Insight of the Week

Parashat Terumah begins with Hashem commanding that donations should be collected for the construction of the Mishkan . He tells Moshe, מאת כל איש אשר ידבנו לבו תקחו את תרומתי – the donations should be taken "from every person whose heart stirs him." Hashem wanted the donations to be received only from specific kinds of people – from those אשר ידבנו לבו , who were driven to donate by sincere motivations. Many centuries later, when the Bet Ha'mikdash was to be built, we find a similar emphasis on pristine sincerity. The pasuk (Divrei Hayamim I 22:8) says that Hashem did not allow David Ha'melech to build the Bet Ha'mikdash because he fought many wars, during which he killed many people. The Mikdash was built by his son, Shlomo, during whose reign there was peace, and who thus never fought any wars. The Malbim offers a fascinating explanation for why David's fighting wars disqualified him from building the Bet Ha'mikdash . He writes that David knew that the Bet Ha'mikdash could be built only in a time of peace, when no more wars would be fought. Therefore, if he would have built the Bet Ha'mikdash , he might have been motivated to do so by a desire to once and for all end the wars. He might have thought that the presence of the Bet Ha'mikdash would itself bring an end to the wars – and this would be part of the reason why he would want to build it. When Shlomo built the Bet Ha'mikdash , he had no agenda. His intentions were purely לשם שמיים , for Hashem's sake. If David would have built it, his motives would not have been entirely agenda-free. There would have been a tinge of self-interest involved. Whenever we embark on any significant project, the most important thing we need to help us succeed, to help us overcome the challenges that will invariably stand in our way, is לשם שמיים – sincerity, pure motivations, a genuine drive to do something valuable and meaningful for Hashem. So many people underperform and underachieve. All the accumulated baggage of the past – all their disappointments, failures and painful experiences – discourage them and hold them back. This baggage is deflating, so people don't proceed with the energy, determination, passion and conviction that they need to succeed. The key to solving this problem – which plagues so many people, and which prevents so many people from building and achieving – is לשם שמיים . A person starting a business should think about all the good he could do with a successful business – how he can help people, provide jobs, make a קידוש ה' through his interaction with different kinds of people, support his family, give tzedakah , and donate to religious institutions. A person who is looking for a marriage partner should be driven by a genuine desire to build a beautiful Torah home, a home of hesed , a home where children will be raised according to our Torah values. This is true of any ambitious project that a person wishes to start. The emotional fuel he needs to succeed is לשם שמיים – a passionate desire to do what Hashem brought him into the world to do, to accomplish what Hashem brought him into the world to accomplish, to contribute what Hashem brought him into the world to contribute. If we bring this feeling with us, then we become unstoppable, and no amount of baggage can hold us back from succeeding.

Parashat Mishpatim begins with the law of the עבד עברי . This refers to someone who, due to financial straits, resorted to theft, and was caught, but could not repay his victim. In order to obtain the money he needed, he would sell himself as a servant. After six years, his master was required to release him. If, however, the servant preferred staying with his master, he was allowed to do so, but only after the master pierced his ear as a sign of his servitude. Rashi explains that the servant's ear would be pierced as a punishment. His ear heard Hashem proclaim at Mount Sinai, עבדי הם – that the Jewish People are Hashem's servants, and not the servants of their fellow human beings. This servant was now betraying this pronouncement, and so his ear would be pierced. Many Rabbis addressed the question of why the servant's ear would be pierced only at that point, when he chose to remain with his master, and not right when he was caught stealing. After all, at Mount Sinai we heard the command of לא תגנוב , that it is forbidden to steal, and he violated this command. Why, then, was the ear pierced for transgressing עבדי הם but not for transgressing לא תגנוב ? The answer is that ear doesn't represent simply obedience and compliance. It symbolizes something deeper – the "listening" to understand and internalize what was being said. The עבד עברי understood that it is forbidden to steal. He stole out of desperation, not because he thought it was moral. But when he chose to remain in his master's service, he showed a lack of understanding of what עבדי הם means. The servant decided to remain with his master because he looked to his master as the one responsible for his rehabilitation, for his recovery, for his getting back on his feet – thus losing sight of Hashem. Of course, he owed a debt of gratitude to his master who took him in, treated him well, and helped him regain his footing. But he made the mistake of feeling dependent entirely on the master, feeling that he needed to continue this arrangement and couldn't live without it. He forgot that עבדי הם , that even the master was just a human, a servant of Hashem, that Hashem controls everything, that we are dependent on Him and on nobody else. This is a mistake that we must ensure to avoid. We must not become fully dependent on any human being, to the point where we feel we cannot manage without that person. Not on an employer, not on a client, not on a customer, not on a friend, and not even on a Rabbi. Perhaps most of all, we must not feel fully dependent on any political figure. Every human being is just a human being, and thus is, by definition, limited and flawed. Only Hashem is perfect, and only Hashem has complete power and control. And just as we cannot place our trust in any other human being, neither can we feel fully confident in ourselves and our own abilities. Toward the end of our parashah , we read of our ancestors' famous proclamation at Mount Sinai, נעשה ונשמע – "We will do and we will hear." This might mean that they committed to hearing the "sound" that goes forth from Mount Sinai to this very day. The Torah (Devarim 5:18) says about the sound of Matan Torah , קול גדול ולא יסף – it was a great sound that never ended. Rashi explains that since the day the Torah was given, Hashem is calling to us from Mount Sinai, as it were, continuing to command us to observe the Torah. נעשה ונשמע might be understood to mean that even when נעשה , when we are acting and doing, as we go about our affairs, נשמע – we will continue to hear the sound of Sinai, we will be aware of the message of Matan Torah , that everything depends on Hashem and not on our own efforts. The עבד עברי failed to hear this sound, and so he pinned all his hopes for his future and his success on his master. We must ensure never to make this mistake, to always hear this sound, and never place too must trust in any human being, including ourselves.

Parashat Yitro begins by telling us that Yitro, Moshe's father-in-law, came to join Beneh Yisrael at Mount Sinai. Yitro converted and became a full-fledged Jew. Rashi makes a famous comment explaining what drove Yitro to make this decision to join Beneh Yisrael . He writes that Yitro heard about two events – keri'at Yam Suf (the splitting of the sea) and the war against Amalek. What is it about these particular events that inspired Yitro? After the miracle of the sea, the people sang the שירת הים , the song of praise to Hashem that we include in our morning prayers each day. This song includes a description of how the entire world heard about the miracle and was overcome by fear of Beneh Yisrael . שמעו עמים ירגזון – all the nations heard and were frightened. Yitro was struck by the fact that just several weeks later, Amalek came along and launched an attack on Beneh Yisrael , the nation that they were terrified of. Amalek's attack showed Yitro how quickly people can change, how people can be so inspired and motivated to do the right thing, and then just a few weeks later do just the opposite. This led Yitro to decide to join Beneh Yisrael so he would be together with good people whose influence would keep him on the right path. The Gemara in Masechet Zevahim brings a second opinion as to what led Yitro to join Beneh Yisrael . This opinion says that Yitro came to Mount Sinai after Matan Torah , as it was this event – Hashem giving Beneh Yisrael the Torah – that inspired him. According to this opinion, Yitro was struck by the opposite phenomenon – by how people can grow so quickly. When Beneh Yisrael were slaves in Egypt, they had fallen to the lowest spiritual depths. And then, just seven weeks later, they were at the level where they could behold Hashem's revelation and receive the Torah. Yitro wanted to be part of a people that could undergo this kind of process of spiritual growth. Both opinions are rooted in reality – people have the capacity to change quickly and drastically, in both directions. Never has this been as true as in today's day and age. Technology exposes people to the worst and the best that humanity has to offer. A person can be pulled down to the lowest depths by what he sees, reads and watches online. But he can also grow. I have heard many stories of people who became religiously observant after being inspired by Torah material accessed online. This reality accounts for the diversity that we see in our community, even within families. So many families today have members on drastically different levels of observance. This is because today, more than ever, it is so easy to change in every which direction. In one of the most famous passages in Rashi's commentary to the Humash, he observes that the Torah in our parashah speaks of Beneh Yisrael encamping at Mount Sinai in the singular form – ויחן שם ישראל (19:2). Instead of saying, "They encamped" ( ויחנו ), the Torah says, ויחן , as though speaking of one person. Rashi explains that the people came to Mount Sinai כאיש בלב אחד – "as one person, with one heart." In order to receive the Torah, they needed to be unified and together. The diversity in our community challenges us to find unity despite our differences. Nobody should feel the need to change who he is or how he lives for the sake of family members or other people in the community who are very different from him. At the same time, however, we must find a way to make it work, a way to be together כאיש אחד בלב אחד , to care for, love and respect others even though they are drastically different than us. Each of us is on a journey, and no two people's journeys are identical. When we realize this, we will find it easier to relate to and connect with people who are different – because we will see that we really aren't that different, as we're all on a journey of discovering who we want to be and determining how we want to live. Let us each commit firmly to adhere to our beliefs, values and principles, without compromising at all, while committing also to love and respect those who are different, so we become a strong, unified nation that is worthy of the Torah and of Hashem's ongoing presence.

Two of the fundamental tenets of Judaism are known by the terms emunah (faith, or belief) and bitahon (trust). Much has been written about the precise meanings of these two words, and the difference between them. For our purposes, it suffices to say that the story we read in the Torah over the last two weeks – the story of the ten plagues and Yetziat Mitzrayim – establishes the tenet of emunah , and the story told in this week's parashah – the splitting of the sea – establishes the tenet of bitahon . The miraculous plagues in Egypt showed Hashem's exclusive and unlimited control over the universe. It demonstrated that He governs the world without any constraints, without any other force being able to stop Him, and that He is constantly involved. This is emunah – the core belief in Hashem as the Creator who exerts unlimited control over the earth. At the sea, Beneh Yisrael were taught about bitahon – living with the trust that Hashem can solve problems that appear to have no solution. Emunah is the theoretical belief in Hashem's power, and bitahon is the practical application of that belief, remaining calm and composed during difficult situations, trusting that Hashem is handling it for us. Let us take a closer look at what happened at the shores of the Yam Suf to learn what living with bitahon means. When Beneh Yisrael saw the Egyptians chasing after them, and they realized that they were trapped against the sea, ויצעקו בני ישראל אל ה' – they cried out to Hashem (14:10). Rashi comments that this was the proper response, that Benei Yisrael were following the example of the avot (patriarchs), who likewise cried to Hashem during times of crisis. But then Moshe Rabbenu turned to them and said, ה' ילחם לכם ואתם תחרישון – that they should remain silent while Hashem handles this for them (14:14). After that, Hashem told Moshe to tell the people ויסעו – to move forward into the sea (14:15). This is the prescription for us during times of hardship. First, ויצעקו – we should cry out. It is ok to feel upset, to feel anxious, to feel frustrated, to feel pained. We are supposed to feel these emotions, and not to try to suppress them. And it's ok to cry – certainly to Hashem, but also to those whom we feel comfortable sharing our feelings with, or with a therapist if need be. At a certain point, however, תחרישון – we have to stop crying out, recognizing that ה' ילחם לכם – Hashem is handling this crisis for us, that we are in His hands. We need to stay calm and place our trust in Hashem. And then, most importantly, ויסעו – we need to move forward. No matter what we're dealing with, we can't just give up, wallowing in our bitterness and resentment. We need to go forward and do the best we can under the circumstances Hashem put us in. Three days after Beneh Yisrael crossed the sea, they arrived in a place where they found a water source, but they could not drink the water כי מרים הם – "because they were bitter," and so they called the place מרה – "bitter" (15:23). The Rebbe of Kotzk suggested a fascinating reading of this pasuk . He explained that it wasn't the waters that were bitter, but rather the people. When people are "bitter," when they are angry and resentful, they can never quench their thirst, they can never find satisfaction, because everything they "taste" is bitter. We are all going to experience things that make us upset and get us down. But bitterness never helped anyone. The only way we help ourselves when things happen is ויסעו – by moving forward with the faith that Hashem is handling the problem. We have to move on, doing the best we can, and trust that Hashem will do the rest.

We read in Parashat Bo of how Hashem told Moshe and Aharon the detailed laws of the korban pesach (Pesach sacrifice) which they were to teach Beneh Yisrael in preparation for Yetziat Mitzrayim . The people were to prepare a sheep for the sacrifice already several days before, and then sacrifice it on the 14th of Nissan, the afternoon before Hashem brought the plague of the firstborn which led to the people's departure from Egypt. The Torah concludes this section by saying: וילכו ויעשו בני ישראל כאשר ציווה ה' את משה ואהרון כן עשו – " Beneh Yisrael went ahead and did as G-d commanded Moshe and Aharon; so they did" (12:28). Rashi points out that the last two words of this pasuk – כן עשו ("so they did") – seem unnecessary. After telling us that the people did as they instructed, why did the Torah then repeat, "so they did"? Rashi writes that this refers to Moshe and Aharon. They, too, fulfilled Hashem's commands and prepared the sheep for the korban pesach . We must wonder, does this really answer the question? Would any of us have thought that Moshe and Aharon, who received these instructions from Hashem and conveyed them to the people, would not have obeyed them? Did this need to be said? The Brisker Rav explained that often, people who are involved in things excuse themselves from other things. When a person runs an organization or project, he thinks that this is enough to discharge his duties, and he does not have to do the "little things" that everyone else has to do. People involved in fundraising for a yeshiva, for example, might feel exempt from learning Torah, since they are doing very important work helping other people learn Torah. People who donate money to a synagogue, or who volunteer on one of the shul's committees, might feel that they don't have to actually show up to the tefillot on a regular basis, since they are making sure that other people can come to pray. This is why the Torah needed to emphasize כן עשו – that Moshe and Aharon prepared their own sheep for the korban pesach . They didn't exempt themselves, figuring that since they were responsible for getting the people to perform the mitzvah they did not need to perform it themselves. They understood that just like everyone else needed to prepare a sacrifice, so did they. Many adults find it difficult to feel inspired, to feel religiously motivated. When they were young, especially if they learned in yeshiva or seminary, it was relatively easy to get fired up, to be excited about Torah and to want to connect to Hashem. But when people get older and have families that they need to take care of and support, this becomes much more difficult. But we can't make excuses. We need to do the best we can at all stages of life. Even when we're doing very important things, such as raising a family and getting involved in all kinds of programs and projects, we can't forget about our own religious growth. Even when we're busy with other people, we have to be busy also with ourselves. Moshe and Aharon weren't too important to prepare their own korban pesach . None of us are too important to worry about our own mitzvah obligations and our relationship with Hashem.

Three times every weekday, we recite in the Amidah prayer the berachah of ראה נא בענינו . We begin by asking Hashem to "see our torment," and to "wage our battles" ( וריבה ריבנו ). We then conclude, מהר לגאלנו גאולה שלמה – to quickly bring us our final redemption. At first glance, it seems that this berachah is a prayer for our final redemption. This is also the implication of the Gemara (Megilah 17b), which explains that this is the seventh berachah of the Amidah prayer because the redemption will arrive with the onset of the seventh millennium after creation. Interestingly, however, Rashi understood this berachah differently. Commenting to this Gemara, Rashi writes that this berachah is actually a prayer to Hashem to "redeem" us from our day-to-day problems, from the hardships and challenges that we face in our lives. Rashi proves this approach by noting that there are other blessings in the Amidah in which we pray for the final redemption, and so this berachah cannot be a prayer for the final redemption. The question becomes how to reconcile Rashi's comments with the simple reading of the Gemara, which indicates that this berachah prays for the final redemption. And, the text of this berachah states explicitly מהר לגאלנו גאולה שלמה – praying for the ultimate redemption, and not just for the resolution of our day-to-day problems. To answer this question, let's go back to a well-known piece of trivia about New York City. The island of Manhattan, as we were all taught, was purchased from the Indians in 1626 for $24. Today, Manhattan is worth countless trillions of dollars. How did that happen? How did this land go in 400 years from being worth $24 to being worth many trillions? The answer is, very simply, one brick at a time. One piece of pavement at a time. One sidewalk at a time. One window at a time. One subway car at a time. Every small act of construction contributed to the city's growth. Day by day, hour by hour, one little bit of effort after another – this is how a $24 piece of land becomes worth trillions upon trillions of dollars. The same is true of redemption. We pray and yearn for the final redemption, but each small "redemption" that we experience brings us closer to that day. There is no contradiction at all between the Gemara's indication that ראה נא בענינו speaks of our final redemption, and Rashi's understanding that it refers to the solving of our everyday problems. These are one and the same. Redemption happens on a small scale every single day, with every problem we solve, every obstacle we overcome, every bit of success we achieve. Eventually, all these will combine to form the ultimate redemption for which we pray and yearn. Which brings us to our parashah , which tells about the unfolding of Yetziat Mitzrayim , the Exodus from Egypt. The Zohar teaches that the redemption from Egypt was not a one-time event. It was the beginning of a process of redemption – a process that is still continuing, even today. The process will be completed only at the time of our final redemption. We might say that Yetziat Mitzrayim was the $24 purchase, and ever since then, we've been building, one "brick" at a time, working towards our final redemption, when the world will reach its state of perfection. This is a very empowering message. It reminds us that every small accomplishment is significant, and contributes toward the world's ultimate redemption. We can either sit around and complain about all the problems in the world, or we can go ahead and make things better. And the way we make things better is by doing good things – one act at a time. Every tefillah . Every mitzvah . Every kind word. Every compliment and word of encouragement. Every favor we do for someone. Everything we do for one of our children or grandchildren. Everyone we positively influence is some way. A guy who laid a few bricks for a building in Manhattan 200 years ago might not have realized he was doing something significant – but he was part of the process of transforming a $24 piece of land into a multi-trillion-dollar piece of land. This is how we need to look at our mitzvot . Every small act is vitally important and extremely valuable. Let's stay focused and stay determined to use our time and our capabilities to build our redemption – one good deed at a time.

