivate us to build and accomplish. But we need to be careful not to allow it to destroy us, to cause us unnecessary anger, anxiety and fear, and not to lead us to do things which we will regret.
The opening verses of Parashat Bereshit tell that at the time of the beginning of the world’s creation, "the earth was ‘Tohu Va’bohu’" – meaning, filled with confusion and nothingness – "and there was darkness upon the deep." Then G-d proclaimed, "Let there be light," and light was created. The Or Ha’haim Ha’kadosh (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743) explains these verses as an allusion to the Jewish Nation’s exile. The expression "Tohu Va’bohu" in Gematria equals 430 – thus alluding to the 430-year period from the time G-d informed Abraham about the Egyptian exile until Beneh Yisrael’s redemption from Egypt. Moreover, the Aramaic Targum Onkelos translation of the Torah translates the word "Bohu" as "Rekanaya" ("emptiness"), which alludes to the Babylonian exile. The prophet Yirmiyahu (51:34) says in reference to Nebuchadnesar – the Babylonian emperor who exile Beneh Yisrael – "Keli Rek" – "an empty utensil." Thus, the word "Bohu" contains a subtle allusion to the Babylonian exile. The Torah then speaks of the darkness that filled all of existence, which the Or Ha’haim understands as an allusion to our current exile, which has lasted for millennia. The Or Ha’haim writes that our exile is described as "dark" because of the suffering our nation has endured at the hands of hostile nations, and because of the Yeser Ha’ra (evil inclination), the sinful lures and temptations which become ever more prevalent and make it especially challenging for us to properly devote ourselves to Hashem. However, the Torah tells that G-d pronounced that light should shine – and, sure enough, there was light. The Or Ha’haim writes that no matter how dark our exile becomes, no matter how difficult the challenges are, Hashem will eventually proclaim, "Yehi Or" – "Let there be light," and the darkness will give way to the brilliant light of redemption. When we look around, and consider the state of Am Yisrael in our time, we might feel disheartened and fall into despair. The "darkness" described by the Or Ha’haim has only intensified in the nearly 300 years since he wrote these words. True, we might not face the same kind of persecution as that which the Jews suffered in the past, but the "darkness" wrought by the Yeser Ha’ra is much thicker and drearier than ever before. Technology has given the Yeser Ha’ra power that our ancestors never imagined it having, and so many precious souls have fallen into this trap. In many ways, our exile is darker now than it ever was. Right at the beginning of the Torah, the Or Ha’haim makes a point of giving us the encouragement and optimism that we need, to avoid despair. He assures us that even when darkness fills the earth, G-d will bring the great light of redemption, save us from all the difficulties and struggles that we face, and create for us a new world, one in which we will be able to faithfully serve Him as we are meant to.
The most important mitzvah that we have during the Yamim Noraim (High Holidays) is the mitzva of teshuvah – to repent, to change, to become better. But, as we know, most of us don’t really change. We tend to leave this season no different than we were when they began. There are several reasons why this happens. One reason is because we don’t really believe we need to change. We feel that we’re basically ok, we’re good people, we’re generally religious, and we’re good enough. We might not be perfect, but for the most part, we’re good. Another reason is that we look at our lives and think, “Hey, I made it this far, so it must be working.” We feel ok with the way things are going, so we don’t feel a desperate need to make significant changes. Yet a third reason is because change is really, really hard. We know our habits, our natural tendencies, the things we’re used to doing, and we know how hard it is change them. The solution to this problem lies in the custom we observed on Rosh Hashanah – the custom of tashlich . Many people misunderstand tashlich as an easy way to rid ourselves of our sins. We go to the river, recite some texts, and our sins end up in the water, so they’re no longer on our record. But this isn’t how it works. The Rabbis explain that we recite tashlich to commemorate Avraham’s journey to akedat Yitzhak – to fulfill Hashem’s command to sacrifice his son. As he made his way to the place where Hashem told him to offer his son as a sacrifice, the Satan tried to stop him. He created a river that blocked Avraham’s path. Avraham and Yitzhak walked into the water, and they continued walking until the water reached their necks. Avraham turned to Hashem and pleaded that he be allowed to proceed so he could fulfill the command he was given. The waters subsided, and Avraham continued. (In the end, of course, Hashem told Avraham to withdraw his knife, and not to actually slaughter Yitzhak.) When we go to the river on Rosh Hashanah, we are commemorating this river which Avraham walked through on his way to akedat Yitzhak . In order to perform teshuvah , we need to follow Avraham Avinu’s example. We need to be so determined, so passionate, so strong in our convictions, that we do not let anything get in the way. Avraham showed us what determination means, the way we pursue excellence without letting anything stop us. All the reasons we listed above for why we are reluctant to change immediately fall away once we remember that we are the descendants of Avraham Avinu, that we bear his legacy, that we are to follow his example. Once we realize that we are here not just to be ok, but to be great like Avraham Avinu, then we won’t think that we’re good enough, or that we can’t be better. We will pursue greatness relentlessly, with fierce determination, like Avraham Avinu. This is what this week – the period of the Aseret Yemeh Teshuvah (Ten Days of Repentance) – is all about. It’s about achieving greatness. It’s about the realization that being generally ok is not good enough. If a person wants to hold his job, he needs to do his job very well. But if he wants a promotion, he needs to do his job excellently. He needs to be the top. This is our goal during this time of year – to strive for excellence, with unrelenting passion and determination. There is no comparison between waking up in the morning with the mindset of “I want to be ok” and the mindset of “I want to be great.” If we only want to be ok, we’re going to have a hard time getting out of bed. But if our mindset is that we want to be great, then nothing will stop us. We will never be too tired or not in the mood. No river will stand in our way. If we look to Avraham Avinu as our model and our inspiration, then this period of Aseret Yemeh Teshuvah can truly be a time of real, permanent change, an experience which propels us forward to the standard of excellence which we are expected to achieve – and which we are fully capable of achieving.
As everybody knows, we blow the shofar a lot on Rosh Hashanah. In fact, we blow no fewer than 100 sounds on each day of the two days. Already the Gemara raised the question of why we blow so many shofar sounds. The Torah obligation can be fully satisfied with just the first set of 30 shofar sounds which we blow before musaf . Why, then, do we blow all the extra shofar sounds? The Gemara gives a very mysterious answer to this question: כדי לערבב את השטן – “in order to confound the Satan .” Numerous interpretations have been offered for this remark. Tosafot , a commentary on the page of the Gemara, explains that when the Satan hears the extra sounds, he fears that this is the shofar heralding the arrival of Mashiah , when he will meet his final downfall. He becomes so frightened that he does not have the ability to prosecute against us. Later commentators ask a strong question about Tosafot ’s explanation. Is Satan really worried that the extra shofar sounds mean that Mashiah is coming? We blew the same number of shofar sounds last year, and the year before, and the year before that, and for many, many years. All of a sudden now, this year, Satan thinks that the extra shofar sounds are the sounds of Mashiah ? After hearing this number of sounds year after year after year, he’s still worried?! The commentators give a very powerful answer. They explain that Satan knows something that we don’t. Satan knows how great the Jewish People are. He knows that we are very capable of repenting and bringing Mashiah . He knows how close we are to our destiny. And so he is always afraid that we’ve gotten there. When he hears the shofar , he is worried that this might be the time of our final redemption. He believes in us more than we believe in ourselves. On Rosh Hashanah, we all come together to crown Hashem as King over the world. We are chosen for this because we are His special, beloved nation. We are royalty. We are unique. We are His cherished people. Rosh Hashanah is not only about our fear of judgment. It’s primarily about recognizing our royal stature, feeling privileged to be part of Hashem’s “royal family.” Sure, this privilege carries with is certain obligations and responsibilities. But it is still a great privilege, one for which we should feel especially grateful. If we have doubts about whether we really our royalty, the Satan reminds us. His fear on Rosh Hashanah shows us just how much potential we have. As we assemble this Rosh Hashanah to crown Hashem as King, let us recommit ourselves to abide by the standards expected of His “royal family,” and celebrate this unique, priceless privilege that we have been given.
The Torah commands blowing a "Teru’a" sound on Rosh Hashanah ("Yom Teru’a Yiheyeh Lakhem" – Bamidbar 29:1), and the Gemara explains that this refers to a weeping sound. The Gemara reaches this conclusion on the basis of Targum Onkelos (the ancient Aramaic translation of the Torah), which translates the word "Teru’a" as "Yebaba." This word is derived from the root "Y.B.B.," and the Gemara determines the meaning of this word from a verse in the Book of Shoftim (5:28). The context of that verse is Beneh Yisrael’s victory over the Canaanite army led by the general Sisera, who fled the battlefield and sought refuge in the home of a woman named Yael. As Sisera slept, Yael killed him, sealing Beneh Yisrael’s victory. The verse describes Sisera’s mother waiting by the window and crying – "Va’teyabeb" – as she realized that her beloved son was not returning home. This proves that the word "Teru’a," which is translated as "Yebaba," refers to a crying sound. The Gemara explains that there are different kinds of weeping, which accounts for the different sounds which we blow with the Shofar (the sounds known as "Shebarim," "Teru’a," and "Shebarim-Teru’a"). At first glance, it seems peculiar that Sisera’s mother’s cries form the basis of our understanding of the word "Teru’a." Why would specifically her weeping serve as the model of the sound of the Shofar? What connection is there between Sisera’s mother and Shofar blowing? The verses there in Shoftim tell that Sisera’s mother and her servants tried finding comfort by suggesting reasons why her son was not returning home. Perhaps he was busy celebrating, or collecting the spoils of war. Not wanting to confront the painful reality that her son had been killed, Sisera’s mother tried in vain to comfort herself by imaginary tales. People similarly use their creativity to avoid the painful reality that they have acted wrongly. It is exceedingly difficult to admit wrongdoing. In marriage, for example, when a couple has an argument, rarely does one spouse later say to the other, "I realize that I was wrong, I apologize." Admitting error, guilt and wrongdoing is very uncomfortable. And so to avoid this discomfort, we come up with excuses. We think of creative reasons for why we did what we did in an attempt to exonerate ourselves and thereby save ourselves from painful feelings of guilt and embarrassment. This is one explanation for the connection between Sisera’s mother’s weeping and Rosh Hashanah. Just as Sisera’s mother cried when she stopped making "excuses," when she confronted the painful reality that her son was not returning home, Rosh Hashanah is the time for us to stop making excuses for our behavior, and to confront the painful reality that we need to improve. In the Book of Yirmiyahu (2:35), G-d tells Beneh Yisrael, "Hineni Nishpat Otach Al Omrech Lo Hatati" – that He would be punishing them for saying, "I did not sin." This is a truly remarkable verse. G-d does not punish us for sinning; as flawed human beings, we are prone to make mistakes, and He does not expect perfection. He punishes us not for our mistakes, but for denying our mistakes. It is all but inevitable that we will commit sins, but we are expected to hold ourselves accountable, to admit our wrongdoing, to humbly acknowledge guilt, and to resolve to try harder. This concept is taught to us by King Shlomo, in Mishleh (28:13), where he writes, "U’modeh Ve’ozeb Yeruham" – "…but he who confesses and abandons [his wrongdoing] will be given mercy." We are not asked to be perfect; we are asked only to admit our imperfections and try to be better. I saw an example of this principle during a cab ride to the airport. The driver was pulled over for speeding. When the cop asked him why he was driving so fast, he said, "Look, officer, it’s not my fault, I have a passenger who is late for a flight, I am just trying to do my job…" The policeman looked at him and said, "Hey, just tell me the truth." The driver looked down and said, "Ok. I was driving too fast. I was wrong. I am sorry." The cop politely asked him not to speed again, and let him go without issuing a ticket. I thought to myself that this is precisely what Hashem wants of us. He is not looking to punish us for our sins. Rather, He wants us to stop making excuses, to take ownership of our mistakes, to be honest with ourselves, to admit that we do things wrong and that we need to try to be better. This is what the cry of the Shofar is saying to us: to stop making excuses, and to honestly take stock of our actions in order to improve.
As we all know, on Rosh Hashanah we blow three different sounds: תקיעה – a long, straight, unbroken sound; שברים – three broken sounds; תרועה – a long series of short, rapid blasts. The Shelah Ha’kadosh explained the symbolism of these three sounds. The תקיעה represents the fact that we are all born “straight” and unbroken. By nature, we are good and pure, like the simple, straightforward תקיעה . At some point, however, we become “broken.” We make mistakes, we fail, we sin, we slip, we act in a way that we aren’t supposed to act. This state of “brokenness” is represented by the שברים . The תרועה sounds like a frantic crying sound. It represents our remorse, our pain, our regret, our feelings of repentance when we realize we’ve become broken and we want to get better. When we sound the shofar on Rosh Hashanah, we begin with a תקיעה , followed by the שברים and תרועה , and we then conclude with a תקיעה . The Shelah explains that we begin pure and pristine, like a תקיעה , and we then go through the process of שברים and תרועה – being broken, and repenting. Through the process of teshuvah , we repair ourselves and end up with a תקיעה – pure and pristine like how we began. This is why Rosh Hashanah is called in the Torah יום תרועה – the day of the תרועה sound. Although we blow all the different sounds on Rosh Hashanah, the primary sound is the תרועה , the regret, the recognition that we have erred, that we have faults which need to be corrected. This is what we need to focus on. The pasuk says in Tehillim (89:16), אשרי העם יודעי תרועה – “Fortunate is the nation who knows about the תרועה .” We are fortunate if we understand the message of תרועה , if we are honest and humble enough to recognize that we are broken and that we need to fix ourselves. There is a natural tendency to assume that whatever we do is, necessarily, correct, and that whatever we think is, necessarily, correct. We don’t like the uncomfortable feeling of acknowledging that we did something wrong, or that the opinion we had was wrong. We have a hard time blowing the תרועה , crying out of remorse, humbly realizing that we aren’t living the way we’re supposed to be living. If we muster the courage and the humility to blow the תרועה , the “cry,” to experience sincere regret, then אשרי העם – we are truly fortunate, because we are then able to grow, become better people, and get closer to Hashem. If we stubbornly insist that everything we do is right, that we have no need to improve, then we are never going to grow. Growth happens when we sound the תרועה , when we are honest enough to recognize where we’ve gone wrong and what we need to fix. As we approach Rosh Hashanah, let us all take some time to think honestly and seriously about our behavior. Let us have the strength to admit that we are not always right, that we are far from perfect, that not everything we do is what we’re supposed to do. If we assess our behavior with honesty and humility, then we will truly have a productive Yamim Noraim season, and begin the new year on the right foot, prepared to grow and become better.
The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tabo presents the Misva of Bikkurim, which obligates a farmer to take the first fruits that ripen, bring them to the Bet Ha’mikdash, and give them to the Kohen. The unique importance of this Misva is expressed by an enigmatic comment of the Midrash regarding the very first words of the Torah – "Bereshit Bara Elokim" (literally, "In the beginning, G-d created…"). The Midrash interprets this phrase to mean that G-d created the world for certain things which are referred to as "Reshit" ("the first"). For example, the world was created for the sake of Torah study and observance, as the Torah is referred to as "Reshit" ("Hashem Kanani Reshit Darko" – Mishleh 8:22). Additionally, the Midrash remarks, the world was created for Am Yisrael, which are likewise called "Reshit" ("Reshit Tebuatoh" – Yirmiyahu 2:3). More surprisingly, the Midrash writes that the world was created for the sake of the Misva of Bikkurim, the first fruits, which are called "Reshit" ("Ve’lakahta Me’reshit Kol Peri Ha’adama" – Debarim 26:2). What is special about this Misva, and how does its unique quality relate to the word "Reshit"? A profound answer to this question was offered by Rav Haim of Sanz (1793-1876), in his work Dibreh Haim. He notes the approach taken by the Ramban in interpreting the verse, "Bereshit Bara Elokim," explaining that before the actual creation of the world, G-d created a certain force, the potential for creation. (The Ramban calls this force "Koah Hiyuli"). It was through this primal force that G-d then proceeded to create everything in the universe. Rav Haim of Sanz explains that we human beings, too, are endowed with this force, this potential for creativity. This force is the origin of our innate attraction to newness, and why we bore easily. A clear example is the frequency with which people today check their phones for new messages, new updates, and news flashes. In fact, the very word "news" with which the information industry refers to itself was chosen to appeal to this innate drive. We crave new information, new ideas, new experiences, and new achievements. This is because we are endowed with "Reshit" – with a force of potentiality, the power to create new things. This drive, like all human drives, is both critically important, and exceedingly dangerous. It is what motives people to build, to develop, to arrive at new inventions and new groundbreaking ideas. However, left unchecked, this drive can lead a person to the wrong places. In his search for newness, he will seek forbidden experiences, and come up with woefully misguided ideas. This is an especially vexing problem for our generation, when we all carry a limitless reservoir of information in our pockets. People searching for something new can find anything on the internet – including new content which they should never be accessing. The Misva of Bikkurim, Rav Haim of Sanz explains, represents the need to channel this innate creative drive toward the service of Hashem. After working very hard for months on end to produce fruit, the farmer finally sees the first ripened fruits, and craves them. But he is told not to eat them, and to instead reserve them for Hashem, so-to-speak, by bringing them to the Kohen in the Bet Ha’mikdash. This symbolizes the way we are to harness our power of "Reshit," our drive to experience newness, toward meaningful, spiritual goals. It is natural to grow bored and restless, and to seek something new. This is a drive which we all have, and which we are all supposed to have. We should never try to suppress it – because it is part of our very beings. Instead, we need to channel this drive the right way. We should always be seeking to expand our horizons within the realm of Torah and Misvot – initiating and participating in new programs, seeking new opportunities for learning, for Hesed, for community involvement, and so on. This is the message of Bikkurim – that we are to take the power force of "Reshit" which Hashem implanted within us and utilize it to improve ourselves and to contribute to the world.
Parashat Ki-Teseh concludes with two Misvot which, at first glance, are entirely unrelated. The first is the command to use honest weights and measures when conducting business. The Torah strictly forbids deceiving people, such as customers, by tampering with the scales and other devices in order to overcharge. This command is followed by the Misva to remember Amalek’s brazen, unprovoked attack against Beneh Yisrael after the Exodus from Egypt, and the requirement to obliterate the memory of Amalek. Rashi, based on the Midrash, writes that these two Misvot are actually very closely related. He writes: "If you lie in regard to weights and measures, then you must worry about the provocation of the enemy." The Torah links these two commands to teach us that the punishment for dishonest weights and measures is coming under attack by enemies such as Amalek. However, in the Book of Shemot, Rashi seems to view Amalek’s attack differently. The story of the war against Amalek follows the events that occurred in Masa U’meriba, where Beneh Yisrael complained about the lack of water, and asked, "Ha’yesh Hashem Be’kirbenu, Im Ayin" – "Is G-d in our midst, or not?" (Shemot 17:7). Rashi (Shemot 27:8) comments that it was because of this lack of faith, the people’s wondering whether Hashem was with them and caring for them, that Hashem sent Amalek to attack them. Whereas here in Parashat Ki-Teseh Rashi attributes Amalek’s attack to the sin of dishonesty in commerce, in Sefer Shemot, Rashi writes that this event served to punish the people for their lack of Emuna. Rav Shimon Schwab (1908-1995) explained that in truth, these are one and the same, two sides of the same coin. The Gemara in Masechet Shabbat (31a) teaches that each person, after leaving this world, will be asked three questions, one of which is, "Nasata Ve’natata Be’emuna?" – whether or not he conducted his financial affairs "Be’emuna" – honestly, in a trustworthy manner, without misleading or deceiving people. Rav Schwab noted that "Be’emuna" also means "with faith," meaning, conducting one’s business affairs with faith in Hashem. These are not two different meanings of the phrase "Nasata Ve’natata Be’emuna," but rather two aspects of the same outlook. If a person has faith in Hashem, and firmly believes that regardless of his efforts, he never receives more or less than what Hashem decides he should have, then he will naturally conduct his affairs honestly. A person with Emuna understands that in the long term, no benefit can possibly be received from ill-begotten gains. If we believe in Hashem, then we believe that we will always have precisely what Hashem gives us, and that if we obtain money or other assets in ways which He strictly forbids, such as through dishonesty, we will ultimately lose it. A person with Emuna will never try to cheat somebody to earn money – because he believes that his livelihood depends solely on Hashem, who will clearly take away anything he gains by violating the Torah, and will reward him for any sacrifices made for the sake of observing the Torah. Thus, Rashi’s comments are not at all contradictory. Amalek comes as punishment for a lack of Emuna, and for this same reason, Amalek comes as punishment for false weights and measures, for deceiving people in business. These are two sides of the exact same coin. Let us conduct all our affairs with firm Emuna, so that we will not even be tempted, or entertain a fleeting thought, to "cut corners" or do anything even slightly unethical. Let us reinforce our belief that we have nothing to gain through dishonesty, and we have everything to gain by adhering to the Torah’s strict standards of ethics and morality.