In Parashat Shemot, Hashem speaks to Moshe for the very first time. As we know, Moshe's initial prophecy takes place at a unique site – in a burning bush in the desert. Moshe saw that a bush was on fire, but it wasn't being consumed. And it was from there that Hashem spoke to him. His first words to Moshe were, "Take off your shoes." Hashem informed Moshe that the place where he was standing was אדמת קודש , sacred ground, and so he needed to remove his shoes. He then proceeded to command Moshe to return to Egypt and lead Beneh Yisrael out of bondage. What is this all about? What is the meaning of the burning bush? And why was it important for Moshe to remove his shoes to show deference to this "sacred ground"? For years, Moshe Rabbenu did not believe that there was any chance of Beneh Yisrael leaving Egypt. For two reasons. The more obvious reason is that they were enslaved and oppressed by the powerful Egyptian empire. They had no power at all. There seemed to be no hope at all of leaving. But secondly, Moshe did not think the people could ever be worthy of redemption. As we quote each year at the seder , the prophet Yehezkel (16:7) described how Beneh Yisrael in Egypt were ערום ועריה – "bare," bereft of merit. They were not performing mitzvot . They fought with one another. They were in spiritual decline. Moshe did not see how they could ever reach the point where they deserved to be brought out of Egypt. Hashem's initial prophecy to Moshe addressed both these mistaken assumptions. First, he showed Moshe that a bush on fire could survive. Even though Beneh Yisrael were "ablaze," subjected to oppression and persecution, they would still remain intact. They would never be "consumed," no matter how many times their enemies try to destroy them. Secondly, Hashem drew Moshe's attention to the אדמת קודש , the "sacred ground" on which Beneh Yisrael tread. They were the descendants of Avraham Yitzhak and Yaakov. They were bound to Hashem by an eternal covenant. Their capacity for kedushah cannot ever be lost. Moshe didn't see this potential for spiritual greatness, but Hashem did. And so Hashem assured Moshe that Beneh Yisrael were still sacred, even though they seemed "bare" without any merits and without any kedushah . Each morning, as soon as we open our eyes, we recite the famous prayer of מודה אני , thanking Hashem for restoring our souls. Every night when we go to bed, we entrust our soul to Hashem, and each morning, He returns it to us. He returns it to us despite the fact that, very often, we give it back to Him "damaged," tainted by our sins. If a fellow borrows his friend's car and returns it to him with a scratch – and then he borrows it again and returns it the next day with a huge dent – the friend is not likely to continue lending him the car. Yet, Hashem continues "lending" us soul every morning, without fail, no matter how many times we "dented" it, no matter how many mistakes we've made. We make many mistakes – but Hashem keeps giving us another day, then another, and another, and another. The reason is that, as the מודה אני prayer concludes, רבה אמונתך – Hashem has great faith. He has faith in us. He believes in us. He sees our potential for greatness, even if we don't. He restores our soul every morning because He knows how great we can be, how much we can achieve, how much we can contribute, how much we can give to the world. Sometimes we forget that we are standing on אדמת קודש , on sacred ground, at every moment of our lives. If we are alive, this means that Hashem believes in our potential for kedushah , for spiritual greatness. Having this awareness should change the way we live. It should change the way we see ourselves, and it should change the way we look at our day. No matter what is happening, and no matter what happened yesterday or the day before, we are standing on "sacred ground," we have the potential to do something great. If we didn't, then Hashem would not have restored our souls this morning. Hashem sees what we don't. He sees our potential. He sees our abilities. He sees the holiness inside us. He sees how much we can give. We should never doubt ourselves – because Hashem never doubts us, not for a moment, ever.

The Gemara (Eruvin 65b) teaches that a person's true nature can be determined בכוסו ובכיסו ובכעסו – "through his cup, his pocket, and his anger." This means that a person's essence comes to the fore when he drinks a little too much, or when he is tested – either in his "pocket," when he loses money, or when his angered. It is easy to be a nice, good-natured, kind person when things are going well. But when a person is challenged, when he is out of his element, when something goes wrong, when he encounters some unexpected bump in the road, when something in his life goes a little out-of-a-whack – we see who he really is. I recall once speaking on the phone with a wonderful, refined, and conscientiously-religious individual, while he was in the airport. He suddenly realized that something went wrong – if I recall correctly, he suddenly noticed that one of his documents was missing. He blurted out a word that should never be used – and that this man would never even imagine using under normal circumstances. When people are traveling, they out of their element. They're not comfortable. They're anxious, they're uptight, and so they're more vulnerable. This is true spiritually, as well. When we're home, we have our framework and routine. It is relatively easy to keep kosher, to properly observe Shabbat, and to attend minyan . Maintaining our religious standards is not complicated under normal conditions because our lives are – to our credit – set up that way. But when we travel, when we leave, when we're out of our element, we are tested. Out of our familiar environment, out of our routine – we are more vulnerable. This might explain Yaakov Avinu's timeless pronouncement in Parashat Vayehi about the way parents bless their children. He declared that forever more, parents will bless their children that they should be like Yosef's sons, Efrayim and Menashe – ישימך אלוקים כאפרים וכמנשה (48:20). Why? Efrayim and Menashe were born and raised "out of their element," in Egypt, in a foreign society, away from Eretz Yisrael and the rest of the family. The greatest wish we have for our children is that they should maintain their values and adhere to their faith and principles even in "Egypt," on the road, when they are tested, when circumstances thrust them out of their routine. And so parents bless their children that they should be like Efrayim and Menashe, who remained loyal to Hashem even in Egypt, in a foreign environment. How do we do this? What is our strategy to strictly maintaining our standards even when we travel, when we're out of our routine? The answer is taught to us by the person who embodied this ideal better than anyone – Yosef. As a teenager, Yosef was cruelly torn away from his family and his country, and brought to Egypt as a slave. Even while working as a slave, and even after being sent to prison due to a false accusation, he remained steadfastly devoted to Hashem and to his father's values. There is one word that the Torah says about Yosef which reveals to us the secret of how he did this. When Yosef was tempted by his master's wife, the Torah tells, וימאן – Yosef refused (39:8). A young man thrust far out of his element, Yosef was vulnerable – but there were things which were non-negotiable, that he would firmly refuse to do no matter how great the challenge was. And this is what we need to do when we're on the road – וימאן . We need to set our inviolable red lines. We have to draw very clear boundaries, and remind ourselves of what is absolutely non-negotiable, of which lines we are never crossing, not under any circumstances. We have to make the decision in our minds that there are things which we just refuse to do. וימאן . When we are out of our routine, out of our familiar framework, we have a precious opportunity to make a clear, resounding statement of who we are, where our loyalties lie. This is our chance to show our essence, to show that our commitment the rest of the time is not just a matter of habit or convenience, but a matter of conviction, the result of our firm belief in Hashem and our genuine desire to obey Him.

I have never met anyone who likes being told what to do, who likes when his behavior is critiqued and is told to change. Yet, this is something we all do to others. Spouses are often telling each other what they should and shouldn't do. And of course parents have the responsibility to educate their children so they can learn the right way to live. The problem becomes how we can expect the behavior to change if they – like us! – don't like to be corrected or criticized. If a child's instinct when hearing criticism is to defend himself or herself, then what should a parent do? Perhaps we can learn the answer from an example of effective communication found in the beginning of Parashat Vayigash. The parashah begins with Yehuda's famous plea to Yosef, the vizier of Egypt. Binyamin, the youngest of the brothers was framed as a thief, and when Yosef's royal goblet was found in his bag, Yosef ordered that he remain in Egypt as his slave, while the other brothers return home. Yehuda, however, had made a solemn promise to their father, Yaakov, that he would personally guarantee Binyamin's safe return home. And so Yehuda came before Yosef and made an impassioned speech, begging Yosef to allow him to remain in Binyamin's stead. In this speech, Yehuda reviewed all the events that led to the current crisis, recalling how he and his brothers came to purchase grain, how Yosef demanded that they bring their youngest brother, how their father at first refused, due to his fear that something might happen to Binyamin, and how Yehuda had personally assured Yaakov that he would bring Binyamin home. Finally, the Torah says, at the end of Yehuda's speech, Yosef could no longer control himself – לא יכול יוסף להתאפק – and he revealed his identity to his brothers. He then told them to go back and bring their father and their families to Egypt where he would support them during the harsh famine. What changed Yosef's heart? What was the "trigger" that led him to relent? The answer, it seems, is that he was affected mainly by Yehuda's final words: כי איך אעלה אבי והנער איננו אתי – "For how can I go back to my father if the youngster is not with me?" Yehuda made a lengthy speech, but this had no effect. He was effective in changing Yosef's heart only when he asked a pointed question: "What should I do? What options do I have?" Let us try to apply this to a typical parent/child conflict. A girl wants to go out with her friends, but she has a test the next day and needs to study. Her parents want her to stay home and prepare for the exam. They could give a long speech about how irresponsible it is to go out the night before a test, how she needs to be more organized, how she should have studied days earlier but didn't, how she'll have other opportunities to get together with her friends, and so on. But a speech is not going to work. A far more effective approach would be to ask the pointed question, "What do you want?" They could acknowledge her predicament, express understanding of her legitimate desire to be with her friends, validate her feelings of disappointment, and then ask, "So what do you suggest? Do you want to fail the test? Do you want to study first and then go to spend a few minutes with them? What do you want to do?" Lecturing is not effective. Posing simple questions often can be. The mistake so many parents make is that they think they can give speeches, or they can harshly criticize bad behavior at the heat of the moment, and this will somehow have an effect on the child's behavior. Parents need to remember that angry rants make things worse, not better. They only lead to more defiance. Yehuda's lengthy speech didn't help. He succeeded only when he framed the situation in clear, concise and practical terms. כי איך אעלה אל אבי והנער איננו איתי . As we said, nobody likes to be reprimanded or told what to do. So instead of criticizing and expressing anger, let's keep it short, to the point, and with practicality, so that our children, or whoever it is we're speaking to, will react the way we want them to.

One of the famous questions asked about the holiday of Hanukah involves a passage that appears right in the middle of the Gemara's discussion of the laws of the Hanukah candles. The Gemara suddenly interjects with what appears to be a totally unrelated comment about the story of Yosef. The Torah says about 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" (37:24). The Gemara explains this to mean that the pit was "empty" only in the sense that it contained no water. It did, however, contain נחשים ועקרבים – snakes and scorpions. Miraculously, Yosef survived. Many Rabbis asked the question of why this comment is introduced amidst the Gemara's discussion of Hanukah. The simple answer, seemingly, is that the same Rabbi who made this comment taught the halacha which the Gemara quoted previously. The Gemara will often tangentially quote other teachings of a Rabbi after bringing his statement about the topic under discussion, so it could be that here, too, the Gemara just happened to bring a second teaching by the same Rabbi. It seems reasonable to assume, however, that there is a deeper connection between Hanukah and the pit that Yosef was thrown into. Let's take a closer look at the Gemara's statement: מים אין בו, אבל נחשים ועקרבים יש בו – "There was no water in it, but there were snakes and scorpions in it." The Gemara here is making a profound observation about human beings. Every person is a "pit" that needs to be filled. People do not remain "empty." Their time, their minds, and their souls will be filled with something. And if it is not filled with "water" – with Torah, with holiness, with spirituality, with meaning and purpose – then it will be filled with "snakes and scorpions" – with destructive activities. This is especially true about youngsters. There is hardly any young man or woman who is just average, who is "neutral," who is "empty." Either they are "filled" with Torah, with a yearning for meaning and a connection to Hashem, or they are "filled" with נחשים ועקרבים , with harmful or destructive behaviors. And this might be the connection between the statement about Yosef's pit and the mitzvah of Hanukah candles. Hanukah is the celebration of the triumph of the "light" of Torah over the "darkness." Torah life is sometimes difficult, but it is filled with "light," with joy, with beauty, with meaningfulness. The alternative to Torah life, as appealing as it may seem, is "dark," a place of נחשים ועקרבים , snakes and scorpions – because if a person does not "fill" himself with Torah, he will fill himself with other things which are "dark" and harmful. Our job on Hanukah when lighting the candles is to reflect on, and rejoice over, the privilege we have to live joyous Torah lives, lives of meaning and purpose, lives of yearning and striving for a relationship with Hashem. We should celebrate our choosing light over darkness, the beauty of Torah life over the "darkness" of other lifestyles. And we should recommit to constantly radiate joy and enthusiasm in our Torah observance so our children will see the "light" and beauty of Torah, and will not look to "fill" their lives with anything else.

Parashat Vayeshev tells the story of Yosef and his brothers, and it introduces this story by stating, אלה תולדות יעקב, יוסף – "These are the offspring of Yaakov: Yosef…" Although Yaakov had many children – twelve sons and a daughter – the Torah identifies specifically Yosef as Yaakov's תולדות – "offspring." Rashi brings several explanations for why Yosef is presented as Yaakov's only child, one of which is שהיה זיו אקונין של יוסף דומה לו – Yosef's appearance resembled Yaakov's appearance. Why would this resemblance justify describing Yosef as תולדות יעקב ? Why is it so significant that Yosef looked like Yaakov? The Bat Ayin explains that Rashi actually does not refer to physical appearance. Rather, Rashi means that Yosef aspired to be like Yaakov. Yosef was considered Yaakov's primary child because of Yosef's unique level of humility, recognizing how far he had to go to be like his father, how much he had to learn from his father, how much greater he needed to become so he could approach his father's level. More than any of Yaakov's other children, Yosef wanted to be like Yaakov. Later, the Torah describes Yosef as Yaakov's בן זקונים , which seems to mean that he was born when Yaakov was already an older man. The ancient Targum Onkelos translation, however, translates this phrase as בר חכימא ("a wise son"). The Bat Ayin writes that the word חכימא is related to the verb חכה – "wait," or yearn, and anticipate. Yosef yearned to be like Yaakov. He aspired to follow Yaakov's example and rise to his level of greatness. The Bat Ayin adds that this is why Yaakov made a special coat for Yosef called the כתונת פסים . The word פסים is related to the word אפס – "nothingness," an allusion to Yosef's exceptional humility, how he regarded himself as "nothing" in comparison to his father. Later, when Yosef went to his brothers, they removed this special coat before throwing him into a pit and then selling him as a slave. The Bat Ayin explains that this hints to something more than simply the physical act of removing the garment. As long as Yosef was in his father's presence, he remained humble, recognizing how much more he had to grow. But when he was with his brothers, who were not as great as he was, he lost his sense of אפס , he started feeling more complacent – and this led to his downfall. Indeed, humility is the key to everything, to every form of success. When a person learns Torah, he can succeed and become a scholar only if he recognizes that there is still so much Torah that he needs to learn. If a person pursues a profession or starts a job, he will succeed only if he realizes how little he knows about the field and how much he needs to learn and discover. A person's relationships – with friends, children, spouse, and everyone else – are so much better if he is humble, if he can respect other people and acknowledge that he has what to learn from them. And a person will be so much more accomplished, and contribute so much more to the world, if he puts his ego to the side and focuses on achieving rather than impressing people, getting credit, and making a name for himself. This is one of the lessons we learn from the story of Yosef. A person's downfall begins when he loses his כתונת הפסים , his awareness of אפס , that everything he knows is nothing compared to what he still has to learn, and everything he has accomplished is nothing compared to what he can still accomplish. The moment we stop living with ambition, with a drive to reach the level of Yaakov Avinu, with a desire to grow and achieve more and more – we begin to fall. Conversely, when we live with ambition, when we realize that we can be so much greater, then our lives becomes incredible. We then live with energy and enthusiasm, with zeal and passion, and we take full advantage of every day that Hashem graciously gives us here in this world.