Parashat Ki-Tetzeh begins with one of the most baffling mitzvot in the entire Torah – a concept called the אשת יפת תואר (literally, “the attractive woman”). This law applied when Beneh Yisrael would go out to battle against an enemy nation, and they would take captives. If a soldier saw a captive woman and desired her, the Torah allows him to marry her, after he follows a certain procedure. He needs to take her home, have her cut her hair to make her less attractive, and let her cry for her family for one month. If he still desires her after that month, then he is permitted to marry her. Rashi explains that clearly, the Torah does not want the solider to marry this non-Jewish woman. However, דברה תורה כנגד יצר הרע – the Torah presented this command to counter the yetzer ha’ra (evil inclination). If the Torah did not prescribe a method for permitting the woman, the soldier would likely take her in a forbidden manner. Therefore, the Torah presented the soldier with a permissible way to marry the woman he desires, so he would not take her illicitly. We must wonder, is this really how it works?! Does the Torah provide a permissible way for eating pork, or cheeseburgers, for those who really want it? Why all of a sudden now, in the particular instance of a soldier who desires a woman captured during the battle, the Torah found it necessary to allow him to marry her so that he does not take her in a forbidden way? The answer is an important one, and one which is ever so relevant for each and every one of us. The prophet Yirmiyahu (8:6) criticizes the people for not regretting the sins they’ve committed: אין איש נחם על רעתו לאמר: מה עשיתי, כולו שב במרוצתם כסוס שוטף במלחמה – “There is no man who regrets his evil, saying, ‘What have I done?’ They all continue running, like a galloping horse in war.” This pasuk compares the people to a horse galloping out to battle, which doesn’t stop, and keeps running forward. The people were so “busy,” so frantic, always running, so they never stopped to think and ask themselves, מה עשיתי – whether they were doing the right thing, acting the right way. This is so true about today’s world, as well. Everyone’s running, constantly. We have made ourselves what I call “ thinkless ” – we live without thinking. We don’t stop to think about why we do what we do, and why we don’t do what we don’t do. This explains so much about people’s behavior. Why are there people who believe in Hashem and believe in the Torah but don’t make sure to pray every day, keep kosher, or observe Shabbat? Because they’re not thinking. Why are there people who had beautiful marriages but now speak disrespectfully and offensively to their spouse? Because they aren’t thinking. Why are there generally good people who occasionally say such insensitive or foolish things to others? Because they aren’t thinking. Why did the Torah allow the soldier to marry the captive woman? Because he was placed in a situation of being כסוס שוטף במלחמה , like a horse on the battlefield. He is at war, and during war, a person can’t think. For a soldier at war it is especially difficult to stop and think. Soldiers are, almost by definition, thinkless. And so the Torah made an exception for them, finding a way to allow a soldier to marry a woman whom otherwise he would not be allowed to marry. He must bring her to his home for a month, during which time he will be able to think carefully about whether this is truly what he wants. But too many of us are thinkless by choice. We turn ourselves into a סוס שוטף במלחמה , a horse frantically galloping to the battlefield. We fill our time with important things and not-so-important things, leaving us little, if any, time to think. And so we’ve become thinkless, to the point where we fail to ask ourselves מה עשיתי , whether we’re acting the right way and living the way we are supposed to live. The month of Elul is the time for us to stop and think, to switch from being thinkless to thinkful. This is the time to pause, to stop our frantic race, to stop galloping, and to seriously and honestly challenge ourselves, to think about what we need to do differently. Let us take full advantage of this month to stop living “thinklessly,” and to instead live thoughtfully, making the right decisions and acting the right way.
Parashat Shoftim begins with a discussion of the judges who are to be appointed to preside over the nation’s legal disputes. The Torah commands the judges, לא תכיר פנים – not to show favoritism. Rashi explains that this does not refer to tilting the verdict in favor of a litigant whom the judge likes even though he does not really deserve to win the case. This is obvious and does not even need to be said. Rather, Rashi writes, this means that when the judge hears the case, and the litigants are presenting their arguments, he must treat them equally. Rashi gives the example of making one litigant stand while allowing the other to sit. When a litigant senses that the judge is treating him with less respect than the other litigant, he becomes discouraged, and cannot argue his case effectively. And so even during the process of hearing the arguments, the judge must treat both litigants the same way. Rashi’s comments present us with a valuable lesson that is relevant not only to judges in a courtroom, but to each and every one of us. People are affected by our subtleties and nuances. They can sense by the way we communicate how we think and feel about them. Just by telling a litigant to stand or sit, the judge communicates what he thinks about that litigant. And this is true of all our interactions. People pick up the messages we subtly convey. I was once at a meeting with a group of women teachers to plan an educational program. Somebody suggested that the program be held one evening, and I said that this might not be a good idea, because “I think some of the teachers might be busy then.” This is all I said. A different time was found for the program. Later that night, one of the teachers texted me, thanking me for my sensitivity. I didn’t know what she was talking about. She explained that she has been married for 15 years and still does not have children. She noticed that I specifically said, “…some of the teachers might be busy,” and not, “…some of the teachers might be busy with their children ” – which would have been very painful for her to hear. The little words we speak, the way we express ourselves, can make all the difference in the world. So many times we hear or know of people who are going through a difficult time – such as financial struggles, a medical problem, challenges with children, older singles, and so on. And we feel very uncomfortable because we have absolutely no idea what to do. There is no way we can solve their problem. Often, we feel so uncomfortable that we prefer to just not see them or think about them. But the truth is that while we might not be able to solve the problem, there is absolutely something very important which we can do – and that is, we can show that we care . This is not difficult to do, especially in today’s day and age. We just need to pick up our phone and send a three-line message saying hello, letting them know that we’re thinking about them, that we’re praying for them, that we wish them well. We should never feel that if we can’t solve the problem, then there’s nothing we can do. We can – and must – show the person that we really care. And we can do this in simple, subtle, but meaningful ways, by reaching out, sending a text, making a call, expressing friendship. This is critically important in marriage, as well. When one spouse has a problem, the other spouse is not “off the hook” just because he or she has no solution. Expressing sensitivity, respect, understanding and concern is vitally important in any relationship, but especially in marriage. Let’s all make an effort to be on the lookout for people who are struggling, who are hurting. Even if we cannot solve their problem, let us share a kind word and give them the love, friendship and support that they so desperately need.
Parashat Re’eh begins: ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום, ברכה וקללה – “Behold, I am presenting before you today a blessing and a curse.” Moshe Rabbenu proceeds to explain to the people that they have the choice between two paths – the path of mitzvah observance, which brings blessing, and the path of disobeying the Torah, which brings the opposite. The Sifri makes what I believe to be a crucially important comment about these two paths. It gives an analogy to a man who is traveling and reaches a fork in the road. He must choose between two routes. The first is full of thorny branches at the beginning, but clear and smooth at the end, while the other is clear in the beginning, but full of thorns at the end. This analogy is relevant to virtually anything good in life. When it comes to anything valuable which we want to achieve, we have this choice to make – to take the easy route, which leads to hardship, or to struggle and work hard, and then enjoy the great benefits that our hard work yields. If a young person who is just starting out takes an easy job, he might enjoy the comfort of not having to work hard, but he will later suffer the consequences of not having built a career. However, if he begins with a difficult job, which requires long hours and probably doesn’t pay very much, he will walk through “thorns” for a while, but he treads along a path that ultimately leads to success. When a couple first gets married, they can choose the easy way – doing whatever they want, saying whatever they want, and ignoring the other’s needs. But then the marriage becomes full of “thorns.” If they put in the hard work to be attentive, flexible, compromising and sensitive to each other, then they will later enjoy the unparalleled benefits of a beautiful marriage. Many alcoholics and drug addicts start out happy. It’s a fun and exciting life, filled with parties, laughter, and good times – until they reach the “thorns,” and their lives are in shambles. Torah life is just the opposite. Yes, it has its “thorns.” It can feel restrictive having to observe Shabbat every week, to keep a kosher kitchen, to eat only at kosher restaurants, and to maintain the prayer schedule. But ask anyone who has been doing it for many years, and they’ll tell you that they would never give it up. People who observe Shabbat love it. They see it as the greatest and most precious gift. Yes, there are “thorns,” it can be complicated and difficult – but when we get past the “thorns,” we reach the beautiful experience of Shabbat. It is important not to be misled by the “clear” and “thorny” paths that we see in front of us. Even if the path of Torah appears “thorny,” we need to remember that the path is beautiful at the end – and this is the path which we want to follow.
Parashat Ekev includes the second paragraph of Shema, in which we find the command to educate our children: ולמדתם אותם את בניכם – “You shall teach them [the words of Torah] to your children” (11:19). The adult generation bears the obligation to ensure the perpetuation of Torah, that it is successfully transmitted to the next generation. The Torah is eternal, and must be always preserved, and we therefore have the obligation to teach it to our children. As everybody knows, this mitzvah poses a great challenge. Educating our children to follow the path of Torah has always been challenging, but it is especially so in our day and age, when lures and distractions abound. One of the important principles to keep in mind when it comes to education is that while the Torah never changes, the “packaging” does – and must – change. The way we transmit it, the tools and methods we use to teach and inspire, must be tailored to the specific needs of every generation. One obvious example of “new packaging” is the fact that thousands upon thousands of Jews today learn Torah over digital platforms, by hearing classes and reading printed Torah material disseminated through apps and websites. This is today’s “packaging” of the Torah. Another example is the founding of the Hassidic movement in Eastern Europe in the 1700s. Many Jews in Ukraine and other places were simply unable to connect to Hashem through Gemara learning. They were poor peasants who needed to start working already as children, such that they never received an education. Learning was not an option. The Ba’al Shem Tov realized that the Torah needed to be “repackaged” – not, Heaven forbid, changed – to allow these people to connect to it. And so he founded a new movement, which emphasized things like joy, prayer, singing, dancing, and the notion that even a simple, unlearned Jew can build a special relationship with Hashem. In our times, we need to “package” the Torah for our children the right way. Shoving it down their throats with anger and threats is not going to succeed. The pasuk says, דרכיה דרכי נועם, וכל נתיבותיה שלום – “Its ways are ways are pleasantness, and all its ways are peace.” We need to show our children the beauty of Torah life, and the joy of Torah life. We need to try to make it fun and engaging, something that they will be attracted to. Imagine somebody goes over to his fellow who is struggling, hands him a check, and says, “Look, I’m giving you $1,000 because I see that you’re an abject failure, you can’t make a living, you’re a real hazit , and you never do anything right, so you need help.” The person will certainly accept the $1,000, but will obviously not feel very good about it. Now imagine the person going over to his struggling fellow, handing him a check, and saying, “Look, I know you’re going through a rough time, working very hard but not seeing much success. You’re a good guy and I really respect you – so I wanted to help you out.” Needless to say, the recipient would warmly hug him and feel overjoyed. In both scenarios, somebody gave another person a valuable gift. But the “packaging” was drastically different. In the first instance, the “packaging” was unpleasant; in the second, the “packaging” was beautiful. And that makes all the difference in the world. This is our challenge in setting out to fulfill the mitzvah of ולמדתם אותם את בניכם . Torah is a beautiful, precious gift. But when we give it to our children, we must do so in a pleasant, enjoyable way, in a manner of דרכיה דרכי נועם , which leaves then with a good feeling. They will then accept this gift lovingly and happily, and then, please G-d, transmit it also to their children, so that the beautiful chain of Torah will continue for all time.
Parashat Vaet’hanan begins with Moshe’s plea to Hashem to allow him to enter the Land of Israel. G-d had decreed that Moshe would not enter, and would instead die before Beneh Yisrael crossed into the land, because of his sin of hitting the rock. Now, Moshe begged Hashem to let him cross into the land. Hashem refused, and said to Moshe: רב לך, אל תוסף דבר אלי עוד בדבר הזה – “You have a lot! Do not speak to Me any more about this matter” (3:26). Rashi explains the words רב לך (“You have a lot”) to mean: הרבה מזה שמור לך – “Much more than this is reserved for you.” Hashem was telling Moshe that he had immense reward awaiting in the next world. He was the greatest man who ever lived. He accomplished more than anyone ever would. He brought Beneh Yisrael out of Egypt, brought them the Torah, and led them for forty years. He had done so much. This is what he should be focusing on – not the one thing that he was not able to have, the privilege of going into Eretz Yisrael . Some people proudly announce when they reach old age, “I have no regrets.” But this is not true. There is nobody without regrets. Everyone has done things they wish they hadn’t done, and made decisions they wish they hadn’t made. Even the greatest people. Moshe Rabbenu forfeited the privilege of entering the land because of one bad decision – hitting the rock. Yaakov Avinu made the mistake of giving one son, Yosef, a special garment, which caused the brothers to hate him and sell him as a slave. We can imagine how much they regretted these mistakes, seeing what these mistakes led to. When we reflect on the wrong decisions we’ve made, we need to remember Hashem’s message to Moshe – רב לך , that we have so much good in our life, even with the bad decisions that we’ve made. There is also something else we can learn from Moshe’s plea. Moshe actually made two requests: אעברה נא ואראה את הארץ טובה – “Let me please cross, and I shall see the good land.” He wanted to cross the river into Eretz Yisrael , and, at very least, to be able to see the land. Hashem denied his first request, but granted his second request. He did not let him into the land, but He told him to climb to the mountaintop and see the Land of Israel. Even though Moshe’s mistake resulted in his being unable to enter the land, he was still able to see the land. He made the most of the situation. If we realize we’ve made a bad decision, we must not wallow in self-pity and misery. Living with “what-ifs” – constantly asking ourselves, “What if I did X instead of Y” – is guaranteed to bring us nothing but misery. If we made a bad mistake, we should try to make it work, to make the most of the situation. Instead of wishing we made the right decision, we should work to make our decision right. Sometimes people look back and wonder if they or their children made the right decision in choosing a marriage partner. Sometimes people look back and wonder if they made the right decision of which career to pursue, or which business to go into. Parents often look back and wonder if they made the right decisions when raising their kids. But living with “what-ifs” is not going to help us. It is only going to make us unhappy. What we should be doing instead is focusing on רב לך , on all that has gone right, and trying to make it even better. When David committed his sin with Batsheva, she conceived, and later delivered a child. The prophet told David that the baby will die. Sure enough, the baby took gravely ill. David prayed, fasted and cried, begging Hashem to spare the child. After seven days, the infant died. David got up from the floor, bathed, and ate. He explained to his servants that as long as there was a chance that the child would survive, he fasted and prayed. But now that the baby died, there was nothing else to do. And so he got up and resumed his life. This is the model we should follow when suffering the consequences of our bad decisions. What’s done is done. We should not look back. We should appreciate רב לך , all the good that we have, and move forward, making the best of the situation in which we find ourselves.
The Gemara in Masechet Shabbat tells that after a person leaves this world, he will be asked four questions: 1) נשאת ונתת באמונה – whether he dealt honestly with people. 2) קבעת עיתים לתורה – whether he set aside time for Torah learning. 3) עסקת בפריה ורביה – whether he involved himself in building a family. 4) ציפית לישועה – whether he anticipated the final redemption. As we approach Tisha B’Av, let us take a moment to reflect upon this final question – ציפית לישועה . The Gemara here makes it very clear that hoping for Mashiah is among our most fundamental obligations, alongside things like honesty, Torah learning, and having children. In fact, one of the Rishonim (the Semak ) considers the belief in the arrival of Mashiah as part of the basic mitzvah of emunah . We are commanded to believe in Hashem in the pasuk , אנכי ה' אלוקיך אשר הוצאתיך מארץ מצרים – “I am Hashem your G-d who took you from the land of Egypt.” According to one opinion, this pasuk obligates us to believe that Hashem will redeem us from our current exile just as He redeemed us from Egypt. In our daily Amidah prayer, there is just one blessing in which we ask for livelihood ( ברך עלינו ), and just one blessing in which we ask for health ( רפאנו ). But there are several blessings in which we pray for Mashiah ( בונה ירושלים , את צמח דוד ). When the Rabbis composed the text of the Amidah , they placed a great deal of emphasis on yearning for the rebuilding of the Bet Ha’mikdash . The Midrash teaches that tragedies befell Beneh Yisrael during the time of King David because they were not concerned enough about building the Bet Ha’mikdash . The people were punished because it did not bother them enough that the Bet Ha’mikdash was not yet built. Why is this so important? Why is ציפית לישועה such a crucial obligation? Every parent has heard his or her child use the “everybody/nobody” argument. When a parent forbids something, the child says, “But everybody does it.” When a parent requires something, the child says, “But nobody does it.” I hear adults using the “everybody/nobody” argument, too. The funny thing is, I’ve heard it in opposite directions. Some people say, “Everybody goes to classes in the summer,” and I’ve heard, “Nobody goes to classes in the summer.” I’ve heard, “Everybody keeps Shabbat nowadays,” and I’ve heard, “Nobody keeps Shabbat nowadays.” I’ve heard, “Everyone is on their phones Shabbat afternoon,” and I’ve heard, “Nobody is on their phones Shabbat afternoon.” I’ve heard, “Everybody has great marriages nowadays,” and I’ve heard, “Nobody has good marriages nowadays.” It all depends on who your “everybody” is. Some people’s “everybody” all go to classes during the summer, and other people’s “everybody” do not. Some people’s “everybody” would never think to use their phones on Shabbat, and other people’s “everybody” regularly use their phones on Shabbat. The obligation of ציפית לישועה is meant to put us with the right “everybody.” It is intended to make us part of the “everybody” who care deeply about spirituality, for whom Torah and mitzvot are a priority, who want to come close to Hashem. If this is our “everybody,” then we are bothered by the fact that we do not have a Bet Ha’mikdash to help us come closer to Hashem. Whenever we hear ourselves excusing ourselves from certain things, or allowing ourselves to do certain things, because “everybody does it,” we need to ask ourselves who our “everybody” is. Are these people of ציפית לישועה , who are concerned about spirituality, for whom Hashem is important? If they aren’t, then what “everybody does” should not matter, because this is not the “everybody” whose example we should be following. We need to carefully think about whom we associate with, whom we identify with, who our “everybody” is. If our “everybody” are people who care about Hashem, then we will strive to do what “everybody” does – pray and yearn that the Bet Ha’mikdash will be rebuilt speedily and in our days, so we will be able to build the closest possible connection to Hashem.
Parashat Matot tells of the tribes of Reuven and Gad, who came to Moshe and asked his permission to permanently settle in Ever Ha’Yarden , the area east of the Jordan River. Beneh Yisrael had captured this area from the kingdoms of Sihon and Og who had attacked them, and now Reuven Gad asked if they could permanently live there, instead of crossing over into the Land of Israel with the rest of the nation. Moshe initially was angry at them for expressing this wish to remain outside the land rather than fight with the other tribes to capture the Land of Israel. The people of Reuven and Gad clarified that they would build homes for their families and pens for their cattle, and they would then cross the river together with the rest of the nation and join in waging battle in Eretz Yisrael . Only after the war was won would they return to their families and cattle on the other side of the river. The Midrash points out that in explaining all this to Moshe, the people of Reuven and Gad made a serious mistake. They said: גדרות צאן נבנה למקננו פה וערים לטפנו – “We will build pens for our cattle here, and cities for our children” (32:16) – mentioning their animals before their children. The Midrash comments that Reuven and Gad gave precedence to their money – their flocks of sheep – over their children. Moshe therefore corrected them by saying, בנו לכם ערים לטפכם וגדרות לצנאכם – “Go build cities for your children and pens for your sheep” (32:24). He instructed them to reverse their priorities – to give precedence to their children over their herds. We must wonder, is it really possible that Reuven and Gad thought their sheep were more important than their children? Were their priorities really that distorted? One commentator explained that Reuven and Gad did not regard their sheep as more important than their children, but they wrongly assumed that they needed to invest more work tending to the sheep than tending to the children. As mentioned, Beneh Yisrael captured this territory from Sihon and Og. They took over a territory that already had built cities. The entire infrastructure was in place. There wasn’t much work to do in terms of housing. And so the people of Reuven and Gad mentioned the cattle first – not because the cattle was more important, but because this is where most of the work needed to be done. They figured that there was already an infrastructure in place for the families – so they needed to focus on their sheep. But they were wrong. Even if an infrastructure already exists, even if the system is set up, tending to children requires hard work and a great deal of attention. The Gemara in Masechet Baba Metzia praises the work done by Rabbi Hiyya for the sake of Jewish education. Rabbi Hiyya planted flax, and then used the flax to make nets with which to trap deer. He slaughtered the deer, fed its meat to the poor, and used its skins to make parchment upon which he wrote the Torah. He then brought these scrolls to various communities so children could be taught Torah. It is noteworthy that the Gemara praises Rabbi Hiyya not just for teaching Torah – but for planting the flaxseeds which enabled him to hunt the deer whose skins were then used for parchment. When it comes to education, there are no shortcuts. We need to work hard at every stage. We can’t just leave it to the system. We need to plant the seeds and put in the work and effort to educate our children and teach them how to live as Torah Jews. Unfortunately, some parents make the same mistake as Reuven and Gad – figuring that since the system is already in place, we have yeshivot and institutions that teach the children, they should be focusing on the “sheep,” on earning money. They think that paying tuition, with all the hard work and sacrifice this entails, is enough. But this is wrong. The system is not enough. We need to put in the work, spending time with our children and teaching them, already from a young age, about Torah commitment. The yeshivot cannot do it on their own. We parents have to do our part, taking an active role in our children’s religious growth. The pasuk says in Tehillim (127:4), כחיצים ביד גבור כן בני הנעורים – “Youth are like arrows in the hand of a mighty soldier.” Educating youngsters is compared to a skilled archer shooting arrows. An archer doesn’t shoot randomly; he picks his target, and focuses on it intently. Education, too, requires focus and attention. We can’t leave it to the system. We need to get actively involved, and put in the time and effort to teach and guide our children along the path of Torah life.
The Mishna in Pirkeh Avot (5:19) draws a contrast between two very different men – Avraham Avinu, and Bilam. Avraham, of course, was the founder of our nation, one of the most righteous men who ever lived. Bilam, meanwhile, was a wicked man, who wanted to place a curse upon Beneh Yisrael so they would be annihilated. Even when Hashem told him that He does not want Beneh Yisrael to be cursed, Bilam kept trying, though in the end, he was forced to bless the people, instead of cursing them. The Mishna says that Avraham and Bilam had three opposite attributes. Avraham was characterized by the qualities of עין טובה, רוח נמוכה, נפש שפלה . This means he looked at people positively ( עין טובה ), he was humble ( רוח נמוכה ), and he was generous and not greedy ( נפש שפלה ). Bilam, on the other hand, was characterized by the three opposite attributes – עין רעה, רוח גבוהה, נפש רחבה – he looked upon people negatively ( עין רעה ), was arrogant ( רוח גבוהה ), and was greedy ( נפש רחבה ). We must wonder, are these the only three differences between these two men? Avraham was one of the greatest tzadikim who ever lived, and Bilam was one of the worst people who ever lived. This is like someone asking us to find three differences between Hitler and the Hafetz Haim. Really? Are there only three differences? These two have nothing at all to do with each other; they should not even be mentioned in the same sentence! The answer is that the Mishna is teaching us about the foundations that led these two men to their drastically different paths. Avraham Avinu’s character was built on the foundation of the qualities of humility, kindness and generosity, whereas Bilam’s character was built upon the qualities of arrogance, greed and hostility. These opposite foundations are what led to the opposite results. When Avraham journeyed to Jerusalem for the test of the akedah , to bind his beloved on the altar and prepare to slaughter him, he went with his two נערים (young attendants). Bilam, too, had two נערים with him when he traveled to Moav to curse Beneh Yisrael . The word נער alludes to these three qualities: נ פש שפלה/רחבה, ע ין טובה/רעה, ר וח נמוכה/גבוהה . Avraham and Bilam journeyed through life with these opposite middot . And this is how Avraham became such a righteous figure, and Bilam became such a wicked person. We might sometimes wonder how it is that some people who study Torah do not act properly. If we believe that Torah refines and cleanses a personality, then why do we occasionally meet people who learn lots of Torah but are not particularly nice, friendly, courteous, honest or well-mannered? The answer is that the Torah puts on a journey to greatness – but that journey depends on our foundations. Bilam was granted great wisdom and insight; he was a prophet whose prophecy is, in a sense, compared to that of Moshe Rabbenu. But his wisdom led him to evil, because his “journey” was taken on a foundation of bad middot . He started with negative character traits, so he used his spiritual gifts for evil. Avraham began his journey on the foundation of hesed and other positive middot , and so he achieved greatness. We absolutely believe that Torah refines and purifies our characters – but only if we begin the process with the right foundation, with the foundation built for us by Avraham Avinu, the foundation of hesed , of humility, of graciousness, and love for all people. Once we’ve established this foundation, the Torah will truly make us great.