JH1094 Rabbi Joey Haber Parashat Vayishlah begins with the words, וישלח יעקב מלאכים לפניו אל עשו אחיו – "Yaakov sent ahead angels to his brother, Esav. " Rashi clarifies that the word מלאכים in this pasuk should be understood as a reference to מלאכים ממש – actual angels. These weren't human messengers whom the Torah describes with the term מלאכים , but rather were actual angels. This explanation is supported by the fact that in the preceding pesukim , we read that as Yaakov left Haran and made his way to Eretz Yisrael , he encountered מלאכי אלוקים – "angels of G-d." It seems that Yaakov sent them to his brother. It is interesting to note that angels play a very significant role in the story of Yaakov Avinu. When he set out from his hometown to live in Haran, he dreamt of angels going up and down a ladder that extended from the ground to the heavens. While in Haran, as he struggled working for his corrupt uncle, Lavan, an angel appeared to him in a dream. As mentioned, he encountered angels on his way back home. And, our parashah tells that he was later attacked by a mysterious assailant, identified by the Rabbis as שרו של עשו – the angel of his brother, Esav. What are we to make of this aspect of Yaakov's life? Why were angels such a big part of his story? We can perhaps answer this question in light of the Gemara's teaching (Shabbat 119b) about what happens in our homes every week on Friday night. The Gemara says that when a person walks home from shul on Friday night, he is accompanied by two angels – one "good" angel and one "bad" angel. If his home is properly set up for Shabbat, then the "good" angel gives the person a berachah that his home should be that way the next Shabbat, too, and the "bad" angel has no choice but to answer " amen ." But if the house is not properly arranged for Shabbat, then the "bad" angel wishes the person that this should happen the next Shabbat, too, and the "good" angel is forced to answer " amen ." I want to ask a simple question about this teaching. Why can't I have two good angels with me when I come home from shul on Friday night??? Why does there have to be a "bad" angel? The answer is that these "angels" reflect our experiences during the previous week, what's happening in our lives. Life is full of surprising twists and turns. So many unexpected things happen in our lives – some good, and some bed. At every step of the way, Hashem sends us "angels," people and circumstances. Sometimes they are wonderful, and sometimes they are challenging. This is life. Nobody has a perfectly good life, and nobody has an entirely bad life. Every one of us has a life with both "good" angels and "bad" angels, with both blessings and hardships. When we begin Shabbat, we carry with us both sides of the equation, the good and the bad. The question is how we handle this combination of good and bad. If we succeed in properly preparing for Shabbat, in creating a beautiful, upbeat atmosphere in our home despite whatever challenges we're dealing with, then our lives are truly blessed – by both the "good" angel and the "bad" angel. If we can think positively and experience joy and contentment despite our struggles, then our lives are beautiful – with both the good and the bad. There is perhaps nobody in our history who dealt with more unexpected twists and turns than Yaakov Avinu. On the one hand, he was very blessed – he had a large family, children who were all tzadikim , and a large fortune. On the other hand, he dealt with so many harsh challenges. He was pursued by his brother. He was deceived by Lavan for twenty years. His daughter was abducted and violated. His beloved son was sold into slavery by his brothers. Yaakov encountered numerous different "angels" over the course of his life. He had angels that helped and protected him. And he had an angel that violently attacked him and that he struggled to overcome, ultimately succeeding. The key to a happy life is not to wait until all the "bad" angels disappear. That will never happen. The key to a happy life is to do what we do every Shabbat – make our homes and our lives beautiful despite what we're dealing with. If we do this, then we will have defeated the "bad" angels that we encounter along the way, by not allowing them to get in the way of our efforts to live a happy, fulfilling life.

Parashat Vayeseh begins with Yaakov's journey from Eretz Yisrael to Haran, where he would spend twenty years with his uncle, Lavan. The Torah tells, ויפגע במקום – that Yaakov "encountered the place" – which the Gemara explains as a reference to the site where Avraham Avinu bound Yitzhak upon the altar, and which would become the site of the Bet Ha'mikdash . Yaakov prayed at this site, and he then went to sleep and beheld his famous dream of a ladder extending to the heavens. Rashi, based on the Gemara, fills in some more details about Yaakov's journey. Yaakov had traveled all the way to Haran, but then realized that he had passed the holy site without stopping to pray there. He said to himself, "How could I have passed there without praying?!" He immediately turned around and started making his way back toward Yerushalayim. Hashem made a miracle, so as not to inconvenience Yaakov, and the mountain in Yerushalayim where the Bet Ha'mikdash would be built was uprooted from its place and brought to Yaakov, so he could pray there without having to travel all the way back. One of my Rabbis once posed a very good question about this story. If Hashem wanted to help Yaakov Avinu pray at the site of the Bet Ha'mikdash – which He obviously did, so much so that He brought the mountain to Yaakov!!! – then why didn't He find a way to remind Yaakov to pray there when Yaakov passed through that area? Why was it only when Yaakov reached Haran that Hashem helped him by bringing the sacred site to him? The Rabbi answered, very simply, that Hashem doesn't decide for us. We need to make the decision of what to do, how to act, and how to build our lives. Once we make the decision, then Hashem comes in and helps us do what we set out to do. But the decision needs to be ours. As children, we have few decisions to make. They are pretty much all made for us. But as we grow older, we gradually need to start making our own decisions. There are some really, really big decisions – like whom to marry, which profession to pursue, where to live, which school to send our children to. There are also smaller decisions that we need to make almost every day, like how to handle different situations that arise, how to react to people, and so on. Making decisions can often be scary. Or annoying. Often, we prefer that other people make these decisions for us. We need to remember that making decisions is the way we build our lives into what they're meant to be. We are not supposed to be anybody else but ourselves. And so while it is of course helpful and important to seek advice, to consult with people whom we respect and admire – ultimately, we need to make the decision that is right for us, that will allow us to create the unique life that Hashem brought us here to create. We can't let anyone else decide for us – because decisions are the way we self-actualize and chart the path that we need to take, the path that's right for us, even if others are following a different path. And once we make whatever decision it is that we needed to make, we should trust that Hashem will bring the sacred site to us, so-to-speak, that He will help us going forward. Once we decide what we want to do, which path we want to follow – we need to rely on His help and support. In the end, our lives are shaped not by the circumstances we encounter, but by the choices we courageously make. When we take ownership of those choices, Hashem meets us on the path and guides our steps forward. May we always have the clarity to decide, and the faith to trust that He will help us follow through.

Parashat Toledot tells us about Yishak and Rivka, and their experiences with their two children, Yaakob and Esav. One of the intriguing things about Rivka – which is striking especially after having just read Parashat Hayeh-Sara – is that the Torah never tells us about her passing. The Torah devotes a special section at the beginning of Parashat Hayeh-Sara to the death of our first matriarch, Sara, telling us how many years she lived, where she died, that her husband wept and eulogized her, and how he secured a burial plot for her final resting place. Rivka's death, however, is not mentioned – at least not explicitly. Later in the Book of Bereshit (35:8), we read of the passing of Devorah, who was Rivka's nurse when she was younger. Rashi explains that at that time, when Devorah died, Yaakov learned of the passing of his beloved mother, Rivka. The Torah told us about Devorah's passing, Rashi explains, to subtly allude to us that Rivka had died. And so whereas Sara's death received a whole section in the Torah, Rivka's death is concealed within the death of a different person. Why? Rashi writes: ולפיכך העלימו את יום מותה – שלא יקללו הבריות כרס שיצא ממנו עשו . This means that the Torah hid Rivka's death, rather than mention it openly, so that people would not say bad things about her. One of her two sons was Esav, who grew to become a very evil man. If the Torah would speak of Rivka's passing out in the open, people might right away associate her with Esav, and denigrate her. Rashi here is teaching us a very profound truth that emerges when we contrast Sara with Rivka. Both were righteous women who endured a considerable amount of hardship during their lives, but with a very significant difference. Sara's troubles were out in the open, and known to everyone. She was twice abducted by kings, she was childless until old age, and she was forced to move to different places many times during her life. There was no shame or embarrassment in these hardships. Rivka's struggle, however, was more private, and caused her humiliation. She had a son who became sinful, causing her a great deal of grief – but grief that she could not easily share with others, because this kind of challenge is painful and embarrassing. Some hardships turn people into heroes. Of course, we don't wish these challenges upon ourselves or upon anyone else. But when somebody goes through a major crisis, or a devastating loss, the community does its magic – coming together to help in every way, and to offer a strong support system. The person receives help and support, and also well-deserved admiration and respect for the way he or she dealt with this crisis. But so many people endure hidden hardships, that they cannot tell anybody about. It may be problems in marriage, with finances, with a child or several children, a mental health challenge, or an addiction. These are very personal and very embarrassing, and so the person suffers silently, feeling unable to confide, to seek help, to find a shoulder to lean on. These people can be sitting next to you in shul, or at your table at a wedding or other affair. For that matter, they might be at your Shabbat table. They could be your own family members. So many people are struggling with issues that they're understandably too embarrassed to share even with their siblings or closest friends. This is why we need to change the way we see people and speak about them. We need to stop categorizing people as "successful" and "unsuccessful," as though they are two groups – those who "made it" and those who didn't. We have to stop talking this way and thinking this way. We need to instead realize that we're all the same, we're all in the same boat. We all have things in our lives that are going well, and things in our lives that aren't. This is how we need to look at ourselves and at all people. If we do, then people with hidden hardships will feel comfortable and at ease around us. If we think of ourselves as better, as more stable, as more accomplished, as more successful, then without any intention of doing so, we exacerbate the pain of those suffering in silence. We need to instead give off the "vibe" that we're all equal, we're all struggling with something, so people who need comfort and friendship can find it with us. Those familiar with my lectures know that I often share things about me and my family that are less than flattering. I don't do this simply for entertainment. I do this because I want my audience to feel that I see myself as not that different from them, that we're all in this together, we all have our issues, our struggles, our challenges, and our disappointments. If we live with this mindset, then we all become an amazing team – a team whose members are always there for each other, always supporting each other, and always comforting each other, even when we have no idea why the support and comfort is needed.

Avraham Avinu sent his trusted servant, Eliezer, to his homeland, where was born – Aram Naharayim – in order to find there a suitable match for Yitzhak. The Torah tells that Eliezer went to Aram Naharayim with כל טוב אדוניו בידו – "all his master's goodness in his hand" (24:10). The commentaries explain this to mean that Eliezer took with him the official document in which Avraham promised to bequeath his enormous fortune to Yitzhak. Eliezer took this in order to convince the girl and her family to agree to the match. However, the Shelah Ha'kadosh takes note of a slight but important nuance in this pasuk . The word טוב is punctuated not as it usually is, with the dot on top of the ו , such that it would be pronounced tov , but rather with the dot in the middle of the letter ו , resulting in the pronunciation tuv . This raises the question as to the difference between the Hebrew words tov and tuv , and why this might matter in the context of Eliezer's mission to find a wife for Yitzhak. The Shelah Ha'kadosh explains the difference. The word tov refers to goodness that can be easily seen, that is clear, that is unmistakable. Avraham's legacy, which he passed onto Yitzhak – and to all of us – includes many wonderful blessings and precious gifts that are very clear to us. There is no mistaking the great blessing of Shabbat, of family, of Torah learning, and of the many joys that we are privileged to experience by being part of the Jewish Nation. But Avraham also bequeathed to us tuv – a hidden goodness, blessings which are more difficult for people on the outside to perceive and understand. This hidden goodness is the faith that accompanies a person during times of hardship. When an heir of Avraham Avinu is struggling, or in pain, people see the hardship – but they probably don't see the faith and hope that is sustaining that person and helping him carry on. This gift of emunah , the knowledge that Hashem is with us even in life's most difficult moments, is incredible. It provides a person with the "wings" he needs to rise and soar when life might otherwise pull him down and shatter his spirit. Before Hashem brought the seventh plague upon Egypt, He commanded Moshe to come before Pharaoh and warn about the plague – בא אל פרעה . Literally, this means "Come to Pharaoh." Instead of saying "Go to Pharaoh," Hashem said "Come to Pharaoh" – emphasizing that He would be there, too. Moshe knew that Pharaoh would be furious with him after six plagues had already befallen the country. For good reason, Moshe felt hesitant and uneasy about confronting Pharaoh yet again. And so Hashem assured him that he wasn't going alone, that He would be there holding his hand. Whenever we're going through a hard time, whenever we're dealing with a very difficult problem – either big or small – feeling Hashem holding our hand can make all the difference in the world. There is nothing like the feeling of knowing that we're not dealing with this alone, that Hashem is helping is through this situation, every step of the way. This is the tuv – the precious gift – that Avraham Avinu bequeathed to each and every one of us.

People sometimes ask me for advice on how to give speeches. Whenever I'm asked this, I give the same three pieces of advice: Remember that nobody cares what you have to say. Just because I have a nice devar Torah to share, or some story that I find interesting – this doesn't mean that they care about it. My job when giving a speech is to find something to say that's relevant to them , that's interesting to them , that's of value to them . Not what's relevant, interesting, or of value to me . Never, ever, ever, ever speak to an audience that you don't respect. Each and every word should be spoken in a manner that expresses respect for the people you're speaking to. If they feel you're talking down to them, in a condescending way, they won't pay attention to anything you say. Be vulnerable. Be prepared to share stories about yourself that aren't especially flattering. There's a clear common denominator between all three pieces of advice – making the audience feel that you're with them, not above them, that you're not standing and talking to them from a different place, but rather speaking to them as an equal. This, I believe, is the key element of hesed – which is one of the important themes of Parashat Vayera. The story told at the beginning of the parashah , describing how Avraham Avino hosted three angels who appeared to him as weary nomads, provides us with a paradigm of hesed . And we read that after Avraham brought them food and served them, והוא עומד עליהם תחת העץ ויאכלו – he stood with them as they ate in the shade (18:8). This is a critically important part of the story. Avraham didn't just give them food and then get back to his affairs. He stayed with them. He showed them respect. He gave them his full attention. He made it clear that he really and truly cared about them, that they were important to him. The Gemara teaches in Masechet Baba Batra (9b) that one who gives money to a poor person receives six blessings in reward, but המפייסו בדברים – somebody who speaks kindly to a poor person, giving him encouragement and emotional support, receives 11 blessings. A poor person of course needs money – but there's something he needs even more than money, and that is respect and concern, the feeling that somebody truly cares about them and considers them important. Most patients prefer doctors with a good bedside manner than a doctor who's the best in the field – precisely for this reason. They need not just good medical care – but somebody who is really concerned about them, who can provide them emotional support and comfort during this crisis. Moshe Rabbenu was given his name, משה , because Pharaoh's daughter drew him from the water when she found him floating in a basket in the river – כי מן המים משיתיהו (Shemot 2:10). Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch noted that seemingly, Moshe should have been named משוי , which means "drawn" – as he was drawn from the water. But instead, he was called משה , which means not "drawn," but "draw." Rav Hirsch explains that because Moshe was "drawn," because his life was saved through hesed , he was to devote his entire life to "drawing," to saving and helping other people. This is true not only of Moshe Rabbenu, but of every one us. There isn't anybody alive who is not the beneficiary of hesed . We are here only because we had people who took care of us, and so much of the good fortune that we enjoy is because of kindness that people do for us even today. Our family, our friends, our community, our society – we owe so much to so many people, without whom we wouldn't have the blessings that we enjoy. If we understand this, then we will be able to do hesed the right way – as equals, without condescension, and without ego. If we understand that we are dependent on people's hesed , then we will give respect to the people who need our hesed . We will realize that we are all in the same boat, that we all depend on one another, and so we all need to help one another. We will then be able to meet other people where they are, and treat them as equals, giving them the feelings of dignity and self-worth that they so desperately need. Avraham is the paragon of hesed not only because of his generosity, but because הוא עומד עליהם תחת העץ – because he treated his guests as equals, because he came to where they were standing, without arrogance and without feeling more important than them. This is the example of hesed that we must aspire to follow.

We read in Parashat Lech-Lecha of the war that Avraham Avinu waged against the kings who had captured his nephew, Lot. After winning this war, Avraham was greeted by a man named Malkitzedek, who brought him food and wine to celebrate this victory. The Midrash quotes two opinions regarding the real purpose of Malkitzedek's meeting with Avraham. According to one opinion, Malkitzedek was revealing to Avraham סוד כהונה גדולה – the "secret" of the position of the kohen gadol who served in the Bet Ha'midash . According to the other opinion, Malkitzedek was revealing to Avraham סוד תורה – the "secret" of Torah. This entire discussion seems very mysterious. What are these "secrets" being shown to Avraham Avinu? The Kedushat Levi explains that the Midrash here is actually telling us about the two ways in which a person is to serve Hashem, depending on the situation, which the Kedushat Levi calls יש and אין . יש means "there is," and refers to serving Hashem when a person who has a lot going on, a lot of mitzvot to do. Let's imagine a person who is blessed with a large family, children and grandchildren, a successful business, and friends. He is busy serving Hashem in a state of יש – caring for and spending time with his wife, children and grandchildren, giving charity, helping people, involving himself in important community affairs, and so on. Unfortunately, however, some people are in a state of אין , "without," lacking all these blessings. It could be somebody who is getting older but has yet to find a marriage partner, or somebody in a troubled family situation. It could be somebody who hasn't had a job in several years and faces dire financial straits. It could be somebody who is going through a medical crisis, or a mental health crisis, and cannot function properly – or the family member of such a person. These situations do not lend themselves to the kind of flurry of mitzvah activity that characterizes the fellow in a situation of יש . The Kedushat Levi explains that the יש person has many wonderful opportunities to serve Hashem – but there's a disadvantage to this service of Hashem, in that there is some ego and pride involved. The person feels accomplished and successful. He looks at his wealth, his beautiful family, and all the mitzvot he is able to do, and he feels proud and takes credit – sometimes forgetting to give Hashem the credit for all his accomplishments. The אין person, however, has no such challenge. He is able to build a true, genuine connection with Hashem, because he recognizes that he is entirely dependent on Him. The אין person turns to Hashem and says, "I can't do all that much, but I want to build my relationship with You. I have no family to care for, I have no enterprise or charity organizations to run, I don't have so many opportunities to do amazing things – but I'm serving You by praying, by connecting, by turning to You, by believing in You." Avraham Avinu, for many years, faced the quintessential אין reality. I imagine that if I were in Avraham's shoes, I would have just given up. His father brought him to the authorities to have him executed. He miraculously survived, and many years later, at the age of 75, he was told to leave to an unknown land. When he got there, he faced a dire famine, forcing him to go to Egypt, where his wife was abducted. Not long thereafter he needed to fight a war to rescue his nephew. Meanwhile, his wife could not conceive. In the end, of course, Avraham becomes fabulously wealthy, well-respected, and the father of G-d's chosen nation. For decades, Avraham served Hashem in a situation of אין , until he was ultimately able to serve Hashem in a situation of יש . The Kedushat Levi explains that this is what the Midrash is alluding to. Avraham was shown the "secret" of the kohen gadol , who did the service in the Bet Ha'mikdash , representing self-sacrifice. The kohen gadol had no land or property, but he devoted himself entirely to Hashem. He symbolizes serving Hashem with "nothing." But Avraham was also shown that his life would become one of סוד תורה , a life of outstanding spiritual achievement, of יש , where he is able to serve Hashem with a great number of blessings and good fortune. In the beginning of our parashah , the Torah makes a point of informing us that Avraham was 75 years old when he left his homeland to live in Eretz Yisrael . This perhaps alludes to the fact that all Avraham had at that point in his life was his בטחון , his trust in Hashem, which in gematria equals 75 (2+9+8+6+50). He was in a position of אין , and he served Hashem in that state, by building a strong connection with Him. There is a young woman in our community who, after several years of dating, was still not married, and she asked to meet with me to speak about her situation. She expressed her anguish and how she just didn't know what to do. I advised her to give this problem over to Hashem. I said she needed to tell Hashem, "I don't know what to do, so I'm leaving this in Your infinitely capable hands. I will, of course, continue to recite Tehillim each day, and to reach out to matchmakers, because I need to make an effort, but I'm giving this over to You." Baruch Hashem , around a year later, she got married. She told me before the wedding that she felt so much better when she came out of our meeting, being able to let go of this challenge. And a week later, her hatan showed up... We hope and pray that we are always blessed with יש , with an abundance of happiness, prosperity and success in all our endeavors. But if we ever find ourselves in a situation of אין , let us draw strength and inspiration from our ancestor, from Avraham Avinu, who served Hashem even when he had nothing, with his בטחון , by developing his faith in Hashem and his connection with Him. When we face challenges, we must try to acknowledge that now Hashem wants us to serve Him in this way, by focusing on our בטחון , on our unwavering faith and trust in His goodness, and working to build a stronger relationship with Him.

Noah is one of three people in the Humash who are described as having "found favor" – מצא חן . The final pasuk of Parashat Bereshit says that Noah מצא חן בעיני ה' – "found favor in G-d's eyes." Later in the Book of Bereshit, we read that Yosef "found favor" in the eyes of his master, Potifar, for whom he worked as a slave ( וימצא יוסף חן בעיניו ). And in the Book of Shemot, Hashem tells Moshe Rabbenu that he "found favor" in His eyes ( כי מצאת חן בעיני ). Some commentaries added that, in fact, Yosef and Moshe are subtly mentioned in the beginning of Parashat Noah. The first pasuk of this parashah describes Noah with two adjectives – צדיק ("righteous") and תמים ("complete"). The word צדיק is associated with Yosef, who is often referred to as יוסף הצדיק , and the word תמים alludes to Moshe Rabbenu, who lived with perfect faith and devotion to Hashem. What is the connection between these three figures – Noah, Yosef and Moshe? The answer is that Yosef and Moshe together corrected Noah's mistake. Noah was, on the one hand, a great man, thanks to whom the world was literally saved, but at the same time, he was guilty of a serious flaw. This is indicated by a pasuk in Yeshayahu which refers to the flood as מי נח – "Noah's waters," suggesting that Noah was somehow to blame for the flood. The Zohar explains that Noah was informed long before the flood of Hashem's intention to destroy the earth – and he did nothing to stop it. He just heeded Hashem's command to build an ark for himself and his family. He had 120 years' notice – but he did not pray for his generation. He did not try to come to their defense, and plead to Hashem to spare them. And so he was, in a certain sense, responsible for the catastrophic flood. Yosef and Moshe exhibited the precise opposite quality. Yosef was betrayed by his brothers, who threw him into a pit to kill him, and then sold him as a slave to a foreign country. But Yosef did not seek revenge. His response was not to get back at them. Instead, he forgave them and even took care of them, providing them food during a severe famine. Yosef, the great צדיק , looked for the good instead of focusing on the bad. He continued loving his brothers despite what they did to him. This quality was continued by Moshe Rabbenu, who repeatedly prayed to Hashem's on behalf of Beneh Yisrael , even when they committed very serious sins. When Hashem decided to annihilate the nation after they worshipped the golden calf, Moshe did not just say "ok" like Noah did. Instead, he petitioned Hashem on their behalf, going so far as to demand that if Hashem destroys the people, he should be destroyed with them. He declared that if Hashem did not forgive the people, then מחני נא – he wanted to be "erased." The word מחני contains the same letters as the phrase מי נח – alluding to the fact that Moshe here corrected Noah's grave mistake. Instead of accepting Hashem's decree against the people of his time, Moshe interceded and prayed that they be saved. The difference between these two attitudes – that of Noah, and that of Yosef and Moshe – is the difference between judging and reserving judgment. Noah looked at the people of his generation, saw everything they did wrong, and decided they deserved to be punished. But Yosef and Moshe didn't rush to judge. Yosef's brothers, and Beneh Yisrael in Moshe's time, acted wrongly, but Yosef and Moshe didn't right away condemn them. They understood that there's so much more than what meets the eye. There's so much going on beneath the surface. No one can ever understand what other people are going through, what kind of struggles they're dealing with, what kind of challenges they face, what kind of pressure they're under. So many things contribute to the way a person acts – and nobody knows any of it. So we cannot judge. And when we don't judge, we wish people well and pray for their wellbeing. We don't get angry and look down at them – we do just the opposite. We look at them the way Yosef looked at his brothers and the way Moshe looked at the people. We look at them kindly and lovingly, even though they did or do things wrong. I cannot tell you how many times it happened that a couple who seemed so happy together, who seemed to have such a wonderful marriage, ended up getting divorced, or turned out to be having a very hard time in marriage. None of us know what other couples are going through. None of us know what kind of struggles other parents are having with their kids. None of us know all the details of our fellow's background and upbringing that could have caused his wrong behaviors. In short, none of us know practically anything about other people, about why they do what they do. Everyone, without exception, is struggling with something that we know absolutely nothing about. So let's stop judging, and start loving. Let's learn from Noah's mistake, and follow the examples set by Yosef and Moshe. Let's give people the benefit of the doubt, try hard to see all the good they do instead of focusing on the bad, and show them lots of love, friendship, and support.

Noah is one of three people in the Humash who are described as having "found favor" – מצא חן . The final pasuk of Parashat Bereshit says that Noah מצא חן בעיני ה' – "found favor in G-d's eyes." Later in the Book of Bereshit, we read that Yosef "found favor" in the eyes of his master, Potifar, for whom he worked as a slave ( וימצא יוסף חן בעיניו ). And in the Book of Shemot, Hashem tells Moshe Rabbenu that he "found favor" in His eyes ( כי מצאת חן בעיני ). Some commentaries added that, in fact, Yosef and Moshe are subtly mentioned in the beginning of Parashat Noah. The first pasuk of this parashah describes Noah with two adjectives – צדיק ("righteous") and תמים ("complete"). The word צדיק is associated with Yosef, who is often referred to as יוסף הצדיק , and the word תמים alludes to Moshe Rabbenu, who lived with perfect faith and devotion to Hashem. What is the connection between these three figures – Noah, Yosef and Moshe? The answer is that Yosef and Moshe together corrected Noah's mistake. Noah was, on the one hand, a great man, thanks to whom the world was literally saved, but at the same time, he was guilty of a serious flaw. This is indicated by a pasuk in Yeshayahu which refers to the flood as מי נח – "Noah's waters," suggesting that Noah was somehow to blame for the flood. The Zohar explains that Noah was informed long before the flood of Hashem's intention to destroy the earth – and he did nothing to stop it. He just heeded Hashem's command to build an ark for himself and his family. He had 120 years' notice – but he did not pray for his generation. He did not try to come to their defense, and plead to Hashem to spare them. And so he was, in a certain sense, responsible for the catastrophic flood. Yosef and Moshe exhibited the precise opposite quality. Yosef was betrayed by his brothers, who threw him into a pit to kill him, and then sold him as a slave to a foreign country. But Yosef did not seek revenge. His response was not to get back at them. Instead, he forgave them and even took care of them, providing them food during a severe famine. Yosef, the great צדיק , looked for the good instead of focusing on the bad. He continued loving his brothers despite what they did to him. This quality was continued by Moshe Rabbenu, who repeatedly prayed to Hashem's on behalf of Beneh Yisrael , even when they committed very serious sins. When Hashem decided to annihilate the nation after they worshipped the golden calf, Moshe did not just say "ok" like Noah did. Instead, he petitioned Hashem on their behalf, going so far as to demand that if Hashem destroys the people, he should be destroyed with them. He declared that if Hashem did not forgive the people, then מחני נא – he wanted to be "erased." The word מחני contains the same letters as the phrase מי נח – alluding to the fact that Moshe here corrected Noah's grave mistake. Instead of accepting Hashem's decree against the people of his time, Moshe interceded and prayed that they be saved. The difference between these two attitudes – that of Noah, and that of Yosef and Moshe – is the difference between judging and reserving judgment. Noah looked at the people of his generation, saw everything they did wrong, and decided they deserved to be punished. But Yosef and Moshe didn't rush to judge. Yosef's brothers, and Beneh Yisrael in Moshe's time, acted wrongly, but Yosef and Moshe didn't right away condemn them. They understood that there's so much more than what meets the eye. There's so much going on beneath the surface. No one can ever understand what other people are going through, what kind of struggles they're dealing with, what kind of challenges they face, what kind of pressure they're under. So many things contribute to the way a person acts – and nobody knows any of it. So we cannot judge. And when we don't judge, we wish people well and pray for their wellbeing. We don't get angry and look down at them – we do just the opposite. We look at them the way Yosef looked at his brothers and the way Moshe looked at the people. We look at them kindly and lovingly, even though they did or do things wrong. I cannot tell you how many times it happened that a couple who seemed so happy together, who seemed to have such a wonderful marriage, ended up getting divorced, or turned out to be having a very hard time in marriage. None of us know what other couples are going through. None of us know what kind of struggles other parents are having with their kids. None of us know all the details of our fellow's background and upbringing that could have caused his wrong behaviors. In short, none of us know practically anything about other people, about why they do what they do. Everyone, without exception, is struggling with something that we know absolutely nothing about. So let's stop judging, and start loving. Let's learn from Noah's mistake, and follow the examples set by Yosef and Moshe. Let's give people the benefit of the doubt, try hard to see all the good they do instead of focusing on the bad, and show them lots of love, friendship, and support.

The Midrash tells us something fascinating about the snake that lured Adam and Havah to sin, encouraging Havah to eat fruit from the forbidden tree, after which she shared some of the fruit with Adam. This snake, the Midrash relates, was previously the greatest servant man ever had. It would go to distant lands, find beautiful gems, and bring them to Adam. Meaning, the same snake that enticed Adam and Havah to sin was also their greatest helper, who brought them precious diamonds! How do we explain these two sides of the snake – how on the one hand, it helped Adam and Havah, but on the other hand, it brought about their downfall? We might find the answer in another source that talks about snakes and diamonds. The Gemara, in Masechet Baba Batra (74b), tells the story of people traveling on a ship who saw a precious diamond surrounded by a snake. A diver brought the diamond onto the ship, but the snake then came to devour the entire ship. A bird flew down and bit the serpent's head. Then another snake came to devour the ship, but it, too, was killed. This repeated itself several times. The Malbim explains the symbolism of this story. We are created as "diamonds." We are created with a soul that is pure and pristine, with which we are to live a pure and pristine life. The problem is the "snake" that comes and ruins everything, by attacking our pure minds. And each time we manage to defeat the "snake," it comes again, and again. This "snake" is our imagination. As the Midrash tells us, the imagination is our most valuable asset, which brings us precious "gems." Nothing was ever built, created or innovated without imagination. Our imagination is what enables us to see what can be made, to see what we can become, to see what we can create, which is the first critical step toward achievement. Because of our imagination, we have dreams and ambitions that propel us forward and drive us to work and accomplish great things. But like the snake, our imagination can also bring about our downfall. Here's a simple example. We hear about a friend's son or daughter who is about to get engaged, and we feel overjoyed for that friend. But days and weeks go by, and we don't receive an invitation. Our imagination starts running wild. We start thinking that this friend is upset because of this or that, or just plain forgot about us, even though we made a point of inviting that friend to all our events. This invitation that doesn't arrive becomes like a serpent, a monster in our minds, that devours us and takes all the "diamonds," all our purity and goodness. We are consumed by resentment and hostility – all because of our imagination – for in truth, that young man or woman did not get engaged… The entire field of advertising is based on this realization of how the human imagination works. Colorful billboards put images in our minds that fester. We see a model wearing certain clothes – and we think of ourselves looking just as good. We see an advertisement for a blissful vacation spot – and we imagine ourselves experiencing that bliss. We see an advertisement for a car – and we imagine ourselves driving that car while our neighbors look on with envy. This is how the snake succeeded in luring Adam and Havah. It made them imagine unbridled bliss that they would experience if they ate the forbidden fruit. Most human vices work the same way. We are tempted not by the thing itself, but by our imagination, which deceives us into thinking that we will experience unparalleled joy and contentment if we do whatever it is we feel tempted to do. Our imagination can bring us precious diamonds – helping us rise to great heights and accomplish amazing things, but it can also ruin us by fooling us into looking for joy and satisfaction in the wrong places. The story of Adam and Havah teaches us that we need to keep our "snake" in check. Our imagination is both our best friend and our worst enemy. We must use it wisely – to dream, to aspire, to set bold and ambitious goals, to strive for greatness, but not to feel jealous, angry, embittered, or greedy. Let's imagine ourselves doing great things and becoming great – and then focus our attention on getting there.

The Midrash tells us something fascinating about the snake that lured Adam and Havah to sin, encouraging Havah to eat fruit from the forbidden tree, after which she shared some of the fruit with Adam. This snake, the Midrash relates, was previously the greatest servant man ever had. It would go to distant lands, find beautiful gems, and bring them to Adam. Meaning, the same snake that enticed Adam and Havah to sin was also their greatest helper, who brought them precious diamonds! How do we explain these two sides of the snake – how on the one hand, it helped Adam and Havah, but on the other hand, it brought about their downfall? We might find the answer in another source that talks about snakes and diamonds. The Gemara, in Masechet Baba Batra (74b), tells the story of people traveling on a ship who saw a precious diamond surrounded by a snake. A diver brought the diamond onto the ship, but the snake then came to devour the entire ship. A bird flew down and bit the serpent's head. Then another snake came to devour the ship, but it, too, was killed. This repeated itself several times. The Malbim explains the symbolism of this story. We are created as "diamonds." We are created with a soul that is pure and pristine, with which we are to live a pure and pristine life. The problem is the "snake" that comes and ruins everything, by attacking our pure minds. And each time we manage to defeat the "snake," it comes again, and again. This "snake" is our imagination. As the Midrash tells us, the imagination is our most valuable asset, which brings us precious "gems." Nothing was ever built, created or innovated without imagination. Our imagination is what enables us to see what can be made, to see what we can become, to see what we can create, which is the first critical step toward achievement. Because of our imagination, we have dreams and ambitions that propel us forward and drive us to work and accomplish great things. But like the snake, our imagination can also bring about our downfall. Here's a simple example. We hear about a friend's son or daughter who is about to get engaged, and we feel overjoyed for that friend. But days and weeks go by, and we don't receive an invitation. Our imagination starts running wild. We start thinking that this friend is upset because of this or that, or just plain forgot about us, even though we made a point of inviting that friend to all our events. This invitation that doesn't arrive becomes like a serpent, a monster in our minds, that devours us and takes all the "diamonds," all our purity and goodness. We are consumed by resentment and hostility – all because of our imagination – for in truth, that young man or woman did not get engaged… The entire field of advertising is based on this realization of how the human imagination works. Colorful billboards put images in our minds that fester. We see a model wearing certain clothes – and we think of ourselves looking just as good. We see an advertisement for a blissful vacation spot – and we imagine ourselves experiencing that bliss. We see an advertisement for a car – and we imagine ourselves driving that car while our neighbors look on with envy. This is how the snake succeeded in luring Adam and Havah. It made them imagine unbridled bliss that they would experience if they ate the forbidden fruit. Most human vices work the same way. We are tempted not by the thing itself, but by our imagination, which deceives us into thinking that we will experience unparalleled joy and contentment if we do whatever it is we feel tempted to do. Our imagination can bring us precious diamonds – helping us rise to great heights and accomplish amazing things, but it can also ruin us by fooling us into looking for joy and satisfaction in the wrong places. The story of Adam and Havah teaches us that we need to keep our "snake" in check. Our imagination is both our best friend and our worst enemy. We must use it wisely – to dream, to aspire, to set bold and ambitious goals, to strive for greatness, but not to feel jealous, angry, embittered, or greedy. Let's imagine ourselves doing great things and becoming great – and then focus our attention on getting there.