Parashat Hukat tells the story of Moshe hitting the rock, and how Hashem punished him severely for this sin, decreeing that he would not enter into the Land of Israel. The most common understanding of this episode is Rashi’s understanding – that Moshe was supposed to produce water for the people by speaking to the rock, but he struck the rock, instead. However, later commentators questioned this approach, raising a number of difficulties. First, Hashem specifically told Moshe to bring his staff ( קח את המטה ), which would certainly suggest that Moshe was expected to hit the rock. Secondly, what difference would it make if Moshe hit the rock or spoke to the rock? Was the miracle any less spectacular because Moshe hit the rock? Therefore, the commentators offer many different explanations. For example, the Rambam writes that Moshe sinned through his anger. Before hitting the rock, he shouted at the people, שמעו נא המורים, המן הסלע הזה נוציא לכם מים – “Listen, please, O rebellious ones! Will we produce water for you from this rock?!” The Rambam writes that Moshe angrily called the people מורים – “rebellious ones” – when Hashem was not angry at them. The Sefer Ha’ikarim writes that Moshe sinned in that he should not have waited for Hashem to instruct him to hit the rock. He should have realized on his own that this is what he should do to provide water. But the Maharal of Prague gives an explanation which, in a sense, encompasses many of the other approaches, and which offers us a crucial lesson. The Maharal writes that Moshe sinned by losing his cool, so-to-speak. He did not react to this crisis in a calm, composed manner like the way he handled all the other crises which he handled throughout his years as leader of Am Yisrael . He became flustered; he buckled under the pressure of a whole nation yelling that they needed water. For a man with his level of emunah , this was considered a sin. All people, no matter how wealthy they are, how healthy they are, how good a marriage they have or what kind of children they have, are going to deal with difficult problems. Everyone has challenges of one kind of another. Hashem sends us challenges so we can develop our steadfast emunah . We are tested to see if we remain calm and composed, placing our faith in Hashem, without getting flustered. In the Book of Bereshit, we read the story of Hagar, who was sent away from Avraham Avinu’s home together with her son, Yishmael. The Torah writes, ותלך ותתע במדבר באר שבע – “She went about and was lost in the desert of Be’er Sheva.” Rashi explains this pasuk to mean that Hagar returned to the worship of idols; after leaving Avraham’s home, she resumed the idolatry that she practiced as a youngster. Many later rabbis asked how Rashi saw any indication in the text that Hagar once again worshipped idols. Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, the Ponevezher Rav, answered that Rashi reached this conclusion on the basis of the word ותתע – “was lost.” A believing Jew, the Ponevezher Rav said, is never lost. No matter how difficult life gets, no matter what crisis one is going through, he is not lost if he believes that Hashem is caring for him and guiding him even when he faces problems and hardship. The Klausenbeger Rebbe, who survived Auschwitz and lost his wife and eleven children in the Holocaust, led a prayer service for survivors in a displaced persons camp on the first Yom Kippur after the war. He stood up in front of a room full of broken people, who lost their families and experienced untold suffering and horror. What could he tell them? He picked up a mahzor and read through the vidui (confession) – אשמנו, בגדנו, גזלנו … He mentioned each sin, and said that nobody there was guilty of that sin. Having been imprisoned and tormented by the Nazis, they were not guilty of any of the sins listed in the vidui . However, the Rebbe said, there was one sin that they were all guilty of. They all had moments when they gave up, when they lost hope, when they felt they could not go on. And for this – and this alone – they needed to confess. Because a Jew never loses hope, a Jew is never is lost. No matter what we are going through, Hashem is with us. Of course, none of us have ever been tested the way the Jews in the Holocaust were tested. But all people have tests of one kind or another. And our job is to remain steadfast in our emunah , to retain our composure, to not feel lost, to remember that Hashem is taking care of us, even in life’s most difficult moments. The lesson of Moshe’s mistake, the Maharal teaches us, is to try to remain calm and confident even during life’s challenges, to feel that we are being cared for by Hashem in all situations, that He is holding us by the hand, taking us where we need to go – such that we are never lost.
Parashat Korah tells us about how Korah and a group of his followers got together and instigated a fight against Moshe Rabbenu. They complained that only Aharon and sons were allowed to serve as kohanim . They complained that they were stuck in the desert and could not go into the Land of Israel. This fight ended with tragedy, as all those who challenged Moshe died. This is one of several occasions in the desert when Beneh Yisrael complained. They complained about the conditions in the desert, about the manna that Hashem gave them to eat, how they didn’t have any variety, and so on. At first we can only wonder why they complained so much. Korah was a Levi who had the special job of carrying the aron , the holiest article of the Mishkan . Why would he complain? Hashem literally sent food down from the sky each morning for the people; why would they complain? He provided water from a rock which traveled with them; why would they complain? Actually, this same question can be asked about us. Imagine we could travel back in time, to the year 1850, and we could describe to the people what our lives are like. How we have no problem getting food, how science and medicine have developed, how we have heat and air conditioning, and how we live in safety. They would assume that we must be happy all the time, and never complain. And yet, all we do is complain. Why? The answer sounds peculiar, but it’s so true: the pursuit of happiness makes people unhappy. When our goal is to be happy, then we’ll never be happy. If we tell ourselves that our goal is to feel happiness, then we are constantly upset and frustrated, because so many things get in the way. We get married to be happy, but then there’s hard work that we need to do to build and maintain a happy marriage. We have kids to be happy, but then there’s hard work to do and difficult challenges to overcome to raise them. We want money to be happy, but we need to work hard and deal with a lot of problems in order to make money. If we make happiness our goal, we will be upset, because so many things are going to get in the way. The real goal should be purpose. We are here for a purpose that Hashem placed us here for. And when we live with a purpose, then challenges don’t rattle us. We understand that this precisely our purpose – to deal with our challenges to the best of our ability. If we have children because this is our purpose – to raise children who will serve Hashem – then we will accept the challenges as part of that purpose. We will then have the strength to handle the challenges without getting frustrated. And when we live with a sense of purpose, realizing that everything Hashem sends our way is part of our purpose, then we feel gratified, knowing that we are fulfilling our purpose – and this is what brings us true happiness. If Korah had lived in the pursuit of purpose, he would not have started his fight. He would have felt content and gratified fulfilling his purpose. But because he pursued happiness – he saw Moshe and Aharon as getting in his way, and this made him angry. If Beneh Yisrael had lived in the pursuit of purpose, they would have felt gratified knowing that their journey in the desert was their purpose. But because they pursued happiness – they were dissatisfied with the manna and with the conditions in the desert. A certain Jewish publication approached a number of well-known Jewish figures and posed the following question: If you could invite any three people who ever lived to your Shabbat table, who would they be? Most of the responses were great figures from Tanach , like Avraham Avinu, Moshe Rabbenu, or David, or famous Rabbis, such as Rashi and the Rambam. One of the people to whom they posed this question was Rav Dovid Feinstein, one of the most important poskim in America who passed away recently. His answer was astounding. He replied: “ Three poor people, so I could help them.” This is a beautiful and inspiring example of someone who lives for purpose, not for happiness. He preferred to have at his table not famous people, people whom it would be exciting to sit with, but rather people who needed help. Because he lived not for the sake of enjoying, but for the sake of contributing and giving. This should be our goal – to live lives of purpose, of meaning. And when we live this way, we will experience true happiness, no matter what twists and turns life takes us on.
Parashat Shelah tells the story of חטא המרגלים – the sin of the spies. Moshe sent twelve men to see the Land of Israel before Beneh Yisrael were supposed to enter, and ten of them came back with a negative, frightening report, to the point where the people decided they did not want to go into the Land of Israel. Hashem killed the ten spies, and decreed that the nation would remain in the desert for forty years. These ten spies described the Land of Israel as ארץ אוכלת יושביה – “a land that consumes its inhabitants,” where it’s hard to survive. Yet, they also said that the people who live there were אנשי מידות – big and powerful. Not only did they lie by saying that the land “consumes its inhabitants,” but they also contradicted themselves in the same sentence – by saying that all the people there are healthy and strong. They also went so far as to say that they saw ילידי הענק – giants who were so tall that they blocked the sun. Obviously, this is an exaggeration. This is how the spies succeeded in sowing mass hysteria – through misinformation and exaggeration, making even contradictory statements that sounded scary. The modern-day equivalent of what the spies did is social media. Anti-Semites spew all kinds of lies and exaggerations about what goes on in Israel in order to arouse hatred toward Jews. This has always happened, but social media has allowed this industry of lies to explode. People all over the world are told every day that Israel is going around killing innocent Palestinian children and committing all kinds of atrocities, when in truth, Israel is simply trying to defend its citizens. Like the spies, who managed to convince Beneh Yisrael that the land is a terrible and dangerous place to live, the anti-Semites are succeeding in misleading people to think that Israel and the Jews are evil. From this parashah we can learn how to respond to this wave of lies and misinformation. Two of the spies – Yehoshua and Kalev – opposed the other ten, and insisted that the land is good, and that Hashem would help them conquer it. Hashem later told Moshe that Yehoshua and Kalev would receive great reward for opposing the other spies. Even though their efforts were not successful, and the nation followed the other ten spies, for which they were punished, nevertheless, Yehoshua and Kalev were rewarded. Rav Moshe Feinstein learns from this reward that there is value in expressing the truth even if people do not accept it. We have to make our voices heard, even if our voices will be drowned out by the majority. In the face of rampant anti-Semitism and the torrent of lies being spread, we need to write to our politicians and make our voices heard in support of Israel. Even if our voices will be drowned out, it is critically important to speak out. Additionally, the Torah tells that as Yehoshua and Kalev argued with the other spies, and expressed the view that they could capture the land, the people prepared to stone them to death. But just then, וכבוד ה' נראה באוהל מועד אל כל בני ישראל – Hashem’s glory appeared, protecting Yehoshua and Kalev. When we or our fellow Jews are in danger, we need to place our faith in Hashem. Ultimately, it is He who protects us. For a believing Jew, his most vulnerable moment is his most powerful moment. Because when he feels vulnerable, he turns to Hashem and pleads for help. This is true when it comes to our health, our finances, and all other personal needs – and it is true no less when it comes to our nation’s safety. We need to do what we can do, making our voices heard, and then do what we always do when we need assistance – turn to Hashem in prayer, trusting in His protection. As the world becomes scarier, we draw confidence from our emunah , our faith in Hashem, and our belief in the power of our tefilot .
Parashat Behaalotecha tells of how Beneh Yisrael started complaining during travel, and how Hashem severely punished them. The Torah states, ויהי העם כמתאוננים , which seems to mean, “The people were complaining.” But Rashi explains that this pasuk is actually saying that the people were looking for something to complain about. It’s not that something happened or didn’t happen that made them upset and start complaining; they had a negative mindset, and were looking for reasons to complain. This mindset sent their heads into a negative tailspin, and everything seemed bad. Sure enough, several pesukim later, they’re complaining that all they had to eat was the manna. They cried that they didn’t have vegetables such as onions. When we have a negative mindset, everything in our lives seems terrible. One of the common examples of this phenomenon is rejection. We’ve all experienced rejection of one kind of or another. People are rejected from a perspective shidduch or from a perspective job. People feel rejected when they’re text message is not responded to, or their favor is not returned. Or when they are not invited to an event. Too often, when a person experiences rejection, he allows the negativity to go into a tailspin. He says to himself things like, “Nobody likes me”; “This is never going to work”; “I’m just a failure.” They feel the whole world turned their back on him. If two boys turned a girl down, she might start thinking that all the boys are going to turn her down. If a man gets fired twice in a year, he might start thinking that he will never be able to keep a job. This is how our brains can play games with us, and turn every rejection into a major catastrophe. Like the מתאוננים , we look for negativity, for reasons to complain and feel embittered. The Gemara in Masechet Avodah Zarah tells that at the end of time, the other nations will complain to G-d that they were not given the Torah. Hashem will respond by giving them one relatively easy mitzvah – the mitzvah of sukkah . The non-Jews will build sukkot and go inside them, but Hashem will then challenge them by making the weather unbearably hot. The non-Jews will leave the sukkot , unable to withstand the heat, and will kick the sukkot on the way out. This will demonstrate that there was good reason why Hashem did not give them the Torah . The Gemara questions this teaching, noting the halachah that מצטער פטור מן הסוכה – one is exempt from the obligation of sukka if the conditions in the sukkah are uncomfortable. The non-Jews will be allowed to leave the sukkot because of the heat – so why would this prove that they were unworthy of accepting the Torah? The Gemara then answers that although the other nations will be exempt from the sukkah , and they would be allowed to leave, nevertheless, it is wrong to kick the sukkah on the way out. When we are rejected, we shouldn’t “kick” on the way out. We should not blow up the situation into something far worse than it is. We shouldn’t feel embittered. We should accept it and move on. The best way I know to avoid “kicking” after a rejection is to remind ourselves that everything is from Hashem. If a person is rejected from several shidduchim , this is because Hashem has something better in store for him or her. If a person was rejected from several jobs, it means that Hashem is steering him toward the job that is right for him. Just as Hashem was leading Beneh Yisrael through the desert, bringing them exactly where they needed to go, so is Hashem leading us all to where we need to go. Our ancestors were punished for their negative tailspin, for seeing their situation as something much worse than it really was. Let us learn from their mistake, and stop our own negative tailspin. When things don’t go the way we want, let us remain calm and confident, and place our trust in Hashem, who is caring for us every step of the way, just as He cared for our ancestors.
Parashat Naso tells of the special gifts and sacrifices brought by the nesi’im – the leaders of the twelve tribes, to celebrate the חנוכת המשכן , the inauguration of the Mishkan . Rashi explains why the leaders were the first ones to come forward and bring these gifts and sacrifices. When Hashem first commanded the people to donate materials for the building of the Mishkan , the nesi’im decided to wait and see what the people would donate, figuring that they would then donate the rest. To their surprise, the people responded very generously, giving almost everything that was needed for the Mishkan . Very little was left for the nesi’im to donate. In order to correct their mistake, the nesi’im came forward first when the Mishkan was built, bringing gifts and sacrifices. We must ask, what exactly did the nesi’im do wrong? Was it not very noble of them to commit to donate everything that was missing? There is a man in the community whom I once contacted to tell about a new gemach (free loan project) that was being started, and I asked him if he wished to donate. “Sure, no problem,” he said. “I’ll mail a check.” He proceeded to mail a $5000 check. Sometime later, a Rabbi from Israel came to meet with me, and explained that he was raising money for a certain cause. I phoned this same fellow, and he right away donated $10,000. On a different occasion, my son’s yeshiva was having a dinner, and they asked me to help fundraise. I called this fellow, and he donated $5000. Then we were raising money for a shul, and he contributed $26,000. When Purim approached, and I was collecting money for מתנות לאביונים (charity for the poor), he sent a check for $10,000. These are all causes that he knew almost nothing about… Finally, I called him to find out more about him. It was amazing to me how generously and eagerly he donated charity. “This is way I see it,” he told me. “If Hashem sends me someone in need, then it means Hashem wants me to give to that person. Period. It’s not more complicated than that.” Later, I met with him in person, to find out more about him. I asked him how much tzedakah he had given that year, and he told me $6 million. “How much did you earn?” I asked. “$8 million.” I told him I thought he was crazy. He explained that he and his family have enough. They don’t need more than what they have. So if he can make a difference in the lives of other people, he should do so. This is what true giving is – giving eagerly, with enthusiasm, wanting to give, and looking for opportunities to give. The Gemara teaches that G-d miraculously sustained our ancestors when they traveled through the desert in the merit of Avraham Avinu’s serving food to his three guests. The greatest act of charity, in the merit of which Beneh Yisrael were miraculously fed in the desert, was Avraham’s kindness to the three strangers who visited him. Rav Eliyahu Dessler pointed out that these guests were actually angels. They did not receive any actual benefit from Avraham, because angels don’t need to eat. And yet – this is the greatest act of charity! The reason, Rav Dessler explains, is because true Jewish charity depends not only on the recipient’s needs, but also on the giver, on the way he gives and his attitude toward giving. Avraham Avinu, as the Torah describes, ran to welcome the three angels and to serve them. It is this eagerness, this enthusiasm, that is the model of tzedakah that we are to follow. This is why the nesi’im were wrong. They should have set an example for the rest of the nation by rushing to give, by being the first ones to donate – because this is the way giving is supposed to be. Our community is extremely giving. We give a lot. However, I believe we can do even better. We can be more eager and enthusiastic to give. We shouldn’t have to wait until somebody approaches us and asks us. If we know of an important cause, and we have money to give, we should be rushing to give, just like our forefather, Avraham. There are so many needs in our community. There are many struggling families, and many struggling institutions. Let’s not wait until we are asked. If we hear of a person or institution that needs help – let us run to help as we can, because this is what Jewish giving is all about.
The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (5:19) draws a distinction between “the students of Avraham Avinu” and “the students of the evil man, Bilam.” The students of Avraham, the Mishnah teaches, are characterized by three qualities: עין טובה, רוח נמוכה, נפש שפלה . The students of Bilam, meanwhile, are characterized by the precise opposite qualities: עין רעה, רוח גבוהה, נפש רחבה . Let us explain these three qualities. עין טובה (literally, “good eye”) means looking positively upon other people, judging them favorably, and rejoicing over their success and achievements. The opposite, עין רעה , means viewing other people critically, and resenting their success and achievements, feeling that it is undeserved. רוח נמוכה (literally, “lowly spirit”) refers to humility, recognizing that we have faults, that we are imperfect, that we are not necessarily greater than other people. רוח גבוהה means just the opposite – feeling arrogant and superior to others. נפש שפלה (“lowly soul”) refers to contentment, feeling satisfied with what we have, and not that we need more to be happy. The opposite, נפש רחבה , means always needing more, never experiencing satisfaction. The Mishnah teaches that the students of Avraham Avinu, those who possess these three qualities, אוכלין בעולם הזה ונוחלים בעולם הבא – “they consume [their reward] in this world, and inherit [their share] in the world to come.” In other words, having these qualities yields benefits both in this world and the next. When a person is able to live contentedly, without feeling jealous or resentful of other people, life is so much better. He doesn’t just earn reward in the next world – his life in this world is enhanced. A person with an עין טובה , רוח נמוכה and נפש שפלה does not get uncomfortable by another person’s large house, luxury car, or expensive vacation. He does not feel upset by what others have that he doesn’t. He is happy and content with what he has. In our close-knit community, it is very easy for people to feel like “have nots” in comparison with others. We all know so many other people, and thus invariably, we know of people with more than we do. But we mustn’t ever feel like “have nots” – because nobody is a “have not.” We are all “haves”!! We all have so many blessings to be grateful for. We all have many reasons to feel happy and blessed. By appreciating all we have, we will not feel insecure or jealous of other people. G-d promised Avraham that he would be a blessing for the whole world ( ונברכו בך כל משפחות האדמה – Bereshit 12:3). Bilam, by contrast, was hired to place a curse of people; he was expect in cursing others. When we live humbly and contentedly, without jealousy, then we are a blessing to the people around us. But if we are dissatisfied, jealous and resentful, then we are just the opposite – we are like Bilam, who cursed others. As the bearers of the legacy of Avraham Avinu, let us always live by these qualities, and we will then truly be a source of blessing to our families, our community, and the entire world.
A man named Shmuel lived in Israel and enjoyed a happy, fulfilled life, with a rewarding job and beautiful family. But then, when he was in his 40s, he developed a debilitating medical condition, as a result of which he lost his job. The financial struggles caused tension in his marriage, and it became very difficult to raise his children. A friend advised him to go to one of the outstanding Rabbis of our generation, Rav Moshe Shapiro, for his blessing and encouragement. He went to Rav Shapiro, explained to him his struggles, and Rav Shapiro warmly blessed him and expressed words of inspiration and encouragement. Sometime later, on Purim, he decided to return to Rav Shapiro’s house. The house was filled with students and others who had come to spend time with the Rabbi and hear his brilliant Torah insights. Shmuel, a humble, unassuming person, stood quietly in the back as the Rabbi began to speak. “One day,” the Rabbi said, “ Mashiah is going to come, and people are going to line up to greet him and speak to him. He is going to walk over to a simple man named Shmuel who will be standing in the back of the line – and who is standing here right now, in the back room.” Rav Shapiro pointed to Shmuel, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “He is going to come over to Shmuel and ask, ‘What did you accomplish? How many pages of Gemara did you learn? How many hours did you devote to community service? How much money did you give to charity?’ “Shmuel, I want you to then look at Mashiah straight in the eye and say: ‘I am the one who brought you to the world. It is because of me that you came.’” Rav Shapiro was teaching a vitally important lesson. True greatness is not scholarship, charity, leadership positions, an impressive resume, or a large following. Of course, these are all wonderful and should be encouraged. But what makes someone great is overcoming challenges. We bring Mashiah by persevering, by getting through difficult periods and coming out stronger and more connected to Hashem. This is real greatness. All people have heroes. Some people’s heroes are famous singers, actors or athletes. Other people’s heroes are businessmen who are worth billions. For some, the heroes are prominent donors and philanthropists. And for others, the heroes are famous Rabbis or Rosheh Yeshiva. Here are some of my heroes: · A 15-year-old whose parents are going through a horrible divorce, and is doing everything in his power to overcome the negativity, and remain committed to Hashem. · The wife of a man who lost his job, found another, and then lost that job, as well, who, despite the struggles and the embarrassment of having to live simply, remains in good spirits and continues to be a loyal, loving and supportive wife. · The man whose wife developed ALS twenty years ago, and throughout that time, he has tended to her and cared for her in every which way, even as her health deteriorated and she is confined to a wheelchair. · The father whose son became more religious than his family, and who, despite not fully understanding his son’s direction, loves and respects his son, and supports him so he can pursue his religious studies in yeshiva. · The man who started a business, but then, due to circumstances, had to leave, and his younger brothers took it over and became very wealthy as a result. Despite it all, he never expressed any jealousy or resentment, and ensured to remain on good terms with his brothers. · The mother of a boy who became addicted to drugs, who does everything she can to help him and support him, all while lovingly and devotedly raising her other children. These people are not going to get too much attention. They are not going to receive awards, be honored at fundraisers, or have articles written about then. They likely don’t have social media accounts, and if they do, they probably have fewer “friends” and “followers” than others. But they are the real heroes. Because it is overcoming difficult challenges that makes someone great. This is the meaning of the famous Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (5:23), לפום צערא אגרא – “The reward is commensurate to the pain.” When we experience pain and hardship, this is our opportunity to achieve greatness, to become a hero. True, few people – or nobody – will hear about it, but this makes no difference. Because real greatness and real heroism is not about attention and popularity. Whenever we’re struggling, with any sort of problem, we must remember that לפום צערא אגרא – that the struggle is our chance to be a real hero, to be someone great. Rather than feeling embittered or frustrated, let us relish the opportunity we have been given to attain greatness. Let us rise to the challenge, and become the real heroes that we are all capable of being.
The Gemara in Masechet Kiddushin teaches us, שכר מצוה בהאי עלמא ליכא – the reward for observing mitzvot comes not in this world, but rather in the next world. Commentators raised the question of how Hashem can delay our reward to the next world. After all, there is a command in the Torah forbidding an employer from delaying payment to his worker. If somebody was hired to work for a day, the employer is required by the Torah to pay the worker right away, at the end of the day (unless the worker agrees to a different arrangement). How, then, can Hashem delay our “payment” for our mitzvot until after we depart from this world? Why doesn’t He repay us for our “work” immediately? Some commentators answer this question based on the distinction drawn in halachah between workers hired directly by the employer, and workers hired by the employer’s agent. An employer is required to pay workers immediately only if he hired them directly. But if he appointed someone – like a manager – to hire the workers on his behalf, then he is not required to pay them right away at the end of the day. We were “hired” to perform the mitzvot by Hashem’s agent – Moshe Rabbenu. He is the one who taught us the mitzvot . Therefore, Hashem does not pay us right away for the mitzvot we perform. We receive our “wages” only in the next world. However, there are two commands which we heard directly from Hashem at Mount Sinai – the first two of the Ten Commandments. These are the command of אנוכי ה' אלוקיך – believing in Hashem – and the prohibition of לא יהיה לך אלוהים אחרים – not to worship other gods. These mitzvot were heard from Hashem directly when He revealed Himself at Mount Sinai. Therefore, Hashem rewards us for obeying these commands – for having faith in Him – immediately, in this world. We will not have to wait to be rewarded for our emunah (faith). However, we must remember what emunah means – that we place our faith only in Hashem, and not in any other “gods.” It means that we place our faith only in Him, and not in our boss, our business, a client, a product, an investment, our intelligence, our talents, our skills, a political figure, or anything or anyone else. It means relying solely and exclusively on Hashem. If we do this, then we are rewarded immediately, right away. This explains the promise made by Hashem in Parashat Behar of the reward for observing the mitzvah of shemittah . Every seven years, farmers are to refrain from working the land, and leave all the produce for anyone who wants it. Observing this mitzvah requires a great deal of emunah – trusting that Hashem will take care of them even though they will “close the shop” for an entire year, and let anyone who wants come and take the “merchandise” for free. Hashem promises that if Beneh Yisrael observe this mitzvah , then He will reward them with great prosperity, and the land will produce extra food. In reward for our emunah , we are rewarded right away. Although we do not observe the mitzvah of shemittah here in the United States, its message is no less relevant to us than it is to farmers in Israel. Even though we can and should work hard to earn a living, we need to always remember that Hashem alone gives us everything we have, and we should be relying on Him, and only Him, at all times. We need to place our trust in Him, and not in any other “gods,” and rely on His promise of reward even in this world for our emunah .
In the third chapter of Pirkeh Avot (Mishnah 10), we read: שינה של שחרית, ויין של צהריים ושיחת הילדים, וישיבת כנסיות של עמי הארץ, מוציאין את האדם מן העולם . Sleep in the morning, wine in the afternoon, childish chatter, and the ignoramus’ sitting in the synagogues – bring a person out of the world. The Mishnah here is describing a lazy mindset. Sleeping in the morning, parting in the afternoon, and wasting one’s time in idle, meaningless chatter – the modern equivalent of which would be spending hours on social media… This kind of lifestyle “brings a person out of the world” – it prevents someone from bringing a productive member of society, and from living a meaningful life. We are meant to work hard. אדם לעמל יולד – “A person was born for hard work” (Iyov 5:7). This does not mean that we’re supposed to suffer. It means that we are so supposed to accomplish meaningful goals – and no meaningful goal can be accomplished without working hard. There is not a single successful person in any field who succeeded without hard work. Nobody achieved greatness by sleeping in the morning, or by spending their time partying and chatting on social media. There is a popular saying today, “Follow your passion, and you’ll never work a day in your life.” This is completely false. There is no successful professional who loves every part of his job. I love teaching, but I strongly dislike grading papers. A doctor might love treating patients, but he does not love filling out his charts and doing paperwork. An athlete might love the sport he plays, but he does not love all the exercises and drills he is forced to do. The Gemara in Masechet Pesahim (113a) makes a powerful statement: פשוט נבילתא בשוקא ושקיל אגרא, ולא תימא כהנא אנא וגברא רבא אנא וסניא בי מלתא. Skin an animal carcass in the marketplace and receive wages, and so not say, “I am a kohen, I am a distinguished person, and it is beneath me.” The Rabbis here are teaching us that nobody is beneath hard work, that we all have to do work that is not necessarily dignifying. A person should be prepared to work even if this means “skinning a carcass in the marketplace.” No matter what profession one pursues, he is going to have to do unpleasant work. We have to be prepared to work hard and to perform chores which we do not enjoy. This is the mindset that the Mishnah is teaching us to have – that we are here to achieve, to accomplish, to build, and this cannot be done without hard work. When we live with this attitude, our entire day is different. We wake up in the morning invigorated. We confront challenges head on, with confidence. We are not discouraged when things go the wrong way. No matter what happens, we understand that אדם לעמל יולד , that we are here to achieve, and this means we are going to work hard – and we are prepared to work hard. As difficult as it is, we need to train our children to live with this mindset. And the way we do this is through action, by having them help out at home, by assigning them responsibilities, by giving them firsthand experience of how things require hard work to get done. If we live with this mindset, then we will be the productive, accomplished people that we are supposed to be, and we will raise our children to become the productive and accomplished people that they are supposed to be.
In the second chapter of Pirkeh Avot , we read the following teaching of Rabbi Shimon: וכשאתה מתפלל, אל תעש תפלתך קבע, אלא רחמים ותחנונים לפני המקום. When you pray, do not make your prayer “permanent,” but rather compassion and pleading before G-d. What does Rabbi Shimon mean when he warns us not to make our prayer “permanent”? And why does he refer to Hashem here as המקום – which literally means, “the place”? Imagine there is somebody who wants to lose weight, so he approaches his friend who advises him to go to the gym. He explains to him which workouts he needs to do. The fellow goes to the gym, does all the workouts, comes home, weighs himself…and sees that he weighs exactly the same. He goes over to his friend to complain. It didn’t work! Quite obviously, he missed the point. The point is not to go to the gym just once. To lose weight, he needs to do this regularly. And then, slowly but surely, day by day, he gradually will lose the weight he wants to lose. The same applies to tefilah . Sometimes we hear stories about how somebody needed something, prayed, and he got what he needed – and we are then disappointed when this doesn’t happen to us. These stories are inspiring and important reminders about the power of tefilah , but they miss the point. Tefilah is about putting in the work day in and day out. The Rabbis refer to prayer as עבודה – “work.” A person builds a career or a business day by day, going through the grind, consistently and persistently, putting in the work, getting a little bit better and moving the job or enterprise forward one small, slow step at a time. This is what tefilah is all about. It’s about putting in the work, each day. Every time we pray, and we spend time thinking about Hashem and our relationship with Him, we grow just a little. We come just a little closer to Him. Our mindset is slightly enhanced. We become just a bit more focused on Him. This analogy between tefilah and weight loss extends even further. Just going to the gym isn’t enough. If a person goes and sits on the treadmill, nothing will happen. If he leans against the machines, he is not going to lose weight. He needs to put in the work. This is true about prayer, too. If we don’t put any effort into our tefilah , it’s not going to do anything for us. We won’t accomplish anything. Sure, there are going to be days when praying is difficult, when we will be unable to concentrate. But we have to try to make these days the exception, rather than the rule. We need to put in the effort to try to understand the words, to try to focus on what we’re saying, to try to make the experience meaningful, and then it will have an impact. Moreover, even if somebody goes to the gym regularly, and does an intense workout, he is not going to lose any weight if he comes home after each time and sits down with a box of cookies or large bag of potato chips. In order for the workout to have an effect, it needs to be carried over throughout the rest of his life. This is true also about tefilah . Prayer will profoundly enhance our lives – but not if we leave it all behind once we leave the synagogue and head off to work or to wherever it is that we go. We need to apply the tefilah mindset to everything we do, to approach our whole lives from the perspective of emunah , of faith in Hashem and devotion to Him. This is what Rabbi Shimon is telling us. If we want our tefilah to have an impact, we can’t approach is as קבע , as something routine that we go through by rote, without investing effort into it. We need to put in the work. We have to do the עבודה , concentrating to the best of our ability. And this has to be done לפני המקום . Hashem is called המקום because He is in all places; He governs the entire world. We need to have our prayer affect המקום , all the “places” in our lives, all the various settings and situations that we find ourselves in, no matter what is going on in our lives, no matter what mood we are in, no matter what time of year it is or what we’re involved in. Yes, it is a challenge – especially in today’s world, when we are so easily distracted and find it so difficult to concentrate on anything – to commit ourselves to praying. But once we recognize that tefilah is an עבודה , just like exercise, we will be better able to make this commitment, and we will then reap the priceless benefits and rewards which prayer offers us.
The Gemara tells that at the time of קריעת ים סוף – the splitting of the sea – the angels in the heavens wanted to sing to Hashem to praise Him for this great miracle. But Hashem did not allow them to sing, saying, מעשה ידי טובעין בים ואתם אומרים שירה – “My creations are drowning at sea, and you want to sing?!” As wicked as the Egyptians were, they were nevertheless Hashem’s creatures, and so it was inappropriate to sing while they dying. Many commentators raised the obvious question of how Beneh Yisrael were allowed to sing at this time. As we read on the seventh day of Pesach, Beneh Yisrael sang the beautiful song of Az Yashir , the most famous song in the entire Tanach , which has been incorporated into our daily payer service, recited each morning. If it is inappropriate to sing praise over the demise of our enemies, then why were Beneh Yisrael allowed to sing? The answer given by a number of commentators is that the angels wanted to sing as the events were unfolding, as the Egyptians were being drowned. At that time, it was inappropriate to sing praise. Beneh Yisrael , however, sang after the event, once they had crossed and the Egyptians had already drowned. At this point, it was proper to sing and express gratitude to Hashem for saving them. We might draw an analogy to a seriously ill patient who, after much suffering, was finally able to undergo surgery that would cure his condition. Of course, the patient and his family are very relieved and overjoyed. However, while the complicated operation is being performed, they are not celebrating. They are somberly and anxiously praying that it is successful. Nobody ever saw family members singing and dancing waiting outside the operating rooms. After the operation, however, festivity is certainly warranted. The Egyptians who persecuted Beneh Yisrael needed to be eliminated, and so their demise is something to celebrate – but only after the fact. During the “operation,” while people are suffering and experiencing pain, celebration is inappropriate. Even if those people are evil like the Egyptians who enslaved, killed and tortured Beneh Yisrael , their pain and suffering should not be celebrated. Many of us have people whom we resent or have negative feelings towards, for one reason or another. In many instances, our grievances are valid. But even if they are, when these people are hurting, we should not be knocking them down. We should not celebrate when somebody who wronged us suffers a financial loss, takes ill, or is publicly humiliated. Even people we dislike – and even those whom we feel we have a right to dislike – are Hashem’s creatures. Their misfortune should never be a cause of celebration. One of the themes of Pesach is royalty. We conduct ourselves in a regal manner, commemorating the fact that we were lifted from the lowest depths of humiliation and suffering to the highest possible stature – the stature of Hashem’s servants. Pettiness such as “getting back” at people is beneath us. We are all “noblemen,” Hashem’s servants, and we must therefore act at all times in a dignified, mature manner. If we have a valid grievance against somebody who now is having a hard time and needs help, we should be strong enough to feel his pain and extend a helping hand. This is the way Hashem’s special nation is supposed to act.
As part of the introductory section of Maggid – the main part of the seder , during which we talk about Yetziat Mitzrayim – the Haggadah teaches us, וכל המרבה לספר ביציאת מצרים הרי זה משובח . This means that anyone who prolongs his discussion of Yetziat Mitzrayim is “praiseworthy.” The commentators take note of the fact that the Haggadah does not say that this practice is משובח , but rather that the person himself is משובח . When a person delves into the story of Yetziat Mitzrayim , when he speaks at length about the miracles Hashem performed for our ancestors, he becomes משובח – he is uplifted and elevated; his life becomes enhanced. Why? Because in order to properly handle life, we need to believe in miracles. In today’s world, there is so much anxiety, so much fear, so much negativity, and so much stress. People are worried about their livelihood, how they are going to pay their bills. People are worried about their children’s emotional, social, and educational development. People are worried about health issues. People are worried about when and whether their children will get married. People hear current events and are worried about the world. There is so much worry, because all we talk about is the problems. We so rarely, if at all, talk about the miracles. We have all experienced miracles firsthand. We have all had times when we were worried how something would work out, and somehow, it did. Whether it was a job, a business, an investment, a problem with a child, a child who needed a shidduch , a medical issue – we have all experienced miracles. Every single one of us, without any exception. Yet, we still worry. We worry because we spend more time thinking and talking about the problems we face than we do about the problems which have been miraculously solved. The experience of the seder is meant to remind us that miracles do happen . The more we talk about Yetziat Mitzrayim , of how Beneh Yisrael were in a hopeless, miserable situation and then suddenly emerged as a proud, free, wealthy nation – the more משובח we are, the happier and less anxious we will be, because we will live with the knowledge that miracles happen. We spend a considerable amount of time in shul each morning reciting the daily Shaharit prayer. The prayer text we recite hardly makes any mention of problems. The berachot and Pesukeh De’zimra sections speak only about Hashem’s greatness and kindness, all the things He does for us and for the world. And even in the Amidah prayer, in which we ask for the things we need, we do not speak at length about our problems. Rather, we ask Hashem to help us because we know that He helps. We say things like, “You grant wisdom, so please grant us wisdom; You heal, so please heal the sick; You’re a redeemer, so please redeem us.” Our prayers our hopeful and optimistic, expressing confidence, not fear and anxiety. This is the mindset with which we should live our lives, and this is the mindset that the Pesach seder is meant to inspire. The Torah emphasizes that our ancestors left Egypt בחודש האביב , in the springtime, when the weather conditions are perfect, neither too cold nor too warm. During the long, dark, cold winter months, it is hard to recognize that spring will arrive, that the sun will again shine and it will be warm and pleasant. Yetziat Mitzrayim occurred during the springtime because this is the lesson it teaches us – that spring does come, that the winter does not last forever, that our difficult problems somehow get solved. No matter what we’re going through, whatever problem it is that we face, let us remember that “spring” will arrive, that redemption will come, that miracles do happen. The more we talk about the miracles that our ancestors experienced, and the miracles we ourselves have experienced, instead of talking about the problems, the more משובח we will be, and we will live with greater joy and optimism, each and every day.
The Torah tells that after Moshe Rabbenu presented to the people the instructions for the korban pesach – the special sacrifice they offered on the night of Yetziat Mitzrayim – they bowed ( ויקד העם וישתחוו – Shemot 12:27). The Midrash explains that the people bowed because as part of Moshe’s instructions, he informed them that in the future, they would have children who would ask them to explain the reason for the mitzvot of Pesach. And Moshe instructed how them to respond. The people therefore bowed to express their gratitude over the fact that they will have children. This comment of the Midrash becomes particularly fascinating when we consider the question that Moshe here told the people that they will be asked by their children: מה העבודה הזאת לכם – “What is this service to you?” As we know from the Haggadah , this is the question posed by the רשע – the “wicked” son. The people heard Moshe tell them that one day they are going to have a son who is going to ridicule them for performing the mitzvot , and is going to ask mockingly, מה העבודה הזאת לכם – “What is this?! Why are you bothering to do all this?!” After hearing this news, the people bowed and thanked Hashem for promising them that they will have such children. Why were the people so grateful to hear that they will have children like this? The answer might be that they now learned that they would be strong enough to deal with challenges to their faith. Now they were leaving Egypt, and they all saw the miracles and believed in Hashem. But they were told that the day would come when some people will raise questions and even ridicule their beliefs. However – they will be able to handle it. They will be strong enough. They will sit at the seder with a child who will challenge them – and it will be ok. This is something worth thinking about as we prepare for the seder , when many of us will be sitting with people who are stricter or less strict than we are. Many detailed laws apply on Pesach, and there are many different opinions, customs and traditions. No two people do the same thing in terms of what they buy, how they prepare the home, how much and what kind of matza , marro and wine they use, and so on. When extended families get together for the seder , it’s all but certain that there will be several different customs represented in the room. And this can sometimes lead to uncomfortable situations. We should be confident enough in ourselves not to get offended by people at the table who do things differently than us. If we are following a rabbi whose knowledge and judgment we trust, then we should not feel rattled by somebody whose rabbi follows stricter rules. And if we are with somebody who follows looser rules than us, we can still enjoy sitting at the seder with him. There is no reason to take things personally. We are strong enough to handle people who are different. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Of course, on a practical level, it is important to have everything arranged ahead of time. If someone knows that his guest follows stricter rules, it would be appropriate to call that person in advance to ask, respectfully, what his requirements are – just as we would if we were hosting somebody with certain dietary restrictions. And if we are being hosted by someone whose standards are less strict than ours, it would be appropriate to call in advance and respectfully ask if our requirements could be accommodated. Right at the time of Yetziat Mitzrayim , our ancestors were told that our nation will survive the challenges posed by those who reject our beliefs and lifestyle. Certainly, then, we can handle those who generally accept our beliefs and lifestyle but do things a little differently. So let us not take things personally, and do what we can to ensure that we sit together with our families at the seder with joy and peace, and celebrate the miracle of Yetziat Mitzrayim the way we should.
Parashat Tazria – as well as the majority of the following parashah , Parashat Metzora – discuss the laws of tzara’at (leprosy), a skin condition which would befall a person mainly as punishment for sins involving speech. When the Torah describes the creation of Adam in Parashat Bereshit, it says ויפח באפיו נשמת חיים – Hashem blew within Adam “a soul of life.” Targum Onkelos , the famous Aramaic translation of the Torah, explains this to mean that Hashem implanted within the human being רוח ממללא – “a spirit that speaks.” What exactly does רוח ממללא mean, and what does this tell us about the uniqueness of the human being’s speech? The word “speech” can refer to two vastly different things. One is mindless talking. A three-year-old, for example, will babble nonsense, repeating things he or she has heard, without investing too much thought into what he or she is saying. Many adults, too, speak freely and mindlessly, without paying too much attention to what is coming out of their mouths. Another type of talking is putting into words a person’s knowledge, experience, thoughts, perceptions, and understanding of things. This is what רוח ממללא means. As opposed to animals, who just make noise, the human being is to use his faculty of speech to express his “spirit,” to express himself meaningfully. After a metzora (person stricken with tzara’at ) is cured from his condition, he must undergo a special process of purification, which involves two birds. He is shown that he was punished because instead of speaking with his רוח ממללא , he was chirping like a bird. He was just making noise, speaking recklessly, without much thought. There is a relatively new phenomenon of modern-day “chirping” – people expressing views, opinions and ideas online without really knowing what they’re talking about. In the past, only veteran journalists, who had been researching and covering major news stories for decades, were able to broadcast to audiences. But nowadays, with social media, anybody with a smartphone can say whatever they want and attract an audience. Part of what made the Covid-19 pandemic so confusing for all of us was that everybody was giving their opinion. People were just mindlessly “chirping,” saying what they felt should be done and should not be done. We were receiving “guidance” not only from credentialed experts, but from anyone with an account on a social media platform who decided to weigh in. The Gemara in Masechet Ta’anit teaches that Torah is compared to water, because just as water flows downward, to the lowest point it can get to, Torah knowledge is amassed by those who are lowly and humble. The prerequisite to becoming smart is humbly acknowledging that one has much more to learn, so much more knowledge to gain. And thus the Gemara comments in Masechet Berachot that Hashem “gives wisdom only to the wise.” This means that only those smart enough to know how much they do not know can become smart. If we think we are already smart and know enough, then we’ll never become smart… We must ensure to listen only to those people who know how to really talk, who speak with a רוח ממללא , from knowledge and experience. If we are interested in hearing about a pressing issue in the community, we should be listening to those who have studied and dealt with that issue or similar issues for many years, not to somebody who happened to decide to start talking about it. The faculty of speech is sacred, one of the defining characteristics of the divine image with which we were created. Let us use it wisely, and speak meaningfully and constructively. And, let us ensure to pay attention to those who speak meaningfully and constructively, who bring to the table valuable knowledge and experience from which we can learn.