Sukkot is called זמן שמחתנו – "the time of our joy," and indeed, the dominant theme of this holiday is simchah – joy. In the times of the Bet Ha'mikdash , a festive celebration called the שמחת בית השואבה was held each night of Sukkot in the courtyard of the Bet Ha'mikdash with music and dancing. Today, שמחה בית השואבה celebrations are held in many communities during Sukkot to commemorate the festivities in the Bet Ha'mikdash . There is a certain irony in the fact that specifically on this זמן שמחתנו , we are commanded to leave our comfortable homes and reside in a sukkah . The sukkah is a crude, temporary structure, and it is often cramped, chilly, and at times damp. How are these uncomfortable living quarters conducive to the experience of simchah ? The answer might be that this is precisely the point – to teach us that simchah does not depend on perfect circumstances. If we cannot experience joy under less-than-ideal conditions, then we will never experience simchah , because life is hardly ever ideal. And so specifically on זמן שמחתנו , on the holiday of the greatest joy, we leave our homes and reside in the sukkah . In the first pasuk of Tehillim, King David warns us about מושב ליצים – "the company of scoffers." The ליצים – scoffers – are exceedingly dangerous. They can destroy everything, and they can do it very quickly. These are the people who sit around the Shabbat table criticizing, mocking and ridiculing. It's usually the Rabbi, or the entire shul, or the school... They find fault in something, and then paint the whole thing as bad, igniting a flame of negativity that can spread like wildfire. ליצנות – mockery – is so destructive, and it is oh so easy. If I wanted to, I could in a split-second ruin the reputation of any rabbi, lay leader or institution in our community – including myself. I could find more than a couple of mistakes I made and then start talking about them to people to make myself look bad. And I could do this about anyone and anything. No person is perfect, and no institution is perfect. There is always what to complain about – and so many people love complaining, focusing on the flaws and making something or someone good look very bad. The scoffers appear to enjoy doing this, but, as the Sukkot celebration teaches us, joy is achieved by doing just the opposite. If we always focus on what's imperfect, we will be very unhappy. A happy life is a life when we can enjoy the sukkah , when we feel content and happy even with things that aren't perfect. A well-known story is told about a man who approached his Rabbi in anguish, asking him to speak to his son, who was going to marry a non-Jewish girl. Nothing the father said could convince the boy to change his mind, so he wanted the Rabbi to try. After meeting with the young man for an hour, the Rabbi soberly reported to the father that there was nothing he could do. "Sorry, but you made me useless," the Rabbi said. "You would sit around the table every Shabbat complaining about me, making fun of my speeches and the way I ran the shul. Your son has no respect for me." This is what negativity does. When we always focus on what's wrong, instead of appreciating and praising what's right, we make everything look miserable – and our children, understandably, are not going to want to have any part of it. Sukkot teaches us to find joy and satisfaction even in the imperfect, to direct our attention to all that is good about life and about the people around us, so we can live with genuine happiness under all circumstances, and thereby spread joy instead of negativity.

Sukkot is called זמן שמחתנו – "the time of our joy," and indeed, the dominant theme of this holiday is simchah – joy. In the times of the Bet Ha'mikdash , a festive celebration called the שמחת בית השואבה was held each night of Sukkot in the courtyard of the Bet Ha'mikdash with music and dancing. Today, שמחה בית השואבה celebrations are held in many communities during Sukkot to commemorate the festivities in the Bet Ha'mikdash . There is a certain irony in the fact that specifically on this זמן שמחתנו , we are commanded to leave our comfortable homes and reside in a sukkah . The sukkah is a crude, temporary structure, and it is often cramped, chilly, and at times damp. How are these uncomfortable living quarters conducive to the experience of simchah ? The answer might be that this is precisely the point – to teach us that simchah does not depend on perfect circumstances. If we cannot experience joy under less-than-ideal conditions, then we will never experience simchah , because life is hardly ever ideal. And so specifically on זמן שמחתנו , on the holiday of the greatest joy, we leave our homes and reside in the sukkah . In the first pasuk of Tehillim, King David warns us about מושב ליצים – "the company of scoffers." The ליצים – scoffers – are exceedingly dangerous. They can destroy everything, and they can do it very quickly. These are the people who sit around the Shabbat table criticizing, mocking and ridiculing. It's usually the Rabbi, or the entire shul, or the school... They find fault in something, and then paint the whole thing as bad, igniting a flame of negativity that can spread like wildfire. ליצנות – mockery – is so destructive, and it is oh so easy. If I wanted to, I could in a split-second ruin the reputation of any rabbi, lay leader or institution in our community – including myself. I could find more than a couple of mistakes I made and then start talking about them to people to make myself look bad. And I could do this about anyone and anything. No person is perfect, and no institution is perfect. There is always what to complain about – and so many people love complaining, focusing on the flaws and making something or someone good look very bad. The scoffers appear to enjoy doing this, but, as the Sukkot celebration teaches us, joy is achieved by doing just the opposite. If we always focus on what's imperfect, we will be very unhappy. A happy life is a life when we can enjoy the sukkah , when we feel content and happy even with things that aren't perfect. A well-known story is told about a man who approached his Rabbi in anguish, asking him to speak to his son, who was going to marry a non-Jewish girl. Nothing the father said could convince the boy to change his mind, so he wanted the Rabbi to try. After meeting with the young man for an hour, the Rabbi soberly reported to the father that there was nothing he could do. "Sorry, but you made me useless," the Rabbi said. "You would sit around the table every Shabbat complaining about me, making fun of my speeches and the way I ran the shul. Your son has no respect for me." This is what negativity does. When we always focus on what's wrong, instead of appreciating and praising what's right, we make everything look miserable – and our children, understandably, are not going to want to have any part of it. Sukkot teaches us to find joy and satisfaction even in the imperfect, to direct our attention to all that is good about life and about the people around us, so we can live with genuine happiness under all circumstances, and thereby spread joy instead of negativity.

I once witnessed the following scene in a busy shul in Brookyln with lots of minyanim . A young man approached someone to ask for tzedakah , explaining that he was getting married and needed help. The man handed him his credit card and told him to charge $52. Just then, someone else passed by, and this fellow asked him if he could help. The guy pulled out a $1 bill and handed it to him. He said, "Thank you." He then turned to the first fellow, who had given him his card, and said, "Look, I need a pair of nice shoes for the wedding. Maybe you can give a little more?" At first I was astonished. That second guy gave him $1 and got a "thank you," but the first, who offered him $52, got a request for more. How could that be? Very quickly, though, I understood why this happened. The "$1 guy" isn't going to do much more, but the "$52 guy" is capable of more. Someone who gave just one dollar cannot be expected to give anything beyond that, but someone who is able and willing to give $52 is likely to be able and willing to give even more than that. Sure enough, the first guy told the fellow to charge the card for an additional $50. I believe this is the mistake that so many of us make – especially this time of year – which hinders our growth, which stops us from becoming better. We all see ourselves as pretty good people, or even very good people – and we are right. We are good people. The problem is that although we give $52, we want to be left alone like the guy who gave $1. Specifically because we feel good about who we are – as we certainly should!!! – we feel that it's enough, that we don't need to try any harder. I imagine that if I had accomplished by the age of 20 all that Rav Ovadia Yosef zt"l accomplished by that age, I would feel pretty content. He was already an outstanding scholar who had mastered pretty much all of Torah. But he was not content. Not at all. He went on to not only write dozens of important books of halachah and answer untold numbers of halachic questions, but to devote himself tirelessly to the Jewish People, uplifting the entirety of Sephardic Jewry. He didn't think what he accomplished was enough – because he knew how much more he could do, and he was prepared to work as hard as was necessary to do it. The story is told of a man who bought his son an antique car for his college graduation. He told him to go find out how much the car was worth. The son came back and told his father that he brought the car to a dealership, and they said that it could hardly drive. It was worth at most $500. "Bring it to a pawn shop," the father instructed. The boy came back and reported that the guy at the pawn shop said it might be worth as much as $1000. The father then told his son to bring the car to a classic car club. The owners of the club were so excited by the car. They offered the young man $100,000 for it. "This is the lesson I want you to learn," the father said. "Some people will see how much value you have, other people won't. Always know just how valuable you are." Our problem is that we don't know our value. We see ourselves as $52 people, and so this is all we give. We need to understand that we have so much more to give, so much more to contribute, and so much more to achieve. We were not brought to this world to be just ok. We were brought here to be everything we are capable of being. There is also a second obstacle that stops many of us from growing. In the Book of Devarim (10:12), Moshe turns to the people and says to them, ועתה ישראל מה ה' אלוקיך שואל מעמך, כי אם ליראה את ה' אלוקיך – "And now, Israel, what does Hashem your G-d ask of you, other than that you fear Hashem your G-d…" The Midrash teaches that the word ועתה is a reference to teshuvah , repentance. This means that the key to teshuvah is ועתה – "now," a sense of urgency, the decision to change right now, without delaying any more. Even when we realize that we can and should do better, we often delay change. We figure we'll work on it tomorrow, or next week, or next year, or after this happens or that happens. The key to change is to get started now. Even if it's just one small step – we cannot wait. ועתה . We need to start today, right now, with everything going on, with all the issues we're struggling with – because right now, today, is the time to start. As we head into Rosh Hashanah, let's not wait. Let's challenge ourselves right now to be more than we are, to be everything that we can be – because this, and nothing less, is what we need to be.

I once witnessed the following scene in a busy shul in Brookyln with lots of minyanim . A young man approached someone to ask for tzedakah , explaining that he was getting married and needed help. The man handed him his credit card and told him to charge $52. Just then, someone else passed by, and this fellow asked him if he could help. The guy pulled out a $1 bill and handed it to him. He said, "Thank you." He then turned to the first fellow, who had given him his card, and said, "Look, I need a pair of nice shoes for the wedding. Maybe you can give a little more?" At first I was astonished. That second guy gave him $1 and got a "thank you," but the first, who offered him $52, got a request for more. How could that be? Very quickly, though, I understood why this happened. The "$1 guy" isn't going to do much more, but the "$52 guy" is capable of more. Someone who gave just one dollar cannot be expected to give anything beyond that, but someone who is able and willing to give $52 is likely to be able and willing to give even more than that. Sure enough, the first guy told the fellow to charge the card for an additional $50. I believe this is the mistake that so many of us make – especially this time of year – which hinders our growth, which stops us from becoming better. We all see ourselves as pretty good people, or even very good people – and we are right. We are good people. The problem is that although we give $52, we want to be left alone like the guy who gave $1. Specifically because we feel good about who we are – as we certainly should!!! – we feel that it's enough, that we don't need to try any harder. I imagine that if I had accomplished by the age of 20 all that Rav Ovadia Yosef zt"l accomplished by that age, I would feel pretty content. He was already an outstanding scholar who had mastered pretty much all of Torah. But he was not content. Not at all. He went on to not only write dozens of important books of halachah and answer untold numbers of halachic questions, but to devote himself tirelessly to the Jewish People, uplifting the entirety of Sephardic Jewry. He didn't think what he accomplished was enough – because he knew how much more he could do, and he was prepared to work as hard as was necessary to do it. The story is told of a man who bought his son an antique car for his college graduation. He told him to go find out how much the car was worth. The son came back and told his father that he brought the car to a dealership, and they said that it could hardly drive. It was worth at most $500. "Bring it to a pawn shop," the father instructed. The boy came back and reported that the guy at the pawn shop said it might be worth as much as $1000. The father then told his son to bring the car to a classic car club. The owners of the club were so excited by the car. They offered the young man $100,000 for it. "This is the lesson I want you to learn," the father said. "Some people will see how much value you have, other people won't. Always know just how valuable you are." Our problem is that we don't know our value. We see ourselves as $52 people, and so this is all we give. We need to understand that we have so much more to give, so much more to contribute, and so much more to achieve. We were not brought to this world to be just ok. We were brought here to be everything we are capable of being. There is also a second obstacle that stops many of us from growing. In the Book of Devarim (10:12), Moshe turns to the people and says to them, ועתה ישראל מה ה' אלוקיך שואל מעמך, כי אם ליראה את ה' אלוקיך – "And now, Israel, what does Hashem your G-d ask of you, other than that you fear Hashem your G-d…" The Midrash teaches that the word ועתה is a reference to teshuvah , repentance. This means that the key to teshuvah is ועתה – "now," a sense of urgency, the decision to change right now, without delaying any more. Even when we realize that we can and should do better, we often delay change. We figure we'll work on it tomorrow, or next week, or next year, or after this happens or that happens. The key to change is to get started now. Even if it's just one small step – we cannot wait. ועתה . We need to start today, right now, with everything going on, with all the issues we're struggling with – because right now, today, is the time to start. As we head into Rosh Hashanah, let's not wait. Let's challenge ourselves right now to be more than we are, to be everything that we can be – because this, and nothing less, is what we need to be.

The "highlight," so-to-speak, of the Rosh Hashanah prayers is the sounding of the shofar. In all, 100 sounds are blown over the course of the prayer service on Rosh Hashanah. What is the meaning and significance of this mitzvah , and what should we be thinking and feeling when we hear the shofar sound? To introduce the answer, let's consider an analogy to a very common situation: a mother comes home and sees a big mess in the house. She turns to her kids and asks them to spend a few minutes straightening up. She goes upstairs to change. When she comes back down, she sees the exact same mess, and the kids sitting in the exact same places where they were beforehand. They completely ignored her request, as though she did not even exist. This simple scenario helps us understand the concept of teshuvah , repentance, which is what the shofar blowing is all about. Whenever we sin, whenever we do something wrong, we are, in effect, ignoring Hashem. We're acting as though Hashem is not here with us, as though He is not part of our lives. After all, if we made Him part of our lives, if we were aware of His presence, then we would never have dared to do something He told us not to do. So each time we commit a sin, we are pushing Hashem out of our lives a little more. Teshuvah is the desire to bring Hashem back into our lives. It is a fierce, desperate longing to restore that relationship, the feeling that we cannot live without Him, that we need Him with us. This explains the Gemara's famous teaching that when a person performs teshuvah sincerely, his sins are not just erased, but transformed into merits. This is astonishing – our sins can become mitzvot if we perform teshuvah properly. We actually receive reward for the sins! How does this work? The answer is that when we perform teshuvah , the distance created by the sin makes us long for closeness with Hashem even more. We feel disconnected from Him, and this makes our yearning much stronger. It thus turns out that the sin led to a strengthening of the person's bond with Hashem, and so it is transformed into a mitzvah . The sound of the shofar has no words. It is a cry from the innermost depths of our souls. We are crying out for closeness with Hashem. We are yearning for a stronger relationship. When we hear the shofar sound, we should be thinking about how much we want and need Hashem in our lives, and how much we regret driving Him out of our lives through our mistaken behavior. This isn't about being sad; it's about longing and yearning, a desperate feeling of needing someone whom we had pushed away. If we can experience this longing on Rosh Hashanah, then we will transform our misdeeds into great sources of merit, and, no less importantly, we will put ourselves in a position to make this coming year much better than the previous year, a year when we avoid many of the mistakes we've made in the past, and when we truly live with Hashem each and every day.

The "highlight," so-to-speak, of the Rosh Hashanah prayers is the sounding of the shofar. In all, 100 sounds are blown over the course of the prayer service on Rosh Hashanah. What is the meaning and significance of this mitzvah , and what should we be thinking and feeling when we hear the shofar sound? To introduce the answer, let's consider an analogy to a very common situation: a mother comes home and sees a big mess in the house. She turns to her kids and asks them to spend a few minutes straightening up. She goes upstairs to change. When she comes back down, she sees the exact same mess, and the kids sitting in the exact same places where they were beforehand. They completely ignored her request, as though she did not even exist. This simple scenario helps us understand the concept of teshuvah , repentance, which is what the shofar blowing is all about. Whenever we sin, whenever we do something wrong, we are, in effect, ignoring Hashem. We're acting as though Hashem is not here with us, as though He is not part of our lives. After all, if we made Him part of our lives, if we were aware of His presence, then we would never have dared to do something He told us not to do. So each time we commit a sin, we are pushing Hashem out of our lives a little more. Teshuvah is the desire to bring Hashem back into our lives. It is a fierce, desperate longing to restore that relationship, the feeling that we cannot live without Him, that we need Him with us. This explains the Gemara's famous teaching that when a person performs teshuvah sincerely, his sins are not just erased, but transformed into merits. This is astonishing – our sins can become mitzvot if we perform teshuvah properly. We actually receive reward for the sins! How does this work? The answer is that when we perform teshuvah , the distance created by the sin makes us long for closeness with Hashem even more. We feel disconnected from Him, and this makes our yearning much stronger. It thus turns out that the sin led to a strengthening of the person's bond with Hashem, and so it is transformed into a mitzvah . The sound of the shofar has no words. It is a cry from the innermost depths of our souls. We are crying out for closeness with Hashem. We are yearning for a stronger relationship. When we hear the shofar sound, we should be thinking about how much we want and need Hashem in our lives, and how much we regret driving Him out of our lives through our mistaken behavior. This isn't about being sad; it's about longing and yearning, a desperate feeling of needing someone whom we had pushed away. If we can experience this longing on Rosh Hashanah, then we will transform our misdeeds into great sources of merit, and, no less importantly, we will put ourselves in a position to make this coming year much better than the previous year, a year when we avoid many of the mistakes we've made in the past, and when we truly live with Hashem each and every day.

A member of the Jewish community in Minneapolis once brought me to give a speech in that community, and the man who picked me up at the airport was none other than the owner of the Mall of America, the largest mall in the United States, who is a wonderful Torah Jew. In the car, he told me a beautiful story. His wife had made a trip to Israel around Thanksgiving time, leaving him with the children. On Thanksgiving, all the kids had school except the youngest, who was getting restless at home, so the father brought her to the mall. They sat at the kosher eatery at the mall, and ate some fries. There they met a religious family from Los Angeles that was attending some event in the middle of the country. The father worked as a Rabbi in a school. They could not afford to fly, so the family decided to turn it into a road trip. They stopped off at the mall to eat. After speaking with the family for some time, the mall's owner asked the children if they wanted free passes for some of the rides at the mall. They of course emphatically said yes. He went downstairs and, as the owner, easily obtained several passes. He came back to where the family was waiting, and he placed the passes in the mother's hand. She looked at him in disbelief. She explained that during the whole trip, the children were complaining that they wouldn't be able to afford the amazing rides at the mall. "I learn from a book about bitahon [faith in Hashem] every day," she said, "and I told my kids that if Hashem decided that they should go on the rides, He can put the passes in my hand at any minute. And that's just what happened." The owner of the mall told me how at that moment, he genuinely felt how he was just a puppet in Hashem's show, just a pawn in His plan to help this beautiful family. He realized that he's not the owner of the country's largest mall, he's not a high-flying executive – he's just Hashem's agent, His messenger through which His will is carried out. Nothing more. This is an important message for us to internalize as we prepare for Rosh Hashanah. What we want on Rosh Hashanah is to arouse Hashem's compassion, that He judges us with mercy, and not on the strict level of the law. This means that we want Him to judge us not according to our actions, based on what we've actually done, but based on who we really are, who we try and aspire to be. A cop once ticketed for me for speeding. What mattered to him was only that I was driving above the speed limit. It didn't matter that I had flown back to the city that morning, was then driving home after delivering an inspiring speech, and was on the phone dealing with important community matters. We want Hashem to treat us differently, to take into account the bigger picture, how we are inherently good and want to do the right thing, even though the results aren't always what they should be. And the way we arouse Hashem's compassion is by seeing ourselves the way this mall owner saw himself – humbly, as dependent entirely on Hashem. If we take the credit for our achievements, then we will be held responsible for our failures. If we pride ourselves for the good results, then we are accountable for the bad results. But if we focus not on the end results, but on our intentions, recognizing that we make our effort and then Hashem brings the outcome, then we will be forgiven for the times when the outcome wasn't right. If we want Hashem to see the broader picture, who we really are, then we need to look at the broader picture – how Hashem controls everything – and at who we really are – just frail human beings who depend on Hashem for everything. May we all be worthy of Hashem's mercy and compassion, and be blessed with a wonderful year of joy, health and prosperity, amen .

A member of the Jewish community in Minneapolis once brought me to give a speech in that community, and the man who picked me up at the airport was none other than the owner of the Mall of America, the largest mall in the United States, who is a wonderful Torah Jew. In the car, he told me a beautiful story. His wife had made a trip to Israel around Thanksgiving time, leaving him with the children. On Thanksgiving, all the kids had school except the youngest, who was getting restless at home, so the father brought her to the mall. They sat at the kosher eatery at the mall, and ate some fries. There they met a religious family from Los Angeles that was attending some event in the middle of the country. The father worked as a Rabbi in a school. They could not afford to fly, so the family decided to turn it into a road trip. They stopped off at the mall to eat. After speaking with the family for some time, the mall's owner asked the children if they wanted free passes for some of the rides at the mall. They of course emphatically said yes. He went downstairs and, as the owner, easily obtained several passes. He came back to where the family was waiting, and he placed the passes in the mother's hand. She looked at him in disbelief. She explained that during the whole trip, the children were complaining that they wouldn't be able to afford the amazing rides at the mall. "I learn from a book about bitahon [faith in Hashem] every day," she said, "and I told my kids that if Hashem decided that they should go on the rides, He can put the passes in my hand at any minute. And that's just what happened." The owner of the mall told me how at that moment, he genuinely felt how he was just a puppet in Hashem's show, just a pawn in His plan to help this beautiful family. He realized that he's not the owner of the country's largest mall, he's not a high-flying executive – he's just Hashem's agent, His messenger through which His will is carried out. Nothing more. This is an important message for us to internalize as we prepare for Rosh Hashanah. What we want on Rosh Hashanah is to arouse Hashem's compassion, that He judges us with mercy, and not on the strict level of the law. This means that we want Him to judge us not according to our actions, based on what we've actually done, but based on who we really are, who we try and aspire to be. A cop once ticketed for me for speeding. What mattered to him was only that I was driving above the speed limit. It didn't matter that I had flown back to the city that morning, was then driving home after delivering an inspiring speech, and was on the phone dealing with important community matters. We want Hashem to treat us differently, to take into account the bigger picture, how we are inherently good and want to do the right thing, even though the results aren't always what they should be. And the way we arouse Hashem's compassion is by seeing ourselves the way this mall owner saw himself – humbly, as dependent entirely on Hashem. If we take the credit for our achievements, then we will be held responsible for our failures. If we pride ourselves for the good results, then we are accountable for the bad results. But if we focus not on the end results, but on our intentions, recognizing that we make our effort and then Hashem brings the outcome, then we will be forgiven for the times when the outcome wasn't right. If we want Hashem to see the broader picture, who we really are, then we need to look at the broader picture – how Hashem controls everything – and at who we really are – just frail human beings who depend on Hashem for everything. May we all be worthy of Hashem's mercy and compassion, and be blessed with a wonderful year of joy, health and prosperity, amen .

Parashat Ki-Tetzeh presents the law regarding a בן סורר ומורה – "wayward child." This is a 13-year-old boy who not only disobeys his parents, but goes far beyond that – stealing their money to buy meat and wine to indulge in. The Torah writes that the parents should bring this child to the court, and he should be put to death. The consensus view among the Rabbis of the Talmud is that there has never been a youngster who met the criteria of a בן סורר ומורה , and there never will be. This not a halacha that will ever be practically observed. But the Torah issued this command for the purpose of דרוש וקבל שכר – so that we learn and apply the lessons that are relevant to our lives, and we will then be worthy of reward. Let us examine one of the critical lessons about education that we learn from the law of the בן סורר ומורה . The Gemara (Sanhedrin 72a) explains that the Torah commanded putting this child to death because it knows what this child would otherwise become. After he steals all his parents' money, he will be so desperate to continue his endless indulgence in meat and wine that he will go out to the roads and attack people, killing them and taking their money. The Torah determined that it is preferable for this child to be put to death rather than allow him to grow to become a violent criminal. The commentators raise the question of how to reconcile the Gemara's comment with the famous teaching that a person is judged באשר הוא שם , based on his current condition, irrespective of what he might become in the future. This is inferred from the story of Yishmael, whose sincere prayers were heeded when he was dying of thirst, and whom Hashem thus saved even though his descendants would inflict great harm on the Jewish Nation. How, then, can the בן סורר ומורה be punished because of what he is going to be? What happened to the rule that all people are judged strictly based on the present? The Rabbis of the Mussar movement answer that there is an obvious difference between Yishmael and the case of the בן סורר ומורה . When Yishmael prayed, he was sincere, genuine and pure. His state at that moment had no connection to the cruel, barbaric crimes that his descendants would commit generations later. The בן סורר ומורה , however, is on a downward spiral, he is clearly heading in the direction of violent crime, and so he needs to be stopped. I taught in high school for many years, and, sadly, I saw so many instances where a child was on the wrong trajectory, when all the signs were there, but by the time the parents noticed, it was too late. So often, when a great kid from a great family learning in a great school grows up and disappoints, the seeds were visible already earlier, much earlier, but nothing was done about it. It's not that the parents were bad parents. They were loving, caring, hard-working, devoted parents who raised a beautiful, happy family – but they didn't notice the early warning signs that the child was headed in the wrong direction. Parents are busy – busy with other children, busy with earning a living, busy with their friends and extended family, busy with communal events, and so on. These are all wonderful things. But the highest priority must always be our children. We need to be focused, attentive, attuned, and involved. We cannot leave the child's education solely to the school. In two weeks, we will read a pasuk in Parashat Nitzavim in which Moshe tells the people never to think that they need to "rise to the heavens" to observe the Torah. He says that they should never say, מי יעלה לנו השמימה – "Who will bring us up to the heavens?" (Devarim 30:12). Rav Yerucham Olshin, head of the Lakewood Yeshiva, pointed out that the first letters of these words spell the word מילה (circumcision). Moshe here is alluding to us that from the time of an infant's first mitzvah – the berit – the parents have the responsibility to bring him to the heavens, to help him soar. The parents' job isn't to just send their kid to school. They need to believe in their children's potential for greatness, in their ability to reach the stars, and help them get there. I mentioned earlier that I've seen many instances of problems that arose when it was too late. But I've also seen so many opposite examples – where a student who struggled in school ended up reaching the stars, achieving great things. With the parents' involvement, support and encouragement, all children can succeed. It is within our power as parents to recognize the signs, to nurture, and to believe. When we do, we give our children the chance to soar higher than we ever dreamed.

Parashat Ki-Tetzeh presents the law regarding a בן סורר ומורה – "wayward child." This is a 13-year-old boy who not only disobeys his parents, but goes far beyond that – stealing their money to buy meat and wine to indulge in. The Torah writes that the parents should bring this child to the court, and he should be put to death. The consensus view among the Rabbis of the Talmud is that there has never been a youngster who met the criteria of a בן סורר ומורה , and there never will be. This not a halacha that will ever be practically observed. But the Torah issued this command for the purpose of דרוש וקבל שכר – so that we learn and apply the lessons that are relevant to our lives, and we will then be worthy of reward. Let us examine one of the critical lessons about education that we learn from the law of the בן סורר ומורה . The Gemara (Sanhedrin 72a) explains that the Torah commanded putting this child to death because it knows what this child would otherwise become. After he steals all his parents' money, he will be so desperate to continue his endless indulgence in meat and wine that he will go out to the roads and attack people, killing them and taking their money. The Torah determined that it is preferable for this child to be put to death rather than allow him to grow to become a violent criminal. The commentators raise the question of how to reconcile the Gemara's comment with the famous teaching that a person is judged באשר הוא שם , based on his current condition, irrespective of what he might become in the future. This is inferred from the story of Yishmael, whose sincere prayers were heeded when he was dying of thirst, and whom Hashem thus saved even though his descendants would inflict great harm on the Jewish Nation. How, then, can the בן סורר ומורה be punished because of what he is going to be? What happened to the rule that all people are judged strictly based on the present? The Rabbis of the Mussar movement answer that there is an obvious difference between Yishmael and the case of the בן סורר ומורה . When Yishmael prayed, he was sincere, genuine and pure. His state at that moment had no connection to the cruel, barbaric crimes that his descendants would commit generations later. The בן סורר ומורה , however, is on a downward spiral, he is clearly heading in the direction of violent crime, and so he needs to be stopped. I taught in high school for many years, and, sadly, I saw so many instances where a child was on the wrong trajectory, when all the signs were there, but by the time the parents noticed, it was too late. So often, when a great kid from a great family learning in a great school grows up and disappoints, the seeds were visible already earlier, much earlier, but nothing was done about it. It's not that the parents were bad parents. They were loving, caring, hard-working, devoted parents who raised a beautiful, happy family – but they didn't notice the early warning signs that the child was headed in the wrong direction. Parents are busy – busy with other children, busy with earning a living, busy with their friends and extended family, busy with communal events, and so on. These are all wonderful things. But the highest priority must always be our children. We need to be focused, attentive, attuned, and involved. We cannot leave the child's education solely to the school. In two weeks, we will read a pasuk in Parashat Nitzavim in which Moshe tells the people never to think that they need to "rise to the heavens" to observe the Torah. He says that they should never say, מי יעלה לנו השמימה – "Who will bring us up to the heavens?" (Devarim 30:12). Rav Yerucham Olshin, head of the Lakewood Yeshiva, pointed out that the first letters of these words spell the word מילה (circumcision). Moshe here is alluding to us that from the time of an infant's first mitzvah – the berit – the parents have the responsibility to bring him to the heavens, to help him soar. The parents' job isn't to just send their kid to school. They need to believe in their children's potential for greatness, in their ability to reach the stars, and help them get there. I mentioned earlier that I've seen many instances of problems that arose when it was too late. But I've also seen so many opposite examples – where a student who struggled in school ended up reaching the stars, achieving great things. With the parents' involvement, support and encouragement, all children can succeed. It is within our power as parents to recognize the signs, to nurture, and to believe. When we do, we give our children the chance to soar higher than we ever dreamed.

As we begin the month of Elul – the month when we are to introspect and make an effort to grow and improve – it is worth paying close attention to a pasuk which we say each morning as part of our tefillah . In the chapter of מזמור לתודה (Tehillim 100), we make the following mysterious pronouncement: דעו כי ה' הוא האלוקים, הוא עשנו ולא אנחנו . Literally, this means, "Know that Hashem – he is G-d; He has made us, and not us." What do we mean when we say that Hashem made us "but not us"? What didn't we do? Do we not realize that He created us and we didn't create ourselves? The answer is that Hashem, in a sense, finished His work of "making" us, but we haven't. We still have work to do. Hashem created us with a body and with strengths and talents – but the rest is up to us. So הוא עשנו – He is finished "making us." However, לא אנחנו – we are not finished making ourselves. As long as we are alive, as long as our heart is beating and we can breathe, we have work to do. We are never a finished product. It doesn't matter how old we are, how much we've accomplished, or how much we've tried to accomplish but have failed. We have work to do. We can still grow, and we need to grow. Many years ago, an outstanding Rabbi named Rav Nosson Wachtfogel spent a Shabbat in Deal. He was the esteemed mashgiah ruhani (spiritual advisor) of the Lakewood Yeshiva, a key figure in the yeshiva's development from a small outpost of Torah to the enormous empire that it has since become. He came to Deal in order to raise money for a new project – to start small kollels in various communities throughout the United States. My father was very inspired by this visit. Rav Wachtfogel was close to 90 years old at that time. He was already remarkably accomplished, having taught and touched the lives of thousands of students, and having played a key role in the building of Torah in America. At that age, with so many accomplishments on his record, he could have easily said, "I did enough." But here he was, an elderly man, working hard to start yet another important project. My father was inspired by this – because he was the same way. He was always working, always striving, always reaching higher, always trying to do more. Even when he was ill, and it was clear that he did not have much time left, he was starting new writing projects. His hunger for achievement was insatiable. This is what ולא אנחנו means. As long as we're still here, we're not done. We have much more to do. Interestingly, the word ולא this pasuk has two different spellings (called the קרי and the כתיב ). It is spelled ולא , but alternatively ולו . According to this alternative spelling, the phrase ולו אנחנו means "we are His," we belong to Hashem. These two spellings are very closely connected. When we live with an awareness of ולא אנחנו , that we are not complete, that we have much more to accomplish, then we become לו , connected to Hashem. We build and strengthen this bond by constantly striving to be better. In business, executives look to hire employees who are "hungry" for success, who are driven and motivated to achieve. In professional sports, too – teams want "hungry" players, who will do anything to win a championship year after year. Elul is a time for "hunger," to rekindle our passion for greatness. This is the time to wake ourselves out of complacency, to realize that we can and must be better. And when we come before Hashem on Rosh Hashanah with this "hunger," setting our sights on greatness, He will warmly accept our tefillot and give us the help we need to grow.

As we begin the month of Elul – the month when we are to introspect and make an effort to grow and improve – it is worth paying close attention to a pasuk which we say each morning as part of our tefillah . In the chapter of מזמור לתודה (Tehillim 100), we make the following mysterious pronouncement: דעו כי ה' הוא האלוקים, הוא עשנו ולא אנחנו . Literally, this means, "Know that Hashem – he is G-d; He has made us, and not us." What do we mean when we say that Hashem made us "but not us"? What didn't we do? Do we not realize that He created us and we didn't create ourselves? The answer is that Hashem, in a sense, finished His work of "making" us, but we haven't. We still have work to do. Hashem created us with a body and with strengths and talents – but the rest is up to us. So הוא עשנו – He is finished "making us." However, לא אנחנו – we are not finished making ourselves. As long as we are alive, as long as our heart is beating and we can breathe, we have work to do. We are never a finished product. It doesn't matter how old we are, how much we've accomplished, or how much we've tried to accomplish but have failed. We have work to do. We can still grow, and we need to grow. Many years ago, an outstanding Rabbi named Rav Nosson Wachtfogel spent a Shabbat in Deal. He was the esteemed mashgiah ruhani (spiritual advisor) of the Lakewood Yeshiva, a key figure in the yeshiva's development from a small outpost of Torah to the enormous empire that it has since become. He came to Deal in order to raise money for a new project – to start small kollels in various communities throughout the United States. My father was very inspired by this visit. Rav Wachtfogel was close to 90 years old at that time. He was already remarkably accomplished, having taught and touched the lives of thousands of students, and having played a key role in the building of Torah in America. At that age, with so many accomplishments on his record, he could have easily said, "I did enough." But here he was, an elderly man, working hard to start yet another important project. My father was inspired by this – because he was the same way. He was always working, always striving, always reaching higher, always trying to do more. Even when he was ill, and it was clear that he did not have much time left, he was starting new writing projects. His hunger for achievement was insatiable. This is what ולא אנחנו means. As long as we're still here, we're not done. We have much more to do. Interestingly, the word ולא this pasuk has two different spellings (called the קרי and the כתיב ). It is spelled ולא , but alternatively ולו . According to this alternative spelling, the phrase ולו אנחנו means "we are His," we belong to Hashem. These two spellings are very closely connected. When we live with an awareness of ולא אנחנו , that we are not complete, that we have much more to accomplish, then we become לו , connected to Hashem. We build and strengthen this bond by constantly striving to be better. In business, executives look to hire employees who are "hungry" for success, who are driven and motivated to achieve. In professional sports, too – teams want "hungry" players, who will do anything to win a championship year after year. Elul is a time for "hunger," to rekindle our passion for greatness. This is the time to wake ourselves out of complacency, to realize that we can and must be better. And when we come before Hashem on Rosh Hashanah with this "hunger," setting our sights on greatness, He will warmly accept our tefillot and give us the help we need to grow.