Parashat Shemini is so named because it tells of what happened on יום השמיני – “the eighth day.” For seven days, Aharon and his sons prepared for their role as kohanim in the Mishkan , and then, on the eighth day, the service in the Mishkan began with them filling their role. Of course, this is not the only time when the eighth day is special. A newborn child receives his berit milah on the eighth day. The Hanukah miracle lasted eight days. Sukkot is celebrated for seven days, and then a special additional holiday – Shemini Atzeret – is observed on the eighth day. It has been famously explained that as the world was created in seven days, the number eight signifies extending beyond nature. A child receives a berit milah on the eighth day because as a Jew, he is expected to rise above his natural drives and tendencies. The Hanukah miracle lasted eight days because it was supernatural, something that occurred outside the framework of the natural order. And so the Mishkan , too, began operating on the eighth day – showing us that we serve Hashem by transcending our natural inclinations. But this concept also means that we rise above the rest of society. Throughout the seven days of Sukkot, special sacrifices are brought on behalf of all nations of the world, and then, on the eighth, a special Yom Tov is observed celebrating our special relationship with Hashem. Just as we must extend beyond our natural instincts, we are also required to extend beyond the rest of the world, and not go along with what everyone else is doing. We need to be different, to act differently, to speak differently, to think differently, to be grounded in what the Torah says, and not blindly accept what society says. In the second half of Parashat Shemini, the Torah discusses the status of various creatures with respect to kashrut – whether or not they may be eaten – and to the laws of impurity. This includes the laws regarding שרצים – rodents and reptiles, whose carcasses are considered impure. The Gemara in Masechet Sanhedrin makes an astounding statement – that in order to be appointed to the Sanhedrin , the highest rabbinic body, a scholar must have the ability to show how a שרץ is pure. Even though the Torah clearly states that such creatures are impure, a scholar must have enough knowledge and a sharp enough mind to make an argument for why a שרץ should be considered pure. Why? The answer is that a scholar needs to recognize that an argument can be made for anything, even for the most ludicrous ideas. People are able to twist the truth to such an extent that something which is unquestionably “impure” can be portrayed as “pure,” and vice-versa. Scholars who will be reaching important decisions need to be aware of the pressures they will face by people who will try convincing them that a שרץ is pure. We see this phenomenon very clearly in our times. Ideas which would have been regarded as utterly preposterous just several years ago are now embraced, and we are told that we need to accept them. Men are not necessarily men, and women are not necessarily women. Mr. Potato Head is no longer an acceptable toy, because its name is somehow offensive. Books written by Dr. Seuss are now considered inappropriate, but books with explicitly vulgar titles on the front cover are perfectly fine. We are told that impure is pure, and pure is impure – and we are pressured to accept it. We need to remember the lesson of יום השמיני , the concept of the “eighth” – that we are to rise above the popular trends in society. The way we think and the way we act is to be determined by the Torah, and not by the society around us. In order to serve Hashem properly, as represented by the Mishkan , we must live on the level of the “eighth,” and ensure not to swept along by the current of popular fads. Just because something is “natural,” accepted by the majority of the people around us, this does not mean that we must subscribe to it. We need to accept what the Torah teaches us, to accept its ideas and follow the lifestyle it requires, and to rise above the ideas promulgated by our surrounding culture.
The Megillah mentions on several occasions that Mordechai sat בשער המלך – “at the king’s gate.” Apparently, he would frequently sit by the gate to the king’s palace. But we must wonder why the Megillah found it necessary to repeat this point numerous times. Why is it significant that Mordechai regularly sat specifically there, by the שער המלך ? Righteous people always see themselves as though they’re at the “gate” of the King, on the way to achieving closeness to Hashem, but not quite there. They never feel ready to stop growing and improving. They’re constantly banging on the “gate,” begging Hashem to let them in, to help them move forward and advance. At no point do they feel they’ve done enough, that they’re perfectly fine the way they are in the present, and do not need to work to become better. This was Mordechai. No matter how great he was, he sat בשער המלך , “at the gate,” trying to get “inside,” to draw close to Hashem. Even after Haman paraded him through the streets of Sushan, after he was given the greatest honor, the Megillah says, וישב מרדכי אל שער המלך – Mordechai returned to the gate. Even after achieving the highest levels of greatness, he still sat at the “gate,” seeing himself at only the beginning of the journey, with a long way still to go. I often speak with parents who are upset that their children are becoming more religiously observant than they are. One of the underlying reasons why they react this way is because they feel perfectly content with who they are, with their level, with the way they live. They assume that their level of observance is perfect, that they are “normal,” and that anyone who does more is “extreme.” We all need to have the humility to acknowledge that no matter how good we are, no matter how proud we should be over all that we do and all we’ve achieved, we are still only at the “gate,” and we still have so much more to accomplish, and so much more to grow. After the Purim miracle, the Jews didn’t just party. The Megillah says, קיימו וקבלו היהודים עליהם ועל זרעם (literally, “The Jews fulfilled and accepted upon themselves and upon their offspring…”). The Gemara understands this to mean that the Jews reaffirmed קבלת התורה – their acceptance of the Torah. They understood that if a great miracle happened, if they were saved, this meant that they must act, that they must recommit themselves to Torah, and strive to reach higher. And so they didn’t just celebrate – they made a commitment to be better. After what was, hopefully, a beautiful, joyous and uplifting Purim, may we all make the commitment to always see ourselves as יושב בשער המלך , as though we are “at the gate,” banging on the door to get in, to move forward, and to grow as people and as Jews.
On the Shabbat before Purim – “Shabbat Zachor” – we fulfill the commandment to remember Amalek’s attack on the Jewish People shortly after they left Egypt. This mitzvah is associated with Purim because Haman descended from the nation of Amalek. The name עמלק in gematria equals 240 – the same as the gematria of the word רם – “high.” The Torah warns in the Book of Devarim (8:14) that after people become wealthy, there is the risk that רם לבבך – their hearts will become “high,” meaning, they will be arrogant. They will think that everything is about them. They will be consumed by their own achievements and their own wishes. When people think that everything is about them, there is no room for Hashem. This is why the Gemara teaches that Hashem says about an arrogant person, “He and I cannot live together in this world.” If a person is focused exclusively on himself and how great he is, then there is no room for G-d. This was Amalek’s mistake. Beneh Yisrael earned great fame because of the miracles of Yetziat Mitzrayim and the splitting of the sea. Amalek attacked Beneh Yisrael out of ego, because they could not see another nation receiving so much praise and so much attention. We fight Amalek, the danger of ורם לבבך , through humility. This is why it was Moshe who led the people to victory over Amalek. Moshe is described as the humblest man on earth. It is through humility that we defeat Amalek. Many centuries later, Ester defeated Haman – who, as mentioned, descended from Amalek – through humility. Ester put her life on the line to rescue her nation, approaching Ahashverosh uninvited. And, the Gemara comments that Ester invited Haman to her feast to make Ahashverosh think that she and Haman liked each other, and the king would then kill them both. She was willing to sacrifice her life so that the Jews would be saved. The Megillah tells that at the time of Haman’s downfall, when Ester revealed to Ahashverosh that he was planning to kill her people, והמן נופל על המטה – Haman was falling on her couch to plead for his life. The first letters of this phrase – ו, נ, ע, ה – spell the word ענוה – “humility.” Haman, like the rest of the nation of Amalek, which represents ego and arrogance, is defeated through humility. Purim can fall on only four days of the week – Sunday ( א ), Tuesday ( ג ), Thursday ( ה ) and Friday ( ו ). These four letters spell the word גאוה – arrogance. This holiday is the time of ונהפוך הוא – when we turn everything around, when we transform our arrogance and self-centeredness into humility. Ego gets in the way of success in every area of life – business, marriage, parenting, and religious observance. No matter what we’re involved in, we need to have the humility to listen to other people, to take their wishes and opinions into account, and to learn what we as yet do not know. And certainly when it comes to religious observance, we need to have the humility to know that we are fully under Hashem’s control and under His authority. I have, unfortunately, seen so many people become their own worst enemy, who get in the way of their success, because of their ego. They refuse to yield, to give in, or to accept advice, and end up ruining themselves. On Purim, which celebrates our victory over Amalek, let us commit to defeat our ego, to get ourselves out of the way, so we can bring great salvation to ourselves and to our people just like Ester did through her great selflessness and humility.
Parashat Pekudeh begins with numbers. After the Mishkan was built, Moshe presented an accounting of the precious metals – the gold, silver, and copper – which Beneh Yisrael had donated for the building of the Mishkan , detailing how much was collected and what it was used for. The Midrash asks the simple question of why this was necessary. After all, Hashem Himself said about Moshe, בכל ביתי נאמן הוא – he was the most reliable and trustworthy person. He was above suspicion. So why did he need to make an accounting? The Midrash explains that there were ליצנים – what we would call “characters,” or “wise guys” – who made false, baseless accusations about Moshe. They claimed that Moshe was rich because he took some of the precious materials that were donated for the Mishkan . In response to these ליצנים , Moshe made an accounting of these valuables. The Midrash here teaches us something fundamental about communication. Even if you think something is obvious and self-evident, say it. And even when dealing with people whom you might regard as “lower” and less important than you, say it. Lack of communication can ruin any kind of relationship, and this unfortunately happens quite often. Bosses fail to properly communicate their expectations to their employees, either because they think it’s self-understood, or because they feel it is beneath them to do so. Many women end up firing their housekeepers every few months because they do not make it clear what they want from them. And, most commonly, husbands and wives often get into arguments because their wishes and expectations are not clearly expressed, and they each assume that the other should know on his or her own what to do or say. Moshe didn’t think that these ליצנים were not worth his time. Nor did he take it for granted that he should be trusted. He went through the trouble of making an accounting and recording it – teaching us the simple lesson that we need to just say it, without making assumptions. One of the reasons why people fail to communicate effectively is because they are afraid they would not know what to say. But the truth is that it isn’t hard to say the right thing. The only rule is to stay positive, and to avoid being nasty or hurtful. The Torah says about the pit into which Yosef was thrown by his brothers, הבור רק אין בו מים – it was empty, without any water. The Gemara comments that although it did not have water, it did contain something else – snakes and scorpions. Miraculously, Yosef survived. One of the commentators explained that the Torah did not want to say outright that the pit had snakes and scorpions because this would not sound nice. It sounds much more pleasant to simply say that it contained no water, subtly implying that it had deadly snakes and scorpions. When we speak, we should ensure that no “snakes and scorpions” come out of our mouths. We need to be expressive and communicative – but without hurtful and destructive negativity. Moshe did not insult those who wrongly accused him. He simply gave them the numbers. He responded without “snakes and scorpions.” We can improve all our relationships if we follow these two basic rules: we make it very clear to the other person what we want and how we feel, and we avoid remarks that are insulting and nasty. King Shlomo teaches in Mishleh (18:21), מות וחיים ביד לשון, ואוהביה יאכל פריה – “Death and life are in the hands of the tongue, and those who love it will reap its fruit.” Speech can build or destroy. If we use it properly, ensuring to communicate effectively, then we will “reap its fruit,” and enjoy fulfilling and meaningful relationships with the people in our lives.
Parashat Vayakhel tells about the construction of the Mishkan , a project which was led by a man named Betzalel. The Torah makes a point of informing us of not only Betzalel’s name and his father’s name, but also his grandfather’s name – Hur. Rashi, in his commentary, adds that Hur was the son of Miriam, Moshe’s sister. Why did the Torah find it necessary to mention who Betzalel’s grandfather was, and why did Rashi find it necessary to inform us that Betzalel’s grandfather was Miriam’s son? Let’s take a look at these two figures – Hur and Miriam. Hur, along with Aharon, were the leaders whom Moshe appointed in his place when he went up to the top of Mount Sinai to receive the Torah. When the people decided to make a golden calf, they first approached Hur, who opposed the idea. The people pressured him, and he still refused, until they finally killed him. Hur made the ultimate sacrifice for his principles, refusing to back down until he eventually sacrificed his life. Miriam, while not giving her life, was similarly unyielding in her commitment to her principles. The Talmud teaches that her father, Amram, who was the Jews’ religious leader in Egypt, divorced his wife after Pharaoh issued his edict that newborn boys should be cast into the river. He decided that the people should no longer beget children. Miriam confronted her father, and said, “Your decree is worse than Pharaoh’s! He decreed only upon the boys – you’ve decreed upon both boys and girls!” Amram listened to her, and he and his wife remarried. His wife then gave birth to Moshe. When Moshe’s mother hid him in a basket in the river, it was Miriam who stood along the riverbank to watch him. Miriam never backed down. She firmly believed in the future of the Jewish People, despite the suffering they were going through, and she did everything she could to follow through on her convictions. People like Miriam and her son, Hur, planted the seeds that would eventually produce Betzalel. It is through unwavering devotion and sacrifice that we build families and produce offspring capable of building a “ Mishkan ,” bringing kedushah (holiness) into the world. This is why we are told about Betzalel’s illustrious origins. The Rabbis teach that the work for the Mishkan was completed in the early winter, around Hanukah time, but it was not formally consecrated until Nissan. Hashem wanted the Mishkan to begin operating in Nissan because that is the month when our patriarch Yitzhak was born. Yitzhak, who was placed on the altar and nearly sacrificed, represents the pinnacle of מסירות נפש – boundless devotion and self-sacrifice for Hashem. In order to build a Mishkan , we need to enlist some of Yitzhak Avinu’s מסירות נפש , that willingness to sacrifice and give of ourselves for Hashem. Our community, in so many ways, is far better than it used to be. When we look at the number of Torah classes being given, and how many people attend them, it is astounding. When we look at the number of families who strictly observe Shabbat and kashrut – it is so much higher than it was decades ago. In both quality and quantity, religious observance and commitment in our community has grown in leaps and bounds. This remarkable growth is due to the unbelievable מסירות נפש of those who came before us, the people who built our community decades ago. They might have been less religiously observant than many of us are today, but their devotion and efforts were extraordinary, and heroic. They made great sacrifices to build institutions and provide their children with a Jewish education. They made great sacrifices to observe Shabbat and the holidays to whatever extent that they did. They made great sacrifices to maintain whatever standards of kashrut that they maintained. They planted the seeds that have produced the “ Mishkan ,” the beautiful community that we are today. And it is through our מסירות נפש that we plant the seeds of the future of our community. It takes a great deal of hard work and sacrifice to build and maintain our shuls and yeshivot, to care for our children, to provide them with a proper Torah education, and to make Torah and mitzvot a priority in our lives. But all this work plants the seeds that will eventually blossom. Let us follow the inspiring example of those who came before us, and invest the work and effort entailed to raise our children along the path of Torah and to continue building our community – so that together, we build a magnificent “ Mishkan ” that will always be worthy of Hashem’s presence and blessing, amen .
Once, during a class I gave to a group of young men, I asked them to tell about something annoying that happened to them recently. One of them related that the previous week, he missed the class because a car was blocking his driveway. He lives very close to the shul where the class is given, and he normally walks from home. But this time, he was out, and when he came home, he saw a car blocking his driveway, and so he had to park far away and missed the class. I later told this fellow how this story sounded to me: “You were probably already late to the class, and so when you saw someone blocking your driveway, instead of parking a couple of blocks away, you figured you had an excuse, so you just wouldn’t bother coming.” “Wow, Rabbi,” he replied. “You’re spot on.” There is a disease that many of us are plagued by – the disease of chronic blaming. When something goes wrong, when we don’t succeed the way we want, when things aren’t right, we find someone to blame. It’s the husband’s fault… The wife’s fault… The parent’s fault… The in-laws’ fault… The Rabbi’s fault… The school’s fault… There’s always someone to blame. In Parashat Ki-Tisa, Moshe Rabbenu really does have everyone to blame the problem on – but instead, he takes personal responsibility. This parashah tells of the worst sin ever committed by Beneh Yisrael – the sin of the golden calf. Although Moshe was the leader, he had every reason to absolve himself of responsibility. He was not even there when it happened. The people made the golden calf despite Moshe, not because of Moshe. But he did not blame the people. Instead, he came before Hashem and pleaded for them. And he said that if Hashem would not forgive them, then מחני נא מספרך אשר כתבת – “erase me, please, from Your book which You have written.” He refused to be left alone if the people would be punished. He insisted on taking the blame. If the people could not be forgiven and needed to be punished, then he would be punished with them. Why is the “blame game” so terrible? Why is it wrong to blame others instead of taking responsibility? There are several reasons, but the most important reason is because when things go wrong, this is a precious opportunity to grow. We have an enormous amount of potential within us. Every person has greatness waiting to be unlocked. But the only way it is unlocked is through challenge and struggle. The stories told of our avot – Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov – are about their struggles and challenges. Avraham was given ten tests. Yitzhak was nearly slaughtered. Yaakov was forced to run away from his brother, deal with his corrupt uncle, Lavan, and then suffered tragedies in the family. Yosef was nearly killed by his brothers, and then sold as a slave and subsequently imprisoned. All these men became great because of the enormous challenges they had to face. Instead of blaming others, they took responsibility and rose to the occasion, every time. This is how they attained greatness. When Moshe pleaded to Hashem for the people after the sin of the golden calf, he said, חטא העם הזה חטאה גדולה – “This nation has committed a terrible sin.” At first glance, this seems like a peculiar way to come to the people’s defense and plead on their behalf. But what Moshe was saying is that he was accepting responsibility. Under his leadership, they made a grave mistake – and he was committed to helping them overcome it and grow from it. That’s exactly what he did, and both he and the people became so much greater because of it. This is leadership – accepting responsibility for the problem, instead of just blaming it on somebody else. Rather than blame his absence on the car parked in front of his driveway, the boy should have said to himself, “Next time, I’ll do better. I’m going to make an extra effort to come on time, and if I’m late, I’ll come anyway and gain whatever I can.” This would be how to turn this mistake into a learning experience, and an impetus for growth. A similar thing happened to me. Once, on a snowy morning, it took me longer than usual to get to shul. I walked in a few minutes late, and I saw that they had already started the tefillah . My initial reaction was to feel very upset. They really couldn’t wait for the Rabbi? They had to start right on time? When the roads are covered with snow, couldn’t they wait a few minutes? I was playing the “blame game,” blaming others instead of taking responsibility. I quickly corrected my mindset, and told myself, “Next time I’ll do better. The next time it snows, I’ll make an extra effort to leave early so I’ll show up on time.” And that’s exactly what I did the next time its snowed… We all make mistakes. We all do things wrong sometimes. It’s part of being human. But more importantly, it’s part of growing. And in order to grow from our mistakes, we need to take responsibility for our mistakes instead of blaming them on others. Let us, then, seize the opportunities presented by our mistakes to grow and unlock the hidden greatness within us!
The Mishkan contained a number of different kelim (furnishings), including a shulhan (table), two altars, and the aron . The Torah tells us the dimensions of each, in the unit of length called ama h: Aron : 2.5 amot long, 1.5 amah wide, 1.5 amah tall. Shulhan : 2 amot long, 1 amah wide, 1.5 amah tall. The outer altar: 5 amot long, 5 amot wide, 3 amot tall. The indoor altar: 1 amah long, 1 amah wide, 2 amot tall. If we look carefully at these dimensions, we will notice something unique about the shulhan – it is only one of the kelim whose dimensions are not all whole numbers or fractions. Its length and width are whole (2 X 1), but its height is a fraction – 1.5. The dimensions of the other kelim are all either one or the other. Why? One of the prophets, Habakuk (1:14), compared the human being to fish – ותעשה אדם כדגי הים . Rav Shlomo Alkabetz explains this analogy by noting that if one catches a large fish and opens it, he will see smaller fish in its stomach, as large fish eat small fish. Surprisingly, however, the small fish’s bodies are in the opposite direction of the large fish. We would have assumed that the small fish run away from the large fish, and are then caught, so their bodies should be facing the same direction as the large fish that devoured them. But when we cut open the large fish, we see the small fish facing the opposite direction, as though they swam right into the large fish’s mouth! The reason, Rav Alkabetz explained, is because the small fish indeed run away from the large fish – but just when they think they’ve escaped, another large fish appears, and the small fish swim right into its mouth…. We are like fish. At any given time, we have one or perhaps two “large fish” chasing after us, one or two problems which we desperately need to solve. And we think that once we get that one issue under control, then our lives will be perfect. But as soon as that problem is solved, right away we come across another… We are never fully in control of our lives, and this is something we need to learn to accept. So many people spend their lives waiting to have full control. They think, if they just made another $20,000 they will be happy. If they could just solve this problem with such-and-such child, or marry him or her off, then they will be happy. If they could just afford to fix such-and-such problem with the house, then they will be happy. But this doesn’t work. Because as soon as one problem is solved, another one pops up. We need to learn to be happy and content RIGHT NOW, with whatever we have and don’t have at this very moment. No matter how imperfect life is, we can experience joy and satisfaction. The shulhan – the table in the Mishkan , upon which special bread was placed – represents parnasah , our livelihood. The length and width of the shulhan were whole measurements, symbolizing to us that no matter what we have or don’t have, we should see our livelihood as being “whole,” feeling that we have everything we need. And the height of the shulhan is a fractional dimension to remind us that our material lives will never be perfect. It will never be “whole.” There will always be things missing – but that’s ok. We can feel happy and blessed despite not having everything we could want. The pasuk in Tehillim (57:3) says, אקרא לאלוקים עליון לקל גומר עלי - “I call out to G-d on high, to the G-d who completes for me.” We cannot do everything; we can only work hard to get the process started. It is then up to Hashem to complete it. So let’s stop trying to get control over everything in our lives, because this is impossible. Let us instead do what we can, recognize that there are problems that we cannot solve right now, and trust that Hashem gives us everything that we are supposed to have so we can enjoy a happy, blessed life right now.
Parashat Mishpatim contains one of the most famous pesukim in the entire Torah – Beneh Yisrael ’s declaration of נעשה ונשמע – “We will do and we will hear.” This declaration, which was made at the time of Matan Torah at Mount Sinai, is considered one of the greatest moments in our people’s history, as our ancestors announced their unlimited and unconditional commitment to Hashem’s laws. Many different explanations have been given for the precise meaning of נעשה ונשמע . One explanation is that even when נעשה , when we are doing, when we are busy, when we are preoccupied, when we are under pressure, when we have tons going on, even then, נשמע – we will hear Hashem’s voice. In the Book of Devarim, Moshe recalls the event of Matan Torah , and describes how there was a קול גדול ולא יסף – a “great voice which did not stop.” Hashem’s voice which our ancestors heard at Mount Sinai is still being sounded. He is calling to us even today, at all times, calling upon us to place our trust in Him, to obey His laws, and to seize the opportunities for growth and for performing mitzvot . The challenge of נעשה ונשמע is to hear that voice even during times of נעשה , when we’re busy and preoccupied with many different things. Even then, we must keep our ears open, and find the opportunities which Hashem sends our way. This includes “hearing” the pain and struggles of other people. Even when we are busy dealing with our own problems and our own issues, we need to remain attuned to the needs of our fellowman. Even when we are struggling, other people are also struggling, and could use a kind word, sensitivity, attention, and a helping hand. נעשה ונשמע – even when we ourselves are very busy, let us hear them and be attuned to their needs. Parashat Mishpatim begins with the law of the עבד עברי – “Hebrew servant.” This is a man who was convicted of theft, but could not afford to pay the victim what he stole. He would therefore be sold as a servant, and the money he received would be used to pay the victim. The Torah requires the master to release him after six years of work. Additionally, the master is to treat him with respect and sensitivity. He is not allowed to have him perform overly difficult or demeaning labor, and he must treat him as part of the household, giving him the same food and comforts that everyone else in the home enjoys. This man was caught stealing – but nevertheless, he is to be treated with dignity. Of course, he needs to be punished for his crime. But at the same time, we cannot overlook his struggles and hardships which led him to the desperate measure of stealing. He deserves sensitivity, and he deserves a second chance. נעשה ונשמע . We all have our struggles. Let us make sure not to allow our struggles to blind us to the struggles of others. Let us always be attentive and sensitive to the needs of the people around us – even when we are busy and burdened with our own issues.
Parashat Yitro tells the story of Ma’amad Har Sinai – G-d’s revelation to Beneh Yisrael at Mount Sinai. We read that the people came to the mountain ויתיצבו בתחתית ההר – “and they stood underneath the mountain.” The Gemara in Masechet Shabbat takes this phrase very literally, to mean that Beneh Yisrael were actually beneath the mountain, which was held on top of them. Hashem uprooted the mountain and held it over the people, threatening to bury them underneath the mountain if they did not accept the Torah. Many commentaries raised the question of why Hashem needed to force Beneh Yisrael to accept the Torah, given that they had proclaimed נעשה ונשמע – “we will do and we will hear,” enthusiastically promising to observe all of Hashem’s commands even before they were given. They accepted the Torah voluntarily – why did they need to be forced by being threatened? One of the answers given is that of Rav Eliyahu Dessler, in Michtav Me’Eliyahu . He explains that G-d did not actually suspend the mountain over the people. The Gemara means that it was so obvious to the people that they should accept the Torah, that it was as though they were coerced. The Rabbis say that at the time of Ma’amad Har Sinai , the people were at the pristine spiritual level of Adam and Havah before their sin. They had cleansed themselves of the yetzer ha’ra (evil inclination). At this level, the proclamation of נעשה ונשמע was instinctive and intuitive. It was as clear to them that they should obey everything G-d commands even before knowing what was entailed, as it would have been if He had suspended the mountain over them and forced them to accept His will. This pristine level was lost after the sin of the golden calf. Once the people fell from the level they had reached at Ma’amad Har Sinai , they no longer had נעשה – the instinct to do the right thing. It is no longer clear and obvious to us that we must follow Hashem’s will. We have lures and temptations, that we need to struggle against. We lost נעשה , but we still have נשמע – listening and obeying. Even though we are not naturally inclined to follow Hashem’s will, we still have the ability to do so. And this must be our most important goal and ambition – נשמע , to do the right thing, to follow Hashem’s script, even when it is not convenient and even when we feel like acting differently. In contemporary society, we associate success with doing something extraordinary, with standing out, with fame, with being a celebrity. Even within our religious framework, we think that success means being a famous Rabbi, a famous philanthropist, or some kind of public figure. But this is a mistake. From the Torah’s perspective, success means נשמע , following the script, doing the right thing. It means being a devoted spouse and parent; reciting the required tefilot each day; reciting the required berachot before and after eating; maintaining proper standards of kashrut ; observing the laws of Shabbat; and doing all the things the Torah tells us to do. A person does not have to be a famous Rabbi with thousands of students or congregants, or to donate millions to charity, to be a good Jew. He just needs to succeed in the day-to-day struggle of נשמע , of following Hashem’s commands. The fable is told of a wealthy aristocrat who handed buckets to his servants, and instructed them to full those buckets with water from the river, and bring them to the well, ten times. The servants complied – but there was one problem: the buckets all had holes in the bottom. By the time they got to the well, the buckets were empty. As faithful, obedient servants, they nevertheless did exactly what they were told. When they were finished, the master approached them and praised them for their work. “But we didn’t do anything,” they said. “The buckets all had holes. No water got into the well!” “I didn’t want water in the well,” the master replied. “I wanted the buckets to get cleaned. And you did exactly that!” In the business world, the CEO is expected to produce results, to “fill the well,” to increase profits. But in Torah life, the goal is not to the end result, but rather to obey the Master’s commands, regardless of what ends up in the “well.” May we all be truly successful Jews – faithful and obedient servants of Hashem, following the Torah’s script for how to live our lives.
The first place Beneh Yisrael came to after crossing through the sea, as we read in Parashat Beshalah, was a place called Marah. The Torah tells us that during the time Beneh Yisrael were in Marah, שם שם לו חוק ומשפט – they were given a number of laws (15:25). Rashi lists the laws which they received at that point, one of which was Shabbat. Later in this parashah , we read of the manna, the heavenly food which began falling each morning to feed Beneh Yisrael as they traveled through the desert. Each year on Pesach, at the seder , we sing the song of Dayenu , which includes the following statement: אילו נתן לנו את המן ולא נתן לנו את השבת, דיינו – “If He had given us the manna, but not given us Shabbat, it would have been enough for us.” This line seems to present the events in the reverse order – implying that we first received the manna, and only then received the command of Shabbat. If Beneh Yisrael were given the mitzvah of Shabbat before being given the manna, then why does the Haggadah imply the opposite – that the manna came first, before Shabbat? Some commentators answer by explaining that there are two aspects of Shabbat – the law of Shabbat, and the gift of Shabbat. Shabbat is both an obligation that we bear, as well as a precious gift. The command of Shabbat was given to our ancestors at Marah, but the gift of Shabbat was given later. Of course, we must approach Shabbat as, first and foremost, a religious obligation. But that is not all Shabbat is. Once we get used to observing the law of Shabbat, we enjoy the unique gift of Shabbat. Personally speaking, I observe Shabbat for myself, just as much as I observe it for Hashem. I thoroughly enjoy it. Having the time and peace of mind to focus on my family is the greatest gift in the world. Some people might ask, “But do you know what my Shabbat table looks like?! The kids fight and make a mess – it’s chaos!” My response is a story told of the Hazon Ish , who once gave his student the following blessing: “You should have a lot of children, and your table should be upside-down!” The student asked the Rabbi what he meant by “your table should be upside-down.” What kind of blessing is that? The Hazon Ish explained that if a person has a lot of children and his table is not “upside-down,” then his children are not normal, G-d forbid. Normal children turn the table “upside-down.” Shabbat is a precious gift even if the Shabbat table gets chaotic. Leaving all our pressures behind, forgetting about the stresses of the workweek, and focusing on the children is such a wonderful opportunity – even if the house is “upside-down.” Let us not just observe Shabbat, but strive to appreciate this precious gift, and take full advantage of this golden opportunity to strengthen our bonds with the most important people in our lives – our children.
The ninth plague which Hashem brought upon the Egyptians was חושך – the plague of darkness. The Egyptians were plunged into darkness for six days, while Beneh Yisrael had light. The Rabbis teach that for three days, the Egyptians could not see anything, and during the other three days, the air was not just dark, but thick, to the point where the Egyptians could not even move. They were stuck in their places for three days. I always wondered, how did the Egyptians eat during those three days? If they couldn’t move, how did they obtain food? The answer is given by the Netziv, in his Ha’amek Davar commentary, where he writes something remarkable. He explains that since Beneh Yisrael were able to move and see, they went into the Egyptians’ homes and fed them. They took care of the Egyptians who were unable to move during those few days. The Netziv writes that this is why, as the Torah tells later, the Egyptians gladly gave Beneh Yisrael their belongings at the time of Yetziat Mitzrayim . Before Beneh Yisrael left, they approached their Egyptian neighbors and asked for their utensils and clothing, and the Torah says that Beneh Yisrael “found favor” in the eyes of the Egyptians, who gladly gave them their possessions. The Netziv explains that the Egyptians were so grateful to Beneh Yisrael , and so impressed by what they did during the plague of darkness, that they happily gave them their belongings. As the plagues unfolded, Beneh Yisrael did not look smugly upon the Egyptians, nor did they become insensitive to them. They were kind and caring, even as they began to rise and the Egyptians began to decline. Sometimes, we forget about how sensitive we need to be around people who do not enjoy the blessings we have. A person told me that two women from the community were sitting at a beauty parlor and talking with one another. One was talking about the nurse who was taking care of her baby. They spoke about housekeeping help, and the trouble they were having finding good housekeepers. They spoke about the decisions they needed to make about which luxury car to lease. These women were completely oblivious to the fact that the employees working on their hair were probably earning around $15 per hour. I’m sure these aren’t bad people. They are probably nice and considerate women. But sometimes we simply forget that other people do not necessarily enjoy the blessings that we have, and it could be very hurtful for them to hear us talk about a lifestyle that they cannot possibly afford. We need to think very carefully before we talk about our children’s successes in the presence of people who don’t have children, or who are having serious problems with their children. We need to think very carefully before we talk about our vacations in the presence of people who cannot afford to go on vacation. And we must be extremely careful before posting pictures of our vacations on social media. The Torah tells that before Yetziat Mizrayim , Moshe Rabbenu was held in very high esteem בעיני עבדי פרעה ובעיני העם – in the eyes of Pharaoh’s noblemen, and in the eyes of the people. As Moshe rose to prominence, he earned the admiration of all kinds of people – both the rich aristocrats, and the simple, ordinary people. He was able to relate to all of them, because he cared about all of them. When we achieve success, of any kind, we must not forget about those who are not as successful. We should never be oblivious to the fact that there are others who are struggling, whose jealousy could easily be aroused by our remarks about our housekeepers, our cars, our vacations, our children and our family celebrations. Let us always remember that although we are blessed with “light,” there are others who sit in “darkness,” who do not enjoy the same blessings and achievements that we do. Like our ancestors in Egypt, let us be considerate and compassionate, and be kind and sensitive towards all people, realizing that they may be struggling and going through things that we know nothing about.
Sometimes we take ourselves a little too seriously, and feel a little – or a lot – too proud of ourselves. A person’s wealth, good looks, social standing, professional achievements, or even religious accomplishments have a way of making him feel too important, too confident, and too great. An extreme example of this phenomenon is told in Parashat Vaera. Hashem instructed Moshe to go speak to Pharaoh at the river early in the morning. The Midrash explains that Pharaoh claimed that he was a god, and so he made sure to never be seen using the restroom. He would arise early in the morning and go to the river to perform his bodily functions. The Rabbis also teach that Pharaoh claimed that he created the Nile River. He saw himself as a god. None of us go so far as to think we’re gods, but we do sometimes tend to “idolize” ourselves in some way. We feel a little too proud about our achievements, our job, our position, or how people look highly at us. We fall into delusion about how accomplished we are, and, like Pharaoh, try to forget that we’re flawed, limited human beings. Right after Hashem appeared to Moshe Rabbenu at the burning bush and charged him with the most important and distinguished mission ever – to lead Beneh Yisrael out of Egypt, and bring them to Mount Sinai where they would receive the Torah – something shocking happened. As Moshe lodged in an inn along his journey to Egypt, Hashem nearly killed him, because he had failed to give his son a berit milah . Right when Moshe accepted the most important job ever assigned to a human being, Hashem sent him a message, essentially saying, “I don’t need you. If necessary, I could get this done without you.” We should feel proud of our accomplishments, but we must make sure not to feel too proud. Even Moshe Rabbenu, the greatest and most accomplished leader in history, was not indispensable. We need to stop idolizing ourselves – and also stop idolizing other people. Moshe, as great as he was, suffered from a speech impediment. One commentator explains that Hashem specifically made Moshe flawed so that the people would not mistake him for some kind of G-dly creature. It was critically important for them to remember that he was just human, that he wasn’t perfect, that he was flawed. When we idolize people – either ourselves or other people – this is a deficiency in our emunah , in our faith in Hashem, in our belief that He exerts full control over everything in the world. We often tend to idolize certain figures – athletes, singers, actors, politicians, very wealthy people, and even Rabbis. Certainly, there are famous and accomplished people who rightfully deserve our admiration and respect. There are politicians who deserve our support and our gratitude for the good things they’ve done. But we must be very wary of idolizing them, of raising them on too high a pedestal, on depending on them too much, and on investing in them too much. Even great people – even Moshe Rabbenu!! – are only human. The only perfect being upon whom we should trust and rely in Hashem. Putting too much belief and trust in people undermines our belief and trust in Hashem. Let us stop idolizing ourselves and other people, and always remember that only Hashem is in full control of the world – and that He is the only one we should ever idolize.
The most important, and most frightening, question which we could and should be asking ourselves every day is: how am I doing now in Hashem’s eyes? Am I doing the right thing? Am I living the right way? Ultimately, this question is impossible to definitively answer. Hashem wants us to live without knowing the answer. He wants us to try our best to do the right thing, to serve Him the right way, to fulfill His will to the best of our ability, even though we will never know for sure whether we’re doing what we’re supposed to be doing. However, we might perhaps find three clues to help us answer this question, in Parashat Shemot. Hashem spoke to Moshe for the first time as he worked as a shepherd for his father-in-law in Midyan, and He instructed Moshe to go to Egypt and lead Beneh Yisrael to freedom. Moshe suspected that the people might not believe him when he would tell them that Hashem appeared to him, so Hashem gave him three “signs” with which he would prove that he was Hashem’s prophet: 1) He would throw his staff to the ground, and it would become a snake. He would then grab hold of the snake’s tail, and it would again become a stick. 2) He would place his hand inside his pocket, and when he pulled it out, it would be white, stricken with leprosy. He would then put his hand back in his pocket, and his normal color would be restored. 3) He would take water from the river and pour it on the ground – and it would turn to blood. Let’s take a close look at the meaning of these three signs. A מטה (“staff”) is a sign of stature, like a king’s scepter. The snake represents our yetzer ha’ra , our base desires and sinful instincts, like the snake that lured Adam and Havah to sin in Gan Eden . Moshe’s first sign shows the struggle we all have between being a מטה – refined, dignified, G-dly people – and being a “snake,” pulled down by our negative tendencies. The first “sign” we have in determining if we are living the way we should is whether we are taking hold of the “snake,” of our base desires, and acting in a noble, dignified manner. Moshe’s next sign was his hand turning white, becoming lifeless, after being placed in his pocket. Placing a hand in a pocket represents inactivity and laziness. This “sign” was teaching us that we did not leave Egypt and become a free people so we can be lazy, so we can relax and take things easy. We are here to work hard, to be bold and ambitious, to strive to accomplish great things. This is another indicator that we might use to assess how we are doing. Are we using our time productively? Are we working hard to achieve meaningful goals? Finally, Moshe turned water to blood. The commentators explain that this blood was Hashem’s assurance to Beneh Yisrael that He did not forget the blood of their infants cruelly murdered by the Egyptians. Even though it seemed as though Hashem abandoned them, in truth, He was with them and would severely punish the Egyptians for what they did. This is another clue that we can use – do we trust in Hashem and feel His presence even during difficult periods? Do we fall into despair, or are we able to maintain our faith and firmly believe that Hashem is there helping us at every step of the way? As mentioned, we will never have a definitive answer to the question of how we are doing in Hashem’s eyes. We are expected to live with this uncertainty and do our best. But Moshe’s signs for our ancestors in Egypt are useful signs for us, as well. Let us work to ensure that the answer is “yes” to all these three questions – that we strive to control our negative impulses; we work hard to realize ambitious, meaningful goals; and we see Hashem’s hand everywhere and at all times, even in life’s more challenging periods.
A certain Chabad Rabbi in Australia, named Rabbi Aron Moss, once received an email from a congregant, asking a question about something he read in Tanya , the primary work of Chabad Chassidic teaching. In one passage, the author of Tanya writes that people are capable of controlling their behavior, their speech, and their thoughts. The person who wrote the letter did not understand how it is possible to control thoughts. Some thoughts just pop up in our heads. How can anyone say that we have control over our thoughts? The letter-writer concluded the letter by mentioning that he was resending this email, which he had sent two weeks earlier, without receiving a response, and he was wondering if the Rabbi perhaps had not received it. The Rabbi answered as follows: Apologies for not responding sooner to your message. I actually did receive it the first time. But I ignored it. I didn't even open it. And it was deliberate. I decide which messages I open, and which I don't. Just because an alert pops up on my screen does not mean I have to react to it. I may not be able to control the messages that arrive in my inbox, but I can certainly control whether or not I open them. And I didn't open yours. My not answering your question is the answer to your question. You may not be able to control the thoughts that pop into your head. But you most certainly can control your reaction to them. If an inappropriate thought enters your mind, you have the choice to entertain it or reject it. And that is the challenge we are given, to take the reins of our brains and push away negative thinking. When you reject a bad thought, you don't allow it to become yours, you don't identify it. And each time you do, you become the master of your inbox. Unless you are a very holy person, you will experience bad thoughts on a regular basis. Sometimes they will be about yourself - "I am a loser, I will never accomplish anything." Sometimes they will be about others - "I could kill that guy." Some of those thoughts may be pretty ugly. You have no power to stop them flashing through your mind. But you do have the choice to leave those thoughts unopened. Bad thoughts popping up into your head? That's normal. Delete and go to next message. In Parashat Vayehi, Yaakov Avinu sensed that he would soon leave this world, and so he gathered his children around his bed, and gave them his blessings. As soon as he finished speaking, he closed his eyes, and died. Why did he wait until just before his death to bless his children? The commentaries explain that during the moments before a person’s death, he has the greatest clarity. With one foot already in the next world, he has a clearer perspective on life, on priorities, on what’s important and what isn’t. And this is the best time to give one’s blessing. Yaakov Avinu’s father, Yitzhak, also gave his sons blessings when he was old and sensed his end was nearing. The Torah introduces that story by stating: ויהי כי זקן יצחק ותכהינה עיניו מראות – Yitzhak grew old, and his eyes became blind. The older we get, the more we are able to “blind” ourselves to what we don’t need to pay attention to, to ignore the “messages” we receive but do not need really to open. This is the clarity we gain with age. The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (5:11) describes different kinds of people with regard to anger. One type, the highest level, is קשה לכעוס ונוח לרצות – a person who is slow to anger, and easy to be appeased and have his anger assuaged. Such a person does not usually become angry, and when he does, he gets over it very quickly. Such a person, the Mishnah says, is a חסיד – a pious person. One of the Rabbis pointed out that the Mishnah does not say that somebody who never gets angry is a חסיד ; the pious person is slow to anger and easy to appease, and not somebody who never gets angry. The reason, this Rabbi explained, is because who never gets angry is not a חסיד – he’s an angel. Somebody who never gets angry, who never gets upset, who never has a nasty thought enter his mind, is not human. It’s human to have negative thoughts enter one’s mind. The חסיד is the one who knows which thoughts to “delete,” to ignore, to pay no attention to. And this is true about all negative thoughts – anxiety, frustration, disappointment, and so on. We are going to have these thoughts enter our minds. Things are going to worry us, upset us, and make us angry. But if we’re smart, we’ll ignore these thoughts and move on to the next “message.” Instead of dwelling on our anger, fear or frustration, we’ll focus on being productive, on doing the things we know are meaningful and which bring us satisfaction. Countless “messages” enter our brain each and every day. We need to know which ones to open, and which ones to ignore. We should ignore the messages which stifle us and knock us down, and stop to “read” the messages which empower us, which energize us, and which motivate us to continue growing and achieving.
Parashat Vayigash begins with Yehuda standing before the vizier of Egypt – who he still did not know was actually his brother, Yosef – and pleading on behalf of his youngest brother, Binyamin. Yosef had demanded that his brothers bring Binyamin with them to Egypt. Their father, Yaakov, refused to allow Binyamin to go, until Yehuda gave Yaakov his personal guarantee that he would ensure Binyamin would return home safely. But Yosef had his servant plant his royal goblet in Binyamin’s bag, framing him as a thief. When Binyamin was caught, Yosef demanded that Binyamin remain in Egypt as his slave. Yehuda stepped forward and confronted Yosef, pleading that he allow Binyamin to go, concluding by insisting that he be allowed to remain in Egypt instead of Binyamin: ועתה ישב נא עבדך תחת הנער עבד לאדוניו, והנער יעל עם אחיו. And now, let your servant remain instead of the youngster as a slave for his master, and the youngster shall go with his brothers. (44:33) At that point, Yosef revealed to his brothers who he was. It is worth nothing the word ועתה – “And now” – in this pasuk . Why did Yehuda ask that “now” he can remain instead of Binyamin? Why is this word necessary? The answer might have to do with the other time Yehuda tried to save a younger brother. Twenty-two years earlier, the brothers decided to kill Yosef – first directly, and then by throwing him into a pit. Yehuda then proposed that instead of killing him, they should sell him as a slave and eliminate him that way. The brothers listened, and this is how Yosef ended up in Egypt. The Midrash tells that later, when the brothers saw how devastated Yaakov was that Yosef was gone, the brothers were angry at Yehuda. They told him that he was the leader of the family, and so this was his responsibility. He should have saved Yosef. Of course, Yehuda is the one who actually did save Yosef. But the Midrash here is teaching us that what he did wasn’t enough. He made an attempt – but his attempt was insufficient. Yosef was gone, and Yaakov was devastated. Yosef wanted to see how far Yehuda would go if this happened again – when he faced a situation where Yaakov’s beloved son would be in danger. ועתה – this time, Yehuda did not just “try.” He didn’t just make an effort. He was absolutely determined to ensure Binyamin would go home safely. To the point where he offered to remain in Egypt in Binyamin’s stead. The reason why we’re not as productive as we can be, why we don’t achieve what we set out to achieve, is because we’re just “trying.” We lack the passion and determination to do everything it takes to achieve our goals. I know somebody who was on a diet for twenty years. Over those twenty years, he lost 4 lbs. He was “trying” to lose weight, but that was it – just “trying.” Then, he became determined. He went on a real diet, and lost the weight he needed to lose. There are so many things that we tell ourselves we tried to do but couldn’t – whereas in reality, we could’ve done it if we really wanted to. If we really wanted to, we could get up on time in the morning. If we really wanted to solve a certain problem that we have, we would ask people for advice, read books about the topic, or go to a therapist. If we really wanted to accomplish something, we would think long and hard, speak to people, and come up with an effective strategy. The reason why we don’t is because we want to put in the work only when we feel like it, when it’s convenient, when we’re in the mood. But nothing of significance has ever been accomplished by working only when one feels like it, when one is in the mood. Accomplishment requires passion, commitment and persistence. In whatever area of life it is that we want to achieve in, we need to stop “trying” and instead be determined to get it done. Trying isn’t good enough. It is only by being passionate and determined that we will accomplish what we set out accomplish.