The first pasuk of Parashat Re'eh teaches us how to look at each day of our lives: ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה. See that I am placing before you today a blessing and a curse. The Torah here urges us to see every day as an opportunity, as a path to either ברכה , blessing, or the opposite, Heaven forbid. Whatever situation we find ourselves in at any time, no matter how happy or difficult, is an opportunity, and it is up to us to seize this opportunity to grow, to draw closer to Hashem, and to make the most of the limited time we have been given here in this world. It is worth noting the particular significance of the word לפניהם – "before you" – in this pasuk . This word draws our focus onto what's in front of us, onto the future, onto the possibilities that are before us right now, at every moment. Too many people give up on themselves, figuring, "This is who I am"; "This is my life, there's nothing I can do about it at this point"; "This is the way I do things, and I'm not going to start changing now"; "I tried so many times already, I give up"; or "It's too late now." The Torah here is telling is that this is not true at all. As long as we are alive, every day that we wake up in the morning, we have a choice lying there in front of us, the opportunity to turn the future into a wonderful ברכה . It's never too late to change, to turn our lives around, to experience the ultimate ברכה of a happy, fulfilling life. I once saw the following saying: "It's never too late to become the person you could have been." We are all carrying around lots of baggage. We all live with regrets of one kind or another. We all wish we hadn't done this and had instead done that. We all carry around the angst of missed opportunities. And we all occasionally hear in our head that nagging voice of "What if" we had done things differently. The Torah's response to this voice is ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום . Even today, we have a whole life before us. We have control over our future. We can still become the people we could have been. We begin each day by declaring מודה אני , by thanking Hashem for giving us another day – another day full of opportunities for greatness, for achievement, for meaningful contributions to the world. When we recite מודה אני , we are, essentially, saying, "It's not too late. The past doesn't matter. What happened or didn't happen yesterday doesn't have to stifle me today. My baggage does not have to weigh me down. There is still so much I can do, and so much that I can become." Let us never give up on ourselves, and instead always fully believe in the vast potential that lies before us.

The first pasuk of Parashat Re'eh teaches us how to look at each day of our lives: ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה. See that I am placing before you today a blessing and a curse. The Torah here urges us to see every day as an opportunity, as a path to either ברכה , blessing, or the opposite, Heaven forbid. Whatever situation we find ourselves in at any time, no matter how happy or difficult, is an opportunity, and it is up to us to seize this opportunity to grow, to draw closer to Hashem, and to make the most of the limited time we have been given here in this world. It is worth noting the particular significance of the word לפניהם – "before you" – in this pasuk . This word draws our focus onto what's in front of us, onto the future, onto the possibilities that are before us right now, at every moment. Too many people give up on themselves, figuring, "This is who I am"; "This is my life, there's nothing I can do about it at this point"; "This is the way I do things, and I'm not going to start changing now"; "I tried so many times already, I give up"; or "It's too late now." The Torah here is telling is that this is not true at all. As long as we are alive, every day that we wake up in the morning, we have a choice lying there in front of us, the opportunity to turn the future into a wonderful ברכה . It's never too late to change, to turn our lives around, to experience the ultimate ברכה of a happy, fulfilling life. I once saw the following saying: "It's never too late to become the person you could have been." We are all carrying around lots of baggage. We all live with regrets of one kind or another. We all wish we hadn't done this and had instead done that. We all carry around the angst of missed opportunities. And we all occasionally hear in our head that nagging voice of "What if" we had done things differently. The Torah's response to this voice is ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום . Even today, we have a whole life before us. We have control over our future. We can still become the people we could have been. We begin each day by declaring מודה אני , by thanking Hashem for giving us another day – another day full of opportunities for greatness, for achievement, for meaningful contributions to the world. When we recite מודה אני , we are, essentially, saying, "It's not too late. The past doesn't matter. What happened or didn't happen yesterday doesn't have to stifle me today. My baggage does not have to weigh me down. There is still so much I can do, and so much that I can become." Let us never give up on ourselves, and instead always fully believe in the vast potential that lies before us.

Parashat Ekev begins by promising great reward for observing the mitzvot : והיה עקב תשמעון את המשפטים האלה...ושמר ה' אלוקיך לך את הברית ואת החסד אשר נשבע לאבותיך. It shall be that as a result of your heeding these laws…Hashem will keep for You the covenant and the kindness and He promised to your forefathers. Rashi's comment on this pasuk is among the most famous passages in his entire Torah commentary. He writes that the Torah uses here the word עקב (" ekev ") as an allusion to the akev – heel. Meaning, the Torah here speaks of those who observe מצוות שאדם דש בעקביו – the mitzvot which people tend to "tread on with their feet." There is special reward promised for those who ensure to observe these particular mitzvot . The common understanding of Rashi's comments is that he refers to mitzvot which, for whatever reason, are commonly neglected, that people often disregard entirely, or perform them casually, mindlessly, as though "trampling" them with their feet. We are urged to pay special attention specifically to the mitzvot that people generally tend to neglect. But there is also another explanation of Rashi's comment. There are three ways to perform mitzvot – with the head, with the heart, and with the "feet." Performing mitzvot with the head means that one fully understands the importance of serving Hashem and obeying His commands, and he lives with a clear perception of his goal and purpose in the world. This is, of course, a very high level, which not many people achieve. The second way is to serve with one's heart, with the emotions, because he feels inspired and driven. The problem with this approach is that our emotions are inconsistent and unpredictable. Sometimes we feel inspired and excited about mitzvot , but at other times we feel down and dispirited, and we lack the ambition and enthusiasm that we should ideally feel toward the mitzvot . The third way is to perform mitzvot out of habit, as our daily routine, like getting up and walking. The ideal, of course, is to fully understand that the purpose of life is to serve Hashem, and to always be filled with love and devotion to Hashem. Realistically, though, we cannot always expect this to happen. And so the Torah assures us that even if we serve Hashem with our "feet," as naturally as we walk, because this is what we're used to doing and what we've accustomed ourselves to doing – this has great value. Even for this we will be rewarded. What's true in our relationship with Hashem is true also in people's relationships with one another. In an ideal world, people would always speak to one another with their "mind" and with their 'heart," thinking very carefully about when to speak, what to say, and how to say it. In reality, though, people often speak with their "feet," without thinking carefully enough about whether, what, and how they should speak. For many different reasons, people often say things they shouldn't. It could be fatigue, it could be stress, it could be anxiety, it could be simply that they just have lots on their mind so they're not thinking carefully enough. The problem is that we take unwisely-spoken words too seriously, that we turn them into something much bigger than they really are. The thing so many people don't realize is that our minds – like our computers – have a "delete" button that just erases things that we don't want to keep. Words spoken from the "feet," without proper thought and consideration, should just be "deleted." When that parent, child, sibling, spouse, in-law, friend, or whoever says something they shouldn't have said, we don't have to respond . Actually, we don't even have to think about it . We can just press the "delete" button, and it's gone, forever. So-called "hurtful comments" only hurt if we allow them to. They hurt only if we keep them in our minds instead of just "deleting" them. Let's remember – if someone says something we don't like, it's not so terrible. They didn't really mean it. They're speaking from their "feet," mindlessly, without thinking. It's not a big deal unless we make the decision to make it a big deal. And the wise decision is to just "delete" it and move on.

The Mishnah in Masechet Ta'anit (26b) describes how Tu B'Av – the 15 th of the month of Av – was an especially joyous occasion, a day when shidduchim (matches) were made. The girls would wear fine clothing and go into the vineyards. The young men would then come and choose a bride. The Gemara (31a) adds that the girls would try to draw the young men's attention to their qualities. The girls with an attractive appearance would say, "Set your eyes upon beauty." The girls from distinguished families would say, "Set your eyes upon the family." Those with neither of these would say, "Make your decision for the sake of Heaven." What did these girls mean by telling the young men to marry them "for the sake for Heaven"? The answer is that the Gemara here is teaching us a critically important lesson about maintaining hope and faith. Some people feel confident about themselves because of their natural gifts and talents – such as appearance – and others feel confident because of their family background, because of their connections. But some people feel that they have nothing going for them, they have nothing special about them. Singles might despair because they feel they don't have what it takes to get married. People might feel anxious about their financial future because they feel they don't have what it takes to make a good living. The Gemara teaches us that nobody should ever despair because Hashem is with him, because he is committed to living לשם שמיים , for Hashem's sake. When a person begins feeling incapable or inadequate, he needs to remember that Hashem believes in him – and so he must believe in himself. The girls in the vineyards were not only talking to the boys – they were talking to themselves, saying, "I know Hashem believes in me, I know He wants me to get married, and I know that He will get me married. I believe in Him – and I believe in myself." The story is told of a couple that was married for a number of years without children, and so they contacted an organization that helps couples struggling with infertility. The fellow from the organization said he wanted to meet them in the city for lunch to discuss their situation and how the organization might be able to help. On the phone, they went through various options of places where they could get together for lunch. Growing impatient, the husband said, "Look, I need a child, not a tuna sandwich." "I know," the fellow from the organization replied, "but the point here is that Hashem can send you a child as quickly as he can send you a tuna sandwich." So often a person desperately needs something and he doesn't believe in his ability to attain it. He needs to remember that whatever it is that he needs can come as easily the food he orders at a restaurant. We should never doubt ourselves. Even when we feel we don't have what it takes, Hashem always ensures that we do.

Once, as I was giving a class about the halachot of Tishah B'Av, I mentioned the law regarding work on this day – that Halachah permits working on Tishah B'Av, but the Rabbis teach that one who does so will not see blessing from his efforts. Although work is permitted, we are warned that no blessing will result from work performed on Tishah B'Av. As I was teaching this halachah , it dawned on me that Tishah B'Av is one of two days on the Jewish calendar when working is allowed but will not bring berachah , the other being Purim. I started thinking, what do these two occasions have in common? Why specifically on these days are we advised that although working is allowed, it will not bring us blessing? The answer, I believe, is that these are the two days when we are commanded to feel the "mood" of the Jewish People. Halachah teaches משנכנס אדר מרבים בשמחה – we all increase our joy when the month of Adar begins, and משנכנס אב ממעטים בשמחה – we all decrease our joy when the month of Av begins. Purim and Tishah B'Av are days marked by a national mood. Jews across the world are happy and jovial on Purim; and Jews across the world are sad and somber on Tishah B'Av. If somebody goes to work, as though it's just a normal day, he is separating himself from the Jewish People. He's too preoccupied with his own affairs to participate in the nation's joy, or in the nation's pain. And when we separate from Am Yisrael , when we're too focused on ourselves to think about the rest of the nation, there's no berachah , there's no blessing. One of the races in the Olympics every four years is the 4 X 100 meters relay. Each nation is represented in this race by four runners, each of whom runs for 100 meters and then passes the baton onto the next runner. For decades, the United States consistently won the gold medal for this race, because it has the fastest runners. More recently, however, the U.S. has had less success – not because its runners aren't as fast, but because they haven't been able to pass the baton smoothly to the next runner. As Jews, our job is not only to "run fast," to reach the finish line ourselves, but also to "pass the baton" to the people around us. Our "race" is not only individual, but national. We need to run together. And this means that we can't just be looking out for ourselves. We need to be looking out for one another. Rabbis aren't the only ones saying this. Our bitterest enemies are saying this, too. Sapir Cohen is a young woman who was captured by Hamas terrorists on October 7, 2023, and released 55 days later. She has since shared that at some point before she was freed, the terrorists who held her captive showed her the news reports on TV. She saw the vigils being held in "Hostage Square" in Tel-Aviv, attended by Israelis from all backgrounds, spanning the political spectrum. She noticed that this was not the same Israel as the country she lived in on October 6 th – a country that was bitterly divided. Her captor told her that the fierce in-fighting among Israelis before October 7 th encouraged them, the terrorists. They knew that when Israelis are fighting with one another, they are so much weaker and so much more vulnerable. They saw the fighting and felt confident that their attack could succeed. משנכנס אב ממעטים בשמחה . On Tishah B'Av, we mourn together – because we need to rebuild together. In order to recover from the hurban (destruction), in order to bring our final redemption, we need to "pass the baton" to one another. It's not enough for each person to decide what he needs to do personally, which mitzvot he needs to observe better, which personal improvements he needs to make. Of course this is very important. But we need to do more than that. We need to remember to "pass the baton," to look around at all our fellow Jews, no matter how different they are from us and from each other, and extend a hand. We need to run this race not alone, but as a nation, and this means reaching out to every fellow Jew in need and to feel closely bonded and connected to the entire Jewish Nation.

We've all had the experience of being at a sebet or some other function, standing near the dessert tables, when a child pushes us away in a frantic rush to get to his favorite treats. Would we say that this kid is selfish? That this kid doesn't care about other people? I wouldn't say that. This kid might not necessarily be selfish. He's just clueless. He is thinking so intently about the piece of cake or the cookies on the table, that he does not realize that he's shoving the people in his way. This kind of behavior is not limited to kids. Parents of married children frequently find themselves being the victims of "cluelessness." Their married child comes over with the kids, they make themselves at home, the kids play with the toys, food is prepared and fed – and then they leave, not realizing that the toys are scattered all over the place, the sinks are full of dirty dishes, and of course the highchair is filthy… The young couple isn't selfish. They're just clueless. They're just not paying attention. They're focused on taking care of their kids, so they're not thinking about their parents… Another example is rubbernecking. Sometimes we're sitting in traffic, inching forward for a half-hour wondering what's causing the jam. Finally, we see what happened: there was an accident on the other side of the highway – but everyone on our side feels the need to slow down and look to see what happened. When a driver slows down to look, he doesn't think to himself that he's delaying the hundreds of people driving behind him. Parashat Maseh talks about cluelessness. It addresses the situation of a רוצח בשוגג , somebody who killed another person by accident. If this happened due to circumstances beyond one's control, then he is not punished at all. But if there was some negligence involved, then he is required to move out of his town and relocate in a specially-designated city called an עיר מקלט (city of refuge) in order to earn atonement. The Rambam gives a number of examples of the kind of cases that require a person to move to an עיר מקלט . One is if he's climbing down a ladder, and he falls and kills someone. Another is if he is lowering a heavy object from a roof or window with a rope, and it slips, falls and kill someone. If we are involved in activities that are potentially dangerous, we can't be clueless. No matter how good our hearts are, and regardless of the fact that we would never in a million years think to hurt somebody – we are still guilty if we are not paying attention, if we are not opening our eyes and our minds to consider how our actions are impacting other people. King Shlomo, in a pasuk in Mishleh (10:13), speaks about this phenomenon of cluelessness: בשפתי נבון תמצא חכמה ושבט לגו חסר לב – "Wisdom can be found in the lips of the wise, and a rod shall strike the body of he who lacks heart." The Malbim describes a חסר לב this way: מי שאין לו הנהגה כלל, ונהג תמיד כפי שעולה על רוחו לפי שעה פעם כה ופעם כה . This means a person without discipline, who always acts on impulse, however he feels like it at any given moment. Such a person needs a שבט לגו – a rod striking his body – to wake him up, to get him to be alert and mindful. In virtually every family, there's that one person who shows up late to every Shabbat or holiday meal they're invited to. Showing up late is another example of a חסר לב , of someone who just doesn't think, who is clueless. He doesn't consider the fact that a whole group of people are sitting around and waiting because of him. Let's all try to move from cluelessness to attentiveness, from thoughtlessness to thoughtfulness, from mindlessness to mindfulness. It might be tempting to act כפי שעולה על רוחו לפי שעה , the way we happen to feel at the moment, without giving too much thought to what we're doing, but this is not how we're supposed to live. We are supposed to be mindful and to pay attention to what we're doing, to take other people into the equation, to make sure that our actions are bringing joy and blessing to the people around us, and not, Heaven forbid, the opposite.