After spending twelve years in a dungeon, Yosef was brought before Pharaoh so he could interpret the king’s dreams. Pharaoh told Yosef, “I heard about you that you can hear a dream and interpret it,” to which Yosef replied, בלעדי – “It’s not me.” He explained that it is Hashem who helps him interpret dreams. This word, בלעדי , I believe, expresses one of the most important – but also one of the most difficult – lessons that we need to learn and live by. And that is – it’s not about us; it’s about Hashem. The greatest challenge for a leader is to recognize that his position is not about him, but about the people he leads. It’s not about his prestige, his honor, his grandeur, his feeling of importance – but about what his decisions and his actions do for the benefit of the people under his charge. Yosef was destined for leadership already at a young age, but it was only once he learned this lesson of בלעדי that he was ready to assume a leadership role. By enduring all the humiliation and suffering that he experienced – being sold as a slave, and then being falsely accused of a crime and imprisoned – he reached this realization of בלעדי . He reached the realization that life is about doing what Hashem wants us to do in the position He places us in, whether it’s as a lowly slave, as a prisoner, or as second-in-command in the wealthiest and most powerful empire on earth. It’s not about our ego, our power, our honor, or our prominent stature. בלעדי . By living with this mindset, we can avoid so much unnecessary aggravation. We won’t be bothered by an offensive remark. We won’t be bothered by an invitation we did not receive. We won’t be bothered by our married child’s going to his or her in-laws’ house more than to our house. We won’t be bothered by having less money than the people around us. We won’t be bothered by losing business or a salary cut. We will understand that none of this matters. We will understand that life is not about having everything we want, but about doing what Hashem expects of us right now, regardless of whether or not things are the way we want them to be. בלעדי . This lesson is one of the keys to a happy marriage. A marriage is successful when both the husband and wife understand that it’s not about “me,” but about “us.” If this is how they see themselves, then they won’t feel offended so easily, and they won’t feel the need to fight for they want instead of giving in. The story is told of somebody who was a guest of the Hafetz Haim during Hanukah, and he saw that the Hafetz Haim was not lighting the candles at the time when this should ideally be done. He had assumed that a great tzadik like the Hafetz Haim would certainly want to perform the mitzvah at the ideal time, so he was very surprised. He approached the Hafetz Haim and asked why he wasn’t lighting the candles. The Hafetz Haim answered based on a halachah mentioned in the Gemara. If a person is very poor, and, on Friday afternoon of Hanukah, he can afford to light either the Shabbat candles or the Hanukah candles, but not both, then he should light the Shabbat candles. The reason, the Gemara explains, is because the Shabbat candles are lit for the purpose of שלום בית – to bring peace and serenity to the home – and שלום בית is so important that it takes precedence over the mitzvah of Hanukah candles. “If שלום בית overrides the mitzvah of Hanukah candles,” the Hafetz Haim said, “then certainly it overrides the preferred time for lighting. It’s far more important to wait for my wife to come home so she can be here for the lighting.” Marriage is not about “me,” my needs, what I want, what’s good for me, what suits my preferences. It’s about “us,” about what we accomplish together. If we live this way, we will find ourselves being less upset and bothered when things don’t go exactly as we wanted, and life will then be so much happier and so much more fulfilling.
Of course, we believe that everything is from Hashem. Everything that happens to us happens because Hashem decided it should happen; we have everything we have because Hashem decided we should have it; and we don’t have everything we don’t have because Hashem decided we shouldn’t have it. The Maharal of Prague teaches that this is why Hashem performed the miracle of the oil in the Bet Ha’mikdash after the Jews defeated the Greeks. The primary miracle of Hanukah was the victory over the Greeks, which enabled us to survive as a nation. But Hashem then performed the miracle of the oil to make it clear that the victory over the Greeks was His doing. Lest the Jews start thinking that the victory was the result of their strength and their skill, Hashem made the oil last for eight days, showing them that He helped them. Everything that happens, even when it seems like it was achieved through human effort, is really brought about by Hashem. At the same time, however, it is clear that Judaism teaches the importance of hard work. The pasuk says (Iyov 5:7), אדם לעמל יולד – people are put into this world to work hard. We do not believe that we can just sit around and relax and trust that we will receive everything we need or want. We need to work. Parashat Vayeshev begins with the words וישב יעקב (literally “Yaakov resided”), which the Midrash understood to mean ביקש יעקב לישב בשלוה – that Yaakov, at this point in his life, wanted to live calmly and peacefully. Already an older man, after having worked very hard and been through so much for many years, he finally wanted some relaxation. But Hashem told him that this will not happen. He explained that the next world is where we “relax” and enjoy the fruits of our labor in this world. In this world, we must work very hard. The question then becomes, where do we draw the line? How much work is too much? How do we know what is acceptable effort and exertion, and how much reflects a lack of faith in Hashem? David Ha’melech says in Tehillim (38:19), כי עוני אגיד אדאג מחטאתי (literally, “For I tell my iniquity, I worry because of my sin”). This has been explained to mean that David admits to “sinning” by being worried. אדאג מחטאתי – because he worries ( אדאג ), he is considered to have sinned ( חטאתי ). This gives us some insight into the difference between reasonable and acceptable effort, and a deficiency in emunah . It depends on whether a person worries. If a person needs to spend a full day in the office in order to earn a livelihood, then this is what he should do. But when he comes home, he should feel calm, confident and secure, trusting that Hashem is taking care of him. One Rabbi gave the example of a poor man who was trudging along with a heavy suitcase, until a wealthy man with a horse-driven chariot passed by and offered him a ride. The pauper gratefully accepted the offer, and got onto the carriage. The wealthy man noticed that the pauper continued holding his suitcase, instead of just putting it down on the floor of the carriage. “Why are you still holding your luggage?” he asked. “Just put it down so you can relax!” “Your horses already have enough to carry… Let me at least carry my suitcase!” Needless to say, this is very foolish… The horses are carrying the suitcase even if the man continues holding it… The same is true of Hashem. He is “carrying” us at all times. We do not help the cause by carrying our “luggage,” by walking around with a burden of worry and anxiety on our shoulders. This burden is unnecessary. True, אדם לעמל יולד – we need to work hard. But we need to work hard without a heavy “suitcase” of anxiety. Parashat Vayeshev teaches us that we are here to work hard. Hanukah teaches us that ultimately, everything is from Hashem. Together, they convey the Jewish concept of emunah – that we are to invest effort, while also remaining calm and relaxed, and trusting that Hashem is always carrying our “suitcase” for us. So we might as well put it down and enjoy the ride.
Before Yaakov’s dreaded meeting with his brother, Esav, who hated him and wanted to kill him, Yaakov sent a very large gift as a sort of bribe, in an attempt to pacify Esav. When they finally met, Esav was friendly, and embraced Yaakov. He then declined the gift, saying אחי, יה לך אשר לך – “My brother, you should have that which is yours” (33:9). Onkelos, the Aramaic translation of the Humash, translates the words יהי לך אשר לך as, אצלח בדילך – “Be successful with what you have.” Although these are the words of Esav, a wicked man, they express a profound and vitally important lesson. Success comes from בדילך – from that which we have, not that which we don’t have, or what others have. In order to be successful, accomplished and happy, we need to focus on what we have, as the Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot famously teaches us, איזהו עשיר, השמח בחלקו – “Who is wealthy? One who is content with his lot.” How do we achieve this quality? How can we learn to feel content and happy בדילך – with what we have? The single most important key to attaining this quality is something which, in my view, is probably the most precious gift a person can have, and that is: indifference. By this I mean the ability to not care. Normally, when we are in an argument or a fight, we feel there are only two possibilities: to agree with the other person, or to disagree with the other person. But we need to remember that there is also a third possibility: to not care. And very often, this is the best and smartest option. If we are convinced that the other person is wrong, it’s ok to just forget about it. We can just go home and do what we need to do even though that person, in our opinion, has the wrong idea about things. The gift of indifference is so valuable. It means not caring if the neighbors are expanding their house, buying a new luxury car, going on a luxury vacation, or making a lavish affair. These things don’t have to upset us. They upset us only if we care. But we can be indifferent. We can tell ourselves that this does not matter to us at all. We can be just as happy now as we were before we heard about what the neighbors are doing. We don’t have to care if a friend or relative didn’t show up, or showed up late. We can be indifferent. We can tell ourselves that it really does not affect us, and that way we won’t be upset. The Rabbis refer to the yetzer ha’ra (evil inclination) as the שאור שבעיסה – “the yeast in the batter.” Yeast has the effect of expanding the dough, making it much larger. This is what the yetzer ha’ra does – it makes small, trivial matters into very big matters. It makes things that don’t mean all that much into a very big deal. We battle the yetzer ha’ra through the gift of indifference, by telling ourselves, “I DON’T CARE.” By saying, “I’m not going to turn this into something much bigger than it is.” Through indifference, we can experience אצלח בדילך , the success and joy that comes from appreciating what we have and feeling content.
Parashat Vayetzeh begins with Yaakov Avinu fleeing from home after his brother, Esav, threatened to kill him. Yaakov traveled to his uncle, Lavan, as his mother instructed him. When he arrived in Haran, the town where Lavan lived, he was penniless. He had absolutely nothing. The Midrash tells that Esav sent his son, Elifaz, to run after Yaakov and kill him. Elifaz did not want to kill Yaakov, but he also did not want to disobey his father. Yaakov decided to give Elifaz everything he had so he would be poor, and poverty is, in a sense, similar to death. The Midrash further tells that afterward, as Yaakov made his way to Haran without anything, he wrote the words of one of the most famous chapters of Tehillim (121). He cried, אשא עיני אל ההרים, מאין יבא עזרי – “I lift my eyes to the mountains; from where will my help come?!” He felt helpless, all alone, not knowing what the future had in store for him. And so he asked, “From where will my help come?!” Yaakov then answered his own question. He exclaimed, עזרי מעם ה' עושה שמיים וארץ – “My help comes from G-d, Maker of heavens and earth!” Why did Hashem put Yaakov in this position, of having to run for his life and having not a penny? Why did Yaakov have to experience the feeling of מאין יבא עזרי , of wondering how he would manage? The answer is that Hashem was preparing Yaakov for the rest of his life, which would be filled with many difficult struggles and challenges. He specifically wanted Yaakov to experience adversity, so he could recognize that עזרי מעם ה' , that even under adverse conditions, Hashem is with him and helping him. He was shows that even if he had nothing, he could manage, and he could flourish. Yaakov was forced to run away because Esav was angry at him for taking the berachah which Yitzhak meant to give him. This berachah wished that Hashem would grant Yaakov great wealth ( ויתן לך האלוקים מטל השמיים ומשמני הארץ ). But Rashi makes a very important comment about this berachah . He writes that Yitzhak said to Yaakov: אם ראוי לך יתן לך, ואם לאו לא יתן לך – “If you are deserving, then he should grant you [this blessing], and if not, he should not grant you [this blessing].” “Blessing” means something different for us Torah Jews than it does for others. Most people assume that being blessed means having more. If somebody has wealth, then this means he is blessed. But for us, this is not what “blessing” means. For us, “blessing” means having what Hashem has determined that we should have. Having everything we feel we need or want is not necessarily a blessing. Sometimes, specifically having less is the greater blessing. This is what Yaakov Avinu was shown – that he can manage and succeed even under very difficult circumstances, and even when he has nothing. Sometimes Hashem blesses us by specifically withholding things from us, by sending us challenges which make us stronger. This is something we’ve all learned, I hope, over the course of the last couple of years, during the pandemic – that we can adjust and manage with less, even when conditions are not what we’re used to. At first, we all had the feeling of מאין יבא עזרי , wondering how we would manage, but gradually, we understood that עזרי מעם ה' , that Hashem helps us find our way even during challenging times, and that to the contrary, challenges help us grow and become greater. Hopefully we will bring this lesson with us throughout the rest of our lives, so we can change the adversity narrative. Instead of feeling anxious, aggravated, upset and angry when life sends us challenges, let us instead remember that we are truly blessed even when we don’t have everything we feel we want, because Hashem always gives us what we need to grow and achieve.
In the Book of Melachim I (chapter 20), we read of a certain war that was waged, and before one of the battles, the prophet came to the King of Israel and gave him advice. He said: הסר המלכים איש ממקמו ושים פחות תחתיהם – instead of having noblemen ( מלכים ) fight the battle, the king should instead summon פחות – ordinary, simple people. The Metzudat David commentary explains that the noblemen, due to their stature, value their lives, and so they would not expose themselves to danger by exerting great effort during battle. The would be too afraid to show courage and daring. The simple peasants, however, unfortunately, did not value their lives as much, and so they would fight fearlessly, not worried about risking their lives. Leaving aside the many different aspects of this story that need to be explained, there is a very clear, and very important, message that we learn. The more we value ourselves, the more we take good care of ourselves. If we do not think that much of ourselves, we are more willing to get into the mud, to be reckless and careless. The Hebrew word for “respect” is כבוד , a derivative of the word כבד , which means “heavy.” And the antonym of respect, the word used for silly, meaningless behavior, is קלות – which is derived from the word קל , or “light.” If we are “heavy,” if we have substance, then we respect ourselves and earn the respect of others. But if we are “light,” and we do not recognize our great value and worth, then we waste our time on silliness. This point, I believe, is our most critical weapon in our ongoing struggle against the social media companies, and the other companies that produce material which consume so many hours of our time. They are counting on the fact that we feel קל , that we do not value ourselves. If we do not value ourselves, then we do no value our time, and so we will waste it on meaningless activities. But if we feel כבד – that we are important, we are precious, we have the potential for greatness, then we will use our time in a manner of כבוד , with self-respect. Once we realize that we are מלכים , that we are royalty, we will be far more careful about how we spend our time and what we allow to enter our minds. Parashat Toldot tells the story of the time when Esav was out hunting, and he returned home, tired and hungry. His brother, Yaakov, was preparing a stew, and Esav asked him for some food. Yaakov asked Esav to sell his rights as the firstborn in exchange for food, and Esav replied, הנה אנוכי הולך למות, ולמה זה לי בכורה – “I’m anyway going to die, so what do I need the birthright for?!” It was at this point when Yaakov knew with full confidence that Esav did not deserve the special privileges and responsibilities of the firstborn. The realization that אנוכי הולך למות , that we are mortal, that our lives are finite, should motivate and drive us to value our time even more, to use our time productively. Esav, however, said the exact opposite – that since he was in any event going to die, there was no reason to pursue greatness. Such a person cannot be a founder of Am Yisrael . Each one of us is special, is כבד , laden with talents, with skills, with goodness, with limitless potential. What a shame it would be to waste our time on nonsense, on vanity, on meaningless pursuits! Let us all always remain aware of just how great and precious we all are, and by learning to value ourselves, we will value our time, and use it wisely.
Every night, in the Arvit prayer, we ask, הסר שטן מלפנינו ומאחרינו – that Hashem should remove the Satan “from before us and from behind us.” The commentaries explain that the Satan tries to hurt us in two different ways. When we consider doing a mitzvah , the Satan – meaning, our evil inclination – attempts to convince us not to. It gives us different reasons why we should “take it easy” and not bother with the mitzvah . But even after we overcome our yetzer ha’ra and perform the mitzvah , the Satan doesn’t stop – it tries to make us forfeit our reward for the mitzvah by causing us to regret it. And so we ask Hashem to protect us from the Satan both לפנינו – before we perform a mitzvah , and also מאחרינו – after we perform a mitzvah . A powerful example of מאחרינו , the Satan ’s attempts to lead us to regret our mitzvot , is found in Parashat Hayeh-Sarah. After passing the unimaginably difficult test of akedat Yitzhak , when Avraham showed that he was prepared even to sacrifice his son if this were what Hashem wante, he was immediately given another test. He returned home to find that his beloved wife, Sarah, had died. The Rabbis comment that she died when she heard about the akedah , that Avraham nearly killed Yitzhak. This was a great test for Avraham – to accept the fact that he did the right thing by complying with Hashem’s command, even though it led to such a painful personal loss. We know that Avraham passed this test from the way he spoke to the בני חת , the people in his city, Hevron, when he wanted to buy a place to bury Sarah. He bowed to them respectfully, spoke cordially, and insisted on paying full price even though the owner of the land he wanted offered it for free. Avraham did not let his situation break him. He retained his composure and spoke with dignity and respect, despite everything he was going through. Let’s contrast Avraham’s behavior with that of Efron – the owner of the property Avraham wanted to buy. Efron offered the field to Avraham for free, but, as the Rabbis point out, he really wanted Avraham’s money all the time. After Avraham insisted on paying, Efron said, ארץ ארבע מאות שקל כסף ביני ובינך, מה היא – “Between you and me, what’s land worth four hundred silver coins?” This was Efron’s not-so-subtle way of telling Avraham that this is the exorbitant price he wanted. We have here two different models of derech eretz . Efron spoke with derech eretz just for show. It was not sincere. He wanted to impress, but he really didn’t care about Avraham. But Avraham Avinu’s derech eretz was real and authentic. It stemmed from a genuine appreciation of the צלם אלוקים (divine image) within each and every person, which deserves our respect. The Talmud tells the famous story of Rabbi Akiva, who did not begin learning even how to read Hebrew until he was 40 years old. He was inspired to begin learning when he saw a natural well, and the people there told him that the well was formed by flowing water, which gradually, over many years, made a hole through the stone. Rabbi Akiva figured that if water could chisel through stone, then certainly the words of Torah could make an impact on him. This has been explained to mean that Rabbi Akiva recognized the difference between the Torah’s concept of derech eretz and the other nations’ concept of good manners. For the other nations, it’s all a show. It’s external. But what the Torah demands is that we change ourselves internally, that we truly and genuinely respect other people and treat them accordingly. Derech eretz is not a tactic, but something which must be deeply felt. It has to mold our hearts the way water can chisel through solid stone. As the descendants of Avraham Avinu, this is a goal we must all work towards. We should try, as much as possible, to cultivate real derech eretz , a real respect for other people, and act towards them the way Hashem’s special nation is expected to act.
Parashat Vayera begins with the famous story of the three angels who were disguised as travelers, and whom Avraham Avinu graciously welcomed. During their visit, one of the angels informed Avraham that his wife, Sarah, who was already ninety years old, would soon conceive and have a son. Sarah heard the news from inside the tent, and she laughed in disbelief, saying to herself, “Can I have a child? But my husband is old!” (18:12). Hashem then spoke to Avraham and said, “Why did Sarah now laugh, saying, ‘Can I really give birth, when I am old?!’” (18:13). Rashi, based on the Gemara, points out that Hashem did not quote Sarah’s reaction precisely. Sarah had wondered why she could give birth in light of the fact that Avraham was old; Hashem told Avraham that Sarah wondered how she could give birth in light of the fact that she was old. The Gemara explains that Hashem slightly changed Sarah’s words for the sake of peace. Avraham might have been insulted hearing Sarah say that he was old, and so Hashem altered her words, changing “my husband is old” to “I am old.” We must ask, would Avraham really have cared? Would it really bother a 100-year-old man if his wife said that he was old? Not to mention that this was Avraham Avinu, one of the most righteous men who ever lived. Would this really have upset him? And, in fact, in the previous chapter (17:17), Avraham himself asked Hashem how at 100 years old he would be able to have a child. He obviously knew that he was old! The answer is simple, but so very important and relevant to every one of us, and to every single relationship that we have. There are some things that we say which might not be inherently hurtful, but when they are said in a certain way, it can make the other person uncomfortable. We all have people in our lives who we know will end up saying something that makes us a little uneasy or annoyed when we talk with them. They aren’t bad people, or even insensitive people, but they just aren’t as careful as they should to avoid saying things which come across as slightly hurtful or upsetting. This is what the Gemara is teaching us. Of course Avraham knew he was old, and of course he was not so fragile that he would become angry hearing Sarah comment about his age. But even so, hearing one’s spouse say “you are old” creates some discomfort, some tension, and this should be avoided as much as possible. Needless to say, in the opposite direction, we should try not to be so easily offended when people say something which we find hurtful. We should give them the benefit of the doubt that it wasn’t meant offensively, that the person just wasn’t as careful as he or she should have been, or the person didn’t realize that this was hurtful. But we should try, as much as possible, to be careful and use our common sense before opening our mouths, or before clicking on “send.” If what we are thinking of saying or writing will cause unnecessary discomfort, we should put on the brakes. As the descendants of Avraham Avinu, we are expected to be nice, to be respectful, to be polite in our dealings with other people. In today’s world, where nastiness and arguing have come to characterize our public discourse, let us lead the way by speaking kindly and respectfully to all, and choosing our words carefully so as to avoid unnecessary friction and tension.
The story is told of a Rabbi who once came to Rav Yosef Haim Sonenfeld to discuss a certain halachic topic. The Rabbi presented his opinion, and Rav Sonenfed told him that his reasoning was incorrect. But the Rabbi did not relent, and he repeated his argument. Once again, Rav Sonenfeld dismissed what he said as incorrect. Finally, after the Rabbi tried several times to argue his position, Rav Sonenfeld said, “It seems to me that this is something which you’ve written down. This is why you refuse to accept that it’s wrong.” This story is, I believe, exceedingly important, and very relevant to all of us. Why do we get so flustered when things don’t work out the way we expect them to? Why do we get upset when our children don’t act the way we want them to? When people in the community don’t act the way we want them to? When things in the office don’t work out the way we want them to? Or when the “wrong” candidate – meaning, the one we didn’t vote for – gets elected? The reason is because we already “wrote it down.” In our minds, we have a script of how things should be. We have a script of what our marriage should be like, what our children should be like, what our job or business should be like, what the community should be like, and what our country should be like. And so when something happens that’s not in the script – which, of course, happens all the time – we get rattled. We get frustrated. Like the Rabbi in the story, we insist that this is not the way it’s supposed to be, and it upsets us that this is what’s happening. The first instruction that Hashem gave to Avraham Avinu was לך לך מארצך וממולדתך ומבית אביך – “Go forth from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s home.” This is the first command given to Avraham, because this is what being a Jew is all about – going, leaving, moving forward, progressing, advancing, achieving. Being a Jew means that we don’t just stay comfortably where we are, but rather constantly work and strive to grow and achieve more. Significantly, Hashem did not at first tell Avraham where he was going. He told him to go אל הארץ אשר אראך – “to the land which I will show you.” Growing requires us to accept whatever is “shown” to us, to go wherever we are led, even if it’s not “in the script,” not where we had planned to go. We grow when unforeseen and undesirable circumstances force us to be creative, to be bold, to be persistent, to work hard to come up with solutions. This is the command of לך לך . If things always went smoothly, precisely according to the script in our minds, then we do not “go forth,” we would not produce and achieve. This idea really struck me when I was learning the halachot relevant to a Jewish cemetery, and I encountered a discussion among the poskim as to whether a Sefer Torah may be brought to a cemetery under certain circumstances. One of the famous poskim , the Noda Bi’yehuda , wrote that one factor to consider for allowing this is the fact that many Torah scrolls have mistakes, or chipped letters, and are thus invalid. Since the Sefer Torah in any event might not actually be a proper Sefer Torah , there is greater room to allow bringing it to a cemetery. It occurred to me when I learned this piece by the Noda Bi’yehuda just how much better religious life is today, in so many ways, than it used to be. True, our generation has its unique religious challenges, and it’s true that we do not have towering sages like the Gaon of Vilna or the Hafetz Haim. But, we don’t have to worry about our Sifreh Torah ; we have advanced technology to ensure that they are valid. No generation before ever had such high-quality tefillin as we have. In no other generation was it possible for every Jew to have his own set of high-quality ארבע מינים as it is in our generation. No other generation had as many fulltime kollel students as our generation has. No other generation made it possible for so many laymen to devote time for Torah learning like our generation. Imagine if everything had just stayed the same since the time of the Noda Bi’yehuda . Imagine if there weren’t new developments, upheavals, seismic changes that took place. We would never have progressed this far. Nothing would have improved. All these incredible advances in religious life would never have been made. We need to let go of the script that’s in our head and accept the story that is being written. Unexpected changes and challenges are Hashem’s call of לך לך , opportunities to grow and achieve. Instead of getting rattled, let us remain confident and poised, ready and eager to rise to every challenge that Hashem sends our way.
Before the flood, Hashem commanded Noach to bring two of every species into the ark, and seven of the “pure” species – meaning, kosher animals (7:2). The Gemara in Masechet Pesahim (3) notes a subtlety in the way Hashem refers to the different groups of animals. Instead of distinguishing between בהמה טהורה (“pure animals”) and בהמה טמאה (“impure animals”), Hashem speaks of the second group as בהמה אשר איננה טהורה – “animals which are not pure.” In other words, instead of simply saying, טמאה – “impure” – Hashem says איננה טהורה – “not pure.” The Gemara explains that this was done to show us the importance of using “clean” language, avoiding bad words. This passage in the Gemara is one of the important sources for the obligation to avoid foul language. But we must wonder, is טמאה really a bad word? The Torah later, in the Book of Vayikra, presents a lot of different laws related to purity and impurity, and it uses there the word טמאה all the time. Why all of a sudden now was it necessary to say איננה טהורה instead of טמאה ? The answer is that these animals were being saved so that they would begin rebuilding the world after the flood. And when we rebuild, we must avoid negativity. Even words that are not inherently “foul” should be avoided when we are trying to build, to grow, to create something new and special. The Gemara makes this comment in explaining the first Mishnah in Masechet Pesahim, which states that בדיקת חמץ (the search for hametz ) is to take place אור לארבעה עשר – on the night of the 14 th of Nissan. The word אור means “light,” but the Mishnah uses it here to mean just the opposite – night. The Gemara explains that the Mishnah used the word “light” instead of “night” because light is “clean language.” Of course, “night” is not a bad word. But when we are working to eliminate the “ hametz ” – all the harmful things from our lives – we need to be especially careful with how we talk. Even words which are not inherently “bad” should be avoided when we are involved in building and creating. This is so critically important for all of us. When we’re building a home, or a community, or any type of project, it is crucial to use only upbeat, positive language. Statements like, “Boy, this is so annoying,” “This is frustrating,” “I hate when this happens,” “This is terrible,” or “Why does this always have to happen” don’t include any “bad” words, but they are destructive. They ruin the atmosphere. Instead of saying, “How on earth are we going to handle this,” we should be saying something to the effect of, “Ok, let us think of the best way to handle the situation.” Instead of bemoaning, “This is annoying,” we can say, “Let’s try to make it better.” The words we use, the way we express ourselves, creates the “vibe” around us. They determine whether there’s an aura of negativity, of cynicism, of aggravation, or an aura of excitement, of encouragement, of joy, of enthusiasm. Let’s create a positive, upbeat vibe, by watching the way we speak, using words that are encouraging, hopeful and motivating.
Parashat Bereshit tells the famous story of Adam and Havah in Gan Eden , how they were lured by the snake to eat fruit from the forbidden tree. When Hashem first spoke to Adam and Havah and gave them His instructions, He said: מכל עץ הגן אכול תאכל, ומעץ הדעת טוב ורע לא תאכל ממנו. You can surely eat from all the trees of the garden, but from the tree of knowledge of good and bad – you shall not eat from it. Rather than simply commanding Adam and Havah not to eat the fruit of the forbidden tree, Hashem first made a point of telling them, מכל עץ הגן אכול תאכל – that they were allowed and encouraged to enjoy the fruit of all the other trees. Why was this necessary? Why didn’t Hashem just tell them not to eat from the forbidden tree? The answer is very powerful, and very relevant to all of us. Human nature is to focus on the one “forbidden tree,” on what we do not have, on what makes our lives imperfect. We tend to talk a lot, and complain a lot, about that one “tree,” about the small part of our lives that isn’t going the way we want. And so Hashem introduced His command to Adam and Havah by emphasizing, מכל עץ הגן אכול תאכל , drawing their attention to all that they had, to all the blessing He showered upon them. He was teaching them, and us, to stay focused on the “permissible fruit,” on all that we are able to enjoy, all we are able to achieve and accomplish, instead of getting distracted by the one “tree” that we can’t have, by the little bit that isn’t what we want it to be. So many people sit around the Shabbat or holiday table and complain about the “forbidden tree,” about the problems that they can do nothing about. They complain about the president or other politicians, about this group or that group, about what this person did or what that person did. Instead of focusing on the things they are able to do and able to enjoy, they focus on everything that bothers them. One of the most important pieces of non-Torah literature written in recent years in Stephen Covey’s bestselling The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. Among other things, this book differentiates between our “circle of concern” and our “circle of influence.” Our “circle of concern” consists of everything that we care about. This includes our health, our finances, our family’s wellbeing, our comfort, our religious observance, the weather, politics, what’s happening in Israel, how our favorite sports team is doing, what we’re having for lunch, and everything else that matters to us in some way. Within this very large circle, there is a much smaller circle consisting of the things that we care about and that we can influence, that we can impact in some way. We cannot influence the weather. We cannot influence politics, except when there’s an election, unless we get involved in some political movement. We cannot influence our sports team. But we can influence our health, by taking good care ourselves. We can influence our family, by being good spouses and parents. We can influence our religious observance by doing what the Torah tells us to do. We can influence our finances through hard work and industriousness. In his book, Stephen Covey writes that successful people focus mainly on their circle of influence. They don’t waste their time or their attention on things they cannot control, such as the weather, sports and politics. They focus their attention on the things they control. This is a crucial key to success and achievement. Focusing on the “forbidden tree,” on the problems over which we have no control, is futile, and also makes us miserable. There are so many other “trees,” so many things we can do and focus on to make our lives better, and this is what we should be doing. One of the great pleasures of life for a father is teaching his child for the first time to swing a bat and hit a ball. As anyone who does this knows, the child needs to be repeatedly told, “Keep your eye on the ball!” If he doesn’t keep the eye on the ball, he is likely to swing and miss, or hit it weakly. If he keeps his eye on the ball, then he has a good chance of hitting it squarely. This is true in baseball, and it is true in life generally. In order to “hit” the “ball,” to achieve and accomplish, we need to stay focused on the “ball” – on our goals. Of course, we need to be aware of what is going on in the community, in the broader Jewish community, in our country and in the world. But the bulk of our attention must be focused on our “circle of influence,” on the things we can control, on our efforts to realize our goals, fulfill our dreams, and achieve what we want to achieve in life. Let us stop getting distracted by things we can’t control, and keep our eyes focused on what we can control, on all the “trees” which are accessible to us, all the countless things we can do to improve our lives and improve the world.
Lehman Brothers was one of the most powerful financial institutions in the world until it filed for bankruptcy and folded during the crisis of 2008. The story goes that the Stephen Schwartzman, CEO of a different company – Blackstone – called the CEO of Lehman Brothers before it shut down. “Listen,” he said, “your company has $675 billion worth of assets. $650 billion of those assets are fine; only $25 billion of them are bad. The $650 billion worth of assets will be able to weather the storm fairly well. So this is what I suggest you do. Break up Lehman Brothers and form two companies – one with the $650 billion, and the other with the $25 billion. The $25 billion company will go bankrupt and fold, but the rest will survive. Unfortunately, the CEO of Lehman Brothers couldn’t get it done, and so the entire company collapsed – because of the $25 billion worth of troubled assets. This story, I believe, serves as a very powerful metaphor for the mistake so many of us make during this time of year, and for the proper approach that we should be taking. When it comes to doing teshuva , introspecting, examining ourselves and seeing what we need to improve, we so often fall into the trap of just giving up, of just saying, “Whatever.” We tell ourselves, “Look – I don’t do that so well, I don’t do this, I’m bad at that, I should be doing this, I mess up that… Whatever, I’m just bad. I should be better.” If we think we’re just bad, then we’ll give up. We’ll let our whole lives go “bankrupt,” without trying to save anything. The correct approach to teshuvah is to identify the $25 billion of rotten assets. To isolate the areas that aren’t right. To recognize and appreciate the $650 billion worth of good that we have. To realize that yes, we are great. Our “company” is doing just fine – as long as we address the little part of ourselves that is problematic. This is why when we recite vidui on Yom Kippur, confessing our sins, we are very specific. We don’t just proclaim a generic, “We have sinned.” We go through the trouble of listing all the particular things we’ve done wrong. If we just say, “We have sinned,” we aren’t accomplishing anything. That’s basically saying, “I’m bad, whatever…” By specifying our particular sins, we are identifying the $25 billion so we can rid of them and salvage the rest. This work is something that each individual needs to do for himself. Nobody can tell any of us what we need to change. We each have to think carefully and honestly to identify that $25 billion that needs to be thrown away. But the first step is to recognize that $650 billion is fine. Yes, we are great. We are not perfect, but we are great. And it is specifically because we are great that it is worth it for each and every one of us to take the time and make an effort to find the not-so-great part of our beings and address it, so that we can be even better.
Rabbenu Nissim (known as the Ran), one of the early commentators of the Talmud, tells us that the history of Rosh Hashanah dates back to the creation of man. He explains that the first day of creation was the 25 th of Elul, such that the sixth and final day of creation, when Adam and Havah were created, was Rosh Hashanah. And it was on that same day, the Ran writes, that Hashem commanded Adam and Havah not to eat the fruit of the forbidden tree. Just two hours later, they ate from the tree. They repented, and Hashem accepted their repentance, allowing them to continue living. Already on that day, Rosh Hashanah was designated as the day of judgment, because this was the day when Adam and Havah were judged and acquitted. This early history of Rosh Hashanah sheds a great deal of light on the essence of this day, and what is expected of us as we prepare for it. The Torah in Parashat Bereshit tells that after Adam and Havah ate from the forbidden tree, they were very embarrassed, and they hid. Hashem called out to them and asked, “ Ayekah ” – “Where are you”? What kind of question was Hashem asking? He knows everything; certainly, he knew where Adam and Havah were hiding. This question was posed to the Ba’al Ha’Tanya (the first Lubavitcher Rebbe) while he was in a Russian prison, by one of the officers. He answered that Hashem was not asking Adam and Havah to inform Him of there whereabouts. Rather, He was asking them the most important question any person was ever asked: “What happened to you?! How did you end up here?! How did you stray so far from where you were supposed to be? What are you doing here?!” Most of us have probably had the experience of meeting somebody whom we haven’t seen in many years, and being dismayed by seeing how and where they ended up. We think to ourselves: what happened to this person? He had so much promise, so much potential! How did he end up here? These are the uncomfortable questions that we need to ask ourselves this time of year. We need to compare where we are with where we’re supposed to be. We need to identify where we went wrong, why we aren’t living our lives the way we should. The Gemara in several places cites the following teaching: כיון שעבר אדם עבירה ושנה בה הותרה לו – “ One a person committed a sin and repeated it, it has become permissible for him .” This means, as the Gemara proceeds to explain, that once a person has made something into a habit, in his mind it becomes the right thing to do. We might call this the “rightness disease.” It’s a condition we all have – assuming that everything we do must, by definition, be correct. We like to believe that if we act a certain way, then it has to be right. Elul and the Yamim Noraim is the time for us to recover from this destructive disease, and to stop assuming that everything we do is right. It’s very uncomfortable to admit that we do things wrong, that some of our habits and routines are against the Torah, but this is what we need to do in order to grow. When we hear the sound of the shofar , we have to imagine that we are Adam and Havah hearing Hashem’s voice in Gan Eden , asking us, “ Ayekah ” – “Where are you?! Stop thinking that everything you do is correct. Stop pretending. Take a good honest look at where you are, and at where you’re supposed to be.” Let us hear this voice, and use this season as a precious opportunity to reconsider our habits, our routines and our lifestyle, so during this coming year we will be much better people and better servants of Hashem than we were this past year.
There is a pasuk in the Book of Yirmiyahu (8:6) which, I believe, encapsulates what this month, the month of Elul, is all about. Yirmiyahu made the following observation about the people in his time: אין איש נחם על רעתו לאמר: מה עשיתי? כלה שב במרוצתם כסוס שוטף למלחמה. There is no one regretting his evildoing, saying, “What have I done?!” They are all continuing to run like a galloping horse going out to war. When a horseman is racing out to the battlefield, the horse is not thinking about anything except reaching its destination. It’s galloping at full speed, its mind focused on nothing else. Yirmiyahu bemoans the fact that the people were always running, always rushing, always hurrying to do something, like a horse running out to battle. And when we’re always running, we have no time to stop and think, to ask ourselves, “What have I done?” or “What should I be doing?” Many years ago, a friend of mine was telling me about someone who, he believed, owed him about half a million dollars’ worth of goods, and refused to pay him. This issue consumed my friend, and gave him no rest. He was determined to get those half-million dollars. I tried explaining to him that he was already very wealthy, and this half-million was not going to ruin him. “Why don’t you just let it go?” I asked him. “Wouldn’t your life be so much better if you just forgot about it? Is this worth all the time and emotion you’re investing in this? Isn’t your focus and energy worthy so much more?” “Are you crazy?!” he replied. “You want me to just forget about this, when somebody is refusing to pay me the half a million dollars he owes me? How can I do that?!” For two years, he was entirely consumed by this problem. Years later, I was speaking to a friend of his who had partnered with him in a number of business ventures. He was telling me about a certain very successful venture that he embarked upon, and I asked him whether he had partnered with that friend. “No, I couldn’t,” he explained. “He was too consumed with the half-million dollars. He didn’t have the time or focus for this venture.” This fellow told me that his friend would have made $50 million dollars off this venture – which he could not get involved in because he was too busy trying to collect the $500,000 he thought he was owed. This is what happens when we don’t stop and think, when we live life like a horse galloping to the battlefield. We become irrational, and we involve ourselves in things far less valuable than other things we could be doing. We all believe in Hashem. We all believe that Hashem governs the world. We all believe that He gave us the Torah. So why do we not always follow the Torah? Because we don’t think about this. We make ourselves so busy with so many things – some important, some not – that we don’t have the time or focus to think about what we’re doing, why we’re doing it, and whether we’re doing the right thing. This is true about our relationship to Hashem, and also about our relationships to other people. Why do so many married couples become unhappy, even though they love and care about each other? Because they don’t stop and think about what the marriage needs. They get so busy and so involved in many different things that they don’t focus on each other. Elul is the time to stop and think, to stop the “galloping,” to take time out of the constant race, and to think about what we’re doing. This is the first and most important step we need to take as we prepare for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and work to make next year, and the years after that, better, happier, and more fulfilling.
Parashat Ki-Tetzeh begins with a certain law that applies during times of war, and it introduces the topic by stating, כי תצא למלחמה על אויביך – “When you go out to battle over your enemies…” A number of commentators noted that the Torah here uses the plural form – אויביך , “your enemies.” It speaks of the people fighting not against one enemy, but about multiple enemies. One explanation for this nuance is that whenever we confront a battle of any sort, we are, in truth, fighting on two fronts – externally, and internally. Whenever we face an external enemy, we are also threatened by an internal enemy. On the one hand, of course, we are fighting the actual enemy, whoever or whatever it is that threatens us. But in addition, we need to wage an internal struggle within ourselves – against our own weaknesses. During times of challenge, we can get lazy and feel helpless. We can lose our confidence and our determination. We might decide to give up, to surrender, to not even bother trying. And so we need to struggle against the problem that we face, and also against our internal instinct to be lazy. Terry Fox was a young Canadian athlete who developed a type of cancer called osteosarcoma, which required the amputation of his right leg. After the amputation, Terry needed to undergo 16 months of intensive chemotherapy – and even all this gave him just a 50 percent chance of survival. In 1980, at the age of 21, with a prosthetic leg, Terry embarked on what he called the “Marathon of Hope,” jogging from one end of Canada to the other, in order to raise money for cancer research. His run began on April 12, and he was forced to stop on September 1, when he fell ill, as his cancer had returned and spread to his lungs. He died the next year, in June. By the time he ended his run, Terry had raised $1.7 million for cancer research. Terry Fox unfortunately lost his external battle, but he scored a resounding victory in his internal struggle. He remained determined and driven despite the obstacles that stood in his way. He continued running in brutal weather, and while suffering intense pain, undeterred. This is how one wins the internal struggle. For the last year and a half, we have been waging a difficult struggle against the covid-19 pandemic, which has posed great challenges for each and every one of us. But alongside the pragmatic challenges, we have also been forced to waged an internal struggle – to muster the strength, determination and resolve to continue growing and achieving despite these challenges. It is tempting to just surrender, to say, “It’s too hard” and compromise our standards because of the new realities that have set in. But we have to be better than that. We should follow the example set by Terry Fox, the example of persevering, of making the effort, of not taking the easy way out, of pushing ourselves to our furthest limits so we can achieve greatness even under challenging circumstances. We have very little control over this external enemy. We need to do our best to follow the guidelines of medical experts, but ultimately, the future is in Hashem’s hands. However, the battle against our internal enemy is entirely up to us. Let us wage this war with confidence and determination, and work our hardest to continue growing as people, as spouses, as parents, as community members, and as servants of Hashem.
The word אלול – the name of this special month before Rosh Hashanah – is associated with several pesukim . Most famously, of course, it is associated with the pasuk in Shir Hashirim which describes the mutual love between Hashem and the Jewish People: אני לדודי ודודי לי – “I am for my Beloved, and my Beloved is for me,” as the first letters of these words spell אלול . But there is also a lesser-known connection between the name of this month and a stage of the עבודת יום הכפורים – the special service performed by the kohen gadol in the Bet Ha’mikdash on Yom Kippur. As we recite during the musaf prayer on Yom Kippur, special sacrifices were offered on this day, and the kohen gadol sprinkled the blood of the sacrifices inside the קודש הקודשים , the inner room of the Bet Ha’mikdash . He would sprinkle אחת למעלה ושבע למטה – once upwards, and seven times downward. This procedure is very significant. The Gemara teaches that the yetzer ha’ra – our evil inclination – has seven names. There are seven different ways in which the yetzer ha’ra can pull us down, and prevent us from growing, from going where we need go, from being the people who we are supposed to be. Without discussing what these seven “names” are, it suffices for our purposes that the Rabbis identified seven different types of vices, of weaknesses, ways the yetzer ha’ra holds us down and tries stopping us from achieving greatness. With this in mind, the sprinkling of the blood אחת למעלה ושבע למטה is extremely important. It represents what might be the single most important thing we need to remember during this season of teshuvah . And that is – although there are seven forces bringing us למטה , trying to pull us down, there is a much more powerful force that is pulling us upward. The אחת למעלה is stronger than all שבע למטה . We might have within us many negative impulses, but we also have a force of goodness which is more powerful than all of them. Our inner spark of kedushah (holiness) can overpower all the different forces of the yetzer ha’ra . This is, perhaps, the central message of this time period. And thus the name אלול represents the words א חת ל מעלה ו שבע ל מטה . During Elul, we are to remind ourselves that we can change, we can be better, we can grow, we can reach higher. Sometimes we feel that we’re just trapped in place, that we are hopeless against the forces that bring us down. Elul is the time for us to remember that we have within us a force of goodness that is more powerful than all our evil inclinations. This is what we need to remind ourselves during this time of year: we can change!! We are not powerless! Yes, as human beings, we have many challenges and many temptations, and we will do things wrong. But this does not mean that we are trapped. We can do better! Let us take full advantage of this period of א חת ל מעלה ו שבע ל מטה . Let’s stop telling ourselves, “I can’t,” and start believing that we can. We can be so much better – and this is the time of year to show just how much better we can be!
Parashat Re’eh begins with Moshe Rabbenu making the following statement to Beneh Yisrael : ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה. את הברכה, אשר תשמעו אל מצוות ה' אלוקיכם... ואת הקללה אם לא תשמעו אל מצוות ה' אלוקיכם... See that I am placing before you today a blessing and a curse – the blessing if you listen to the commands of Hashem your G-d, and the curse if you do not listen to the commands of Hashem your G-d… The commentators point out that Moshe does not speak about “doing ” the mitzvot , but rather about “listening” to the mitzvot . Why? Shouldn’t the blessing – or the opposite – depend on our fulfilling the mitzvot ? Why does Moshe here emphasize listening to the mitzvot ? The answer is because listening is the most important – and most difficult – part. To understand why, let’s imagine we’re walking in midtown Manhattan in the middle of a workday. In just ten minutes of walking, it is amazing how many people and things we see and hear. Hundreds and hundreds of people, vehicles and buildings, and sounds of all kinds. But how many of them will we remember? Very, very few. This is because we all – all of us, without exception – have selective hearing. We cannot focus on everything, because that would be way too overwhelming. And so we focus selectively, on the things that we instinctively know are important to pay attention to. This isn’t true only in Manhattan. It’s true of life generally. We are all limited. We can only focus on so many things. We can’t pay attention to EVERYTHING. We need to prioritize. And we do this intuitively. We pay attention to the things that we feel are most important, and we block out the rest. This is why Moshe says את הברכה אשר תשמעו – that the blessing comes when we “listen.” This is the most important step – to make mitzvot a priority, so that it becomes something that we “listen” to,” that we pay close attention to, and not something that gets blocked out. This concept is also very relevant to our family relationships, as well. Since we’re all limited, and we can only pay attention to a number of things at a time, we do not always pay attention to what family members need. Parents frequently complain that their grown children do not help out enough at home, either while they’re still living at home or when they come to visit. The parents need to realize that it’s not that the children don’t care, it’s that they’re not aware. With so many things to worry about in their own lives, they might not realize the needs of the people around them. This is something we all do. We can’t be attuned to everything and everyone at all times. And therefore, many things simply don’t register on the radar in our minds – not because we’re selfish, but because we’re limited. Parents need to calmly and respectfully express to their children that they need to help. The solution isn’t anger – it’s simply bringing these needs to their attention, opening up their eyes to realize that this is something they need to pay attention to. When King Shlomo became king, Hashem appeared to him and offered to grant him any request he had. Shlomo asked, ונתת לעבדך לב שומע – “You shall give Your servant a ‘listening heart’” (Melachim I 3:9). Listening begins in the heart, with what we feel is important, and therefore becomes a priority. My Hashem grant all of us a לב שומע , a heart which understands what’s important for us and for others, so we are always “listening” and paying attention to what Hashem expects from us and to what all the people around us need from us.