A fellow who works with a certain hesed organization in Lakewood told me that they were once helping the family of a woman who was gravely ill. Her friends and neighbors wanted to know which mitzvot they could do as a merit for her recovery, so people from the organization traveled with the woman and her husband to South Fallsburg, to consult with Rav Elya Ber Wachtfogel, one of the great Rosheh Yeshiva in America today. Rav Wachtfogel's answer was very surprising. He didn't mention things like Shabbat, kashrut , modesty, or lashon ha'ra (though it goes without saying that these are all exceedingly important). Instead, he noted that everyone – without exception – has a little bit of " nebuch " within them. This means that everyone feels insecure or "messed up" in some way. For some people it's their appearance. For others it's some religious struggle that they just can't seem to overcome and they're embarrassed about. For some it's finances, having less than the people around them. For some it's a child, several children, or some other issue going on in the family. We all have something that makes us feel uneasy about ourselves, that makes us feel like a " hazit ," like we're a failure. "What you should be working on," the Rosh Yeshiva said, "is encouraging people, lifting them up, emphasizing their strengths, letting them know how much goodness they have inside them." This was his suggestion for a zechut (merit) for the ill patient. Parashat Pinhas continues the story that began to be told in the previous parashah , about the time when the men of Beneh Yisrael became involved with the women of other nations. At one point, a man named Zimri, who led the tribe of Shimon, publicly took a non-Jewish woman into a private place. The Torah says that the people felt helpless, and just cried. Then Pinhas arose and killed the violators, bringing an abrupt end to the deadly plague that Hashem had sent to punish the people. In the beginning of our parashah , Hashem tells Moshe that He would be rewarding Pinhas בקנאו את קנאתי בתוכם – because he acted zealously for Hashem בתוכם – "among them," in the midst of the nation (25:11). Different explanations have been given for why Hashem emphasized that Pinhas performed this act בתוכם , among the people. But one particularly meaningful answer is offered by Rav Moshe Sternbuch. He writes that before Pinhas acted, he was just בתוכם , one of the people. He did not stand out in any way. There was nothing exceptional about him. He was just another Jew. But this did not deter him. He saw a need – and so he arose to fill that need. He wasn't discouraged by his "ordinariness." He didn't say to himself, "I'm a nobody, there's nothing I can do." He knew what had to be done, and he did it. Of course, Pinhas' situation was unique, and this kind of zealotry is not an example that we are supposed to follow. But the lesson of בתוכם is timeless and extremely important. Baruch Hashem , our community has grown over the years, and may it continue to do so. Like all great blessings, this blessing of growth presents some challenges – one of which is the challenge of בתוכם . As our community has grown, individuals become in their eyes smaller and less significant. In the past, it was relatively easy to sense that each of us made a difference, that each of us was needed in some way. But now, with the community so large, many people – especially youngsters – feel בתוכם , that they're just ordinary folks with nothing special to offer, with no special role to fill. As Rav Wachtfogel said, we need to encourage and uplift one another. Parents need to impress upon their children that they have exceptional gifts and talents that our community, and the Jewish world, need. Spouses should be encouraging one another to excel and achieve. But perhaps most importantly, we need to encourage ourselves and to stop putting ourselves down. We have to stop feeling " nebuch " and ordinary. Yes, we have our issues, our struggles, our flaws and our faults, and yes, we've all made mistakes. But this does not mean that we don't have the potential for greatness. We need to recognize our potential and, like Pinhas, seize the opportunities to shine. Let's stop being afraid, being embarrassed, and being insecure – and let's start living with self-confidence and with the firm belief that we are capable of doing great things, and that we have been brought here into the world to do great things.

Balak, the man for whom this parashah is named, was very worried. As were the people in his kingdom, Moav. The Torah tells that Balak saw Beneh Yisrael 's conquest of the bordering territories of Sihon and Og. These two kingdoms attacked Beneh Yisrael , who fought back and captured their lands. Balak was scared that Beneh Yisrael would do the same to him. The people of Moav were so frightened, the Torah adds, that ויקץ מואב מפני בני ישראל – they were "disgusted" by Beneh Yisrael (22:3). Rashi explains: קצו בחייהם – they were fed up with their lives because of Beneh Yisrael . The fear was so overwhelming and so debilitating that they hated their lives. The irony is that Beneh Yisrael gave no indication whatsoever that they intended to wage war against Moav. They conquered the territory of Sihon and Og only after these kingdoms attacked them unprovoked; at no point did they express their desire to initiate hostilities. Moreover – Hashem explicitly commanded Beneh Yisrael not to wage war against Moav (Devarim 2:9). They could not have attacked Moav even if they wanted to! Moav's fear, I believe, is an example of the kind of gloom that afflicts so many of us. People walk around with this fear of the unknown, envisioning in their minds all the things that could go wrong. They see and hear things going on in the world, and they can't help but ask themselves, "What's going to be? What's going to be with the economy? What's going to be with our country? What's going to be in Israel? What's going to be with our youth? What's going to be with the spiritual challenges we face in our era of technology? In our personal lives, too, we sometimes can't help but worry about finances, our children, and other questions about our future. Like Moav, people sometimes reach the point of קצו בחייהם , where they are "disgusted" with their lives, because they worry so much about what will happen. But also like Moav, they are worrying and ruining their lives unnecessarily. King Shlomo teaches us in Mishleh (10:16): פעלת צדיק לחיים – "The activity of the righteous person is for life..." The Malbim explains that the word פעולה refers to the work a person does, the process, irrespective of the outcome. When a tzadik acts, the work itself is "life," is valuable and gratifying, regardless of whether it produces the desired result. The righteous person understands that Hashem controls the world, that He and only He determines the outcome, and so our job is the פעולה , to live the right way, to do the right thing, to make our effort. The tzadik does not ask "What's going to be?" – because he trusts that Hashem will take care of everything. The only thing that tzadik asks is "What do I need to do? How do I need to live? What's the best way for me to achieve today?" I once addressed a large group of single girls. I told them that I was not letting them out of the room until they promised me that they would never see a married girl their age or younger and say to themselves, "She's better than me." I made them promise that they would never think that there's anything wrong with them, that they were not yet married because they're not good-looking enough, not smart enough, not rich enough, or not from a good enough family. As long as they're doing their best, and working hard to live the right way, there is nothing at all wrong with them. Hashem decides the outcome; we just do our best. This should be our mindset in all areas of life. We need to live with the confidence that Hashem is running the world, that the outcome depends entirely on Him. We do this by focusing on the פעולה , on the process, on the things we can control –our behavior and our decisions – and leaving the results to Hashem. The opposite of קצו בחייהם is פעולת צדיק לחיים . If we want to feel happy, confident and upbeat, we need to focus on the פעולה , on living the right way, and to stop asking "What's going to be?"

I recall once seeing a couple, whom I had married, on the street several months after their wedding, and I was struck by how exuberant they looked. They were so happy with each other; they were both glowing, exuding genuine joy and exhiliration. In my mind I expressed the wish that all married couples should enjoy the bliss that this young newlywed couple enjoyed. Just a couple of months later, the father of one of them informed me that the couple was divorcing. It didn't work out. There is a couple out-of-town whom I had gotten to know well over the years. They are wealthy and successful, and have beautiful children. They seem to have everything in life that a person could ever want. But then, at one point, out of the blue, the wife called me – and then the husband, separately – both expressing to me that they're wondering if it's worth staying together. They said they were so miserable in their marriage. These stories are just two examples of a basic truth that we need to know: everyone, without exception, is struggling with something, even if it seems like their lives are perfect. And most people are struggling with several things. We don't realize it, because everyone is putting on a show. Everybody wants to make it appear that his or her life is perfectly in order, and everything is fine. But the truth is that there nobody who can say that everything is fine. We all have problems. It's part of life. Countless studies have shown the damage being caused by social media, as people – especially youngsters – spend hours a day looking at others who seem to be perfect. They see Instagram pictures and videos of their peers having a great time, and they feel that only they're struggling, only they have problems. And this causes a great deal of pain and anxiety. This phenomenon might help explain an episode in Parashat Hukat. Beneh Yisrael find themselves without water, and they complain. They come to Moshe and Aharon and ask why they had brought them into the desert, which is "not a place of seeds, of figs or grapes or pomegranates, and there is no water to drink" (20:5). The people don't have water – but they're complaining also about not having figs, grapes and pomegranates. Why? If a person doesn't have water, does it matter to him that he doesn't have nice fruits to eat? The answer might be that Beneh Yisrael weren't just complaining about the water situation. They were bothered that other nations lived "normal" lives, planting and growing food, while they have been spending forty years in the desert. They wanted to be like everyone else. Their running out of water highlighted the fact that they were not living a normal existence like other people. And this is what bothered them. The first human being, as we know, was called אדם , a name derived from the word אדמה – ground – which is where he originated from. If we punctuate the word אדמה (" adama ") differently, we arrive at " adameh " – "I will resemble." Because there are two ways a person can live his life – he can live a life of " adameh ," of trying to be like other people, trying to have what they have, or he can live a life of " adama ," like the ground, where seeds grow into beautiful plants, trees, flowers and produce. Meaning, we have a choice to make: we can either be bogged down comparing ourselves to other people, or we can grow. Comparing ourselves to other people stifles us. It creates insecurity and anxiety, and causes us to waste our time and energy pursuing things which we don't need and which aren't right for us. Once we stop comparing, we can start growing. We can focus on what we need to do, on who we are supposed to be, on achieving all that we are meant to achieve. And once we live this way, with our focus on growth instead of comparing, life becomes so much more beautiful, so much more productive, and so much more fulfilling.

You Might Not Be Right… Korach was so sure he was right. Rashi (16:7) writes that what led Korach to foolishly challenge Moshe Rabbenu, to start a fight that resulted in his death and many other deaths, was, ironically enough, his רוח הקודש – his prophetic vision. He saw – correctly – that he would have prominent descendants, such as the prophet Shmuel. And so he decided that he must be the rightful leader already now, in the desert, in place of Moshe. Korach backed up his claims with arguments that sounded pretty convincing. The Midrash teaches that Korach won support for his cause by telling the story of a poor widow with two young daughters, who had a small field from which to make a living. She started plowing the field with her ox and donkey, but then Moshe told her about the command forbidding plowing with two different species of animal. When she started planting, Moshe told her about the command forbidding planting different species together. When she started harvesting the field, Moshe told her about the command to leave certain portions for the poor and to give certain portions to the kohanim and leviyim . Exasperated, she decided to sell her field and purchase sheep, instead. Aharon later came to take the sheep's firstborn, as well the first portion of wool sheared from it, as required by the Torah. The woman and her daughters stood there and cried. If I was told this story at a Shabbat table, I would have probably been convinced that Korach was right and Moshe was wrong. This sounds so just, so noble, a cause that is truly לשם שמיים , for the sake of Hashem. But of course it wasn't. This was all about jealousy. If Korach had been honest with himself, he would have acknowledged that this fight was not about fairness, and not about his righteous descendants. This was about himself, his ego, his lust for honor and prestige. He fooled himself – and his supporters – into thinking that he was waging a noble battle, that he was doing the right thing, that he was fighting against injustice. But in truth, he was fighting for his selfish, egotistical concerns. Let us all ask ourselves honestly: have we ever made this same mistake? Have we ever gotten involved in a fight or controversy, thinking with certainty that we were right, that we were fighting for a noble, holy cause? And if we have, did we stop to think clearly and objectively about our true motives? Did we consider that maybe we weren't really right, that we were being selfish and petty? The Gemara tells that one of the leading participants in Korach's uprising – a man named On ben Pelet – ended up backing out, thanks to his wife. She told him that this idea was silly. Even if Korach's side wins, she said, he – On ben Pelet – would be under Korach's authority instead of Moshe's. What would he gain from that? We all need people in our lives like On ben Pelet's wife – somebody who could help us think objectively and rationally. When we find ourselves in a fight, or part of a controversy, it helps to have somebody who can tell us that we're wrong, that we're being foolish, that this fight is not worth it – and we have to be willing to listen. Next time we feel like fighting, like joining some campaign against somebody, let's stop and think clearly and honestly. Let's ask ourselves if we are really being sincere, if this fight is really the right thing to do, and if this fight is really worth it. If we do this, we will spare ourselves a lot of heartache and a lot of wasted emotional energy, and we will be able to focus on the things that really matter, on being productive, on working hard to achieve to the best of our ability.

Parashat Shelah is famous for the story of the meraglim – the spies sent by Moshe Rabbenu to scout the land. They returned with a frightening report, insisting that Beneh Yisrael were incapable of capturing the country, and convincing them not to proceed to the land. The nation accepted their report, and wept. Hashem severely punished the people, keeping them in the desert for forty years until that entire generation perished. Interestingly, the first words the meragelim said about the land were very positive, and even sound enthusiastic: באנו אל הארץ אשר שלחתנו, וגם זבת חלב ודבש היא... We came to the land you sent us to, and it is indeed flowing with milk and honey… (13:27) After this brief word of praise for the quality of the land, the spies then told the people that they could not possibly capture it, and that it was not even worth capturing. Rashi explains that the spies began with praising the land because a lie is credible only if it includes some truth. The spies needed to start with the truth – that the land is "flowing with milk and honey" – in order to lay the groundwork for the lies they wanted to spread. But others explain differently. The spies were telling the people that the Land of Israel was so good, so desirable, that they should have expected many surrounding nations to want to take it over. Yet, nobody did. The reason, the spies claimed, is that the nations in Eretz Yisrael were too powerful for anyone to dare launch an attack. Thus, the spies' positive words were actually part of their negativity. They took the great blessing of the Land of Israel and turned it on its head, making a complaint out of it. I'm sorry to say this – but this is something that we're all guilty of. A person is invited to a wedding, and complains about the inconvenient time, the hassle of having to get dressed, find a babysitter, make the trip, buy a gift, and so on. Two weeks later, that same person is talking to a friend who is going to another wedding, and responds, "What? I wasn't invited?!" This sounds silly, but we all do this in one form or another. We all complain about our blessings. We complain about our spouse, our kids, our house, our jobs, our rabbi, our community, etc. etc. etc. These are all wonderful blessings, but we complain, because our lives aren't perfect. What we don't realize is that our lives aren't supposed to be perfect. But they're supposed to be appreciated and enjoyed. And in order to appreciate and enjoy them, we need to stop complaining about our many blessings. Earlier in the parashah (13:26), the Torah says about the spies, וילכו ויבואו – "They went and they came." Rashi, based on the Gemara, comments that this pasuk alludes to the fact that the spies' departure to scout the land was similar to their return from their spy mission. Just as they returned with the intention of convincing the people not to proceed to the Land of Israel, they had initially embarked on their mission with that same intention. What Rashi is saying is that the spies' negativity was not triggered by what they saw during their mission in the land. It's not as though they left with a positive attitude and were then discouraged by the things they observed. They set out with a negative mindset, and so they turned everything they saw into a complaint, into something terrible. This is what we need to stop doing. We need to stop turning our blessings into complaints. So many parents of engaged daughters complain about the hassle and costs of making a wedding. So many people with a summer home in Deal complain about the hassle and costs of moving in for the summer and maintaining their homes. So many people who can afford luxury vacations complain about the hassle and costs of air travel. Do they hear themselves? Do they realize how silly they sound complaining about these wonderful blessings? Let's all stop complaining about our many blessings, so we can, once and for all, fully enjoy them.

The final pesukim of Parashat Behaalotecha tell the famous story of Miriam speaking inappropriately about her brother, Moshe Rabbenu. Miriam was punished with tzara'at (leprosy) for speaking lashon ha'ra (negative talk) about her brother. One of the most significant aspects of this story is what's missing – Moshe's reaction to Miriam's harsh words. We don't find Moshe saying anything to Miriam. In fact, the Torah interjects, והאיש משה עניו מאד מכל האדם אשר על פני האדמה – that Moshe was the humblest man in the world (12:3). This implies that Moshe, in his great humility, kept silent. The Gemara (Gittin 36b) speaks about the unique greatness of הנעלבים ואינן עולבים – those who do not respond to insults, who simply remain quiet when others put them down. Such people, the Gemara teaches, are the ones of whom the pasuk in the Book of Shoftim (5:31) says, ואוהביו כצאת השמש בגבורתו – "…and those who love Him are like the sun when it comes out in all its force." In other words, people who keep quiet, who do not respond when they are offended or insulted, who simply ignore it and go about their day, have special power. Indeed, numerous stories are told of people whose prayers were answered in this merit – because they would keep quiet and not respond to insults. For example, the Gemara in Masechet Ta'anit (25b) tells that once, during a harsh drought, the people assembled to pray, and after Rabbi Akiva led the prayer service, rain began to fall. Specifically Rabbi Akiva's prayers were answered, the Gemara explains, because he excelled in the quality of מעביר על מדותיו – letting things go, not responding to insults. What is so special about this quality? Why is it so difficult to remain quiet and not respond? One answer, perhaps, is that this is something we cannot prepare for ahead of time. We never know when somebody will offend us, hurt our feelings, or disrespect us. Just as an example – I recall once when I was delivering a speech, somebody walked into the room in the middle and announced that I had already exceeded my allotted time, and I needed to stop. I was a little taken aback, and I politely asked if I could have just another two minutes as I was right in the middle of a thought. He adamantly refused, insisting that I stop my speech dead in its tracks. As I walked out of the room, I passed by that person. I am proud to say that I controlled the urge I felt to say something to him, but I cannot say I was unaffected. I was upset, angry and agitated. There is no way to prepare for experiences like these. They just happen. We can mentally prepare ourselves for challenges that we anticipate, such as waking up in time for prayers in the morning, closing the business before Shabbat, dressing the way we are supposed to dress, or refraining from going somewhere we know we should not go. But we cannot prepare ourselves to be מעביר על מדותיו , to remain quiet, to not respond to something hurtful that somebody says or does. The only solution is to be humble like Moshe Rabbenu, to develop and strengthen our characters to the point where people's opinions of us don't matter. And if we can do this – then we become incredibly powerful. Nobody is stronger than the person who is not discouraged by insults, who is unaffected by what people say or think about him. Let us harness this remarkable power through the quality of מעביר על מדותיו , by following Moshe Rabbenu's example of genuine humility, by making ourselves invulnerable to insults.

Parashat Naso includes birkat kohanim – the special blessing with which the kohanim are commanded to bless the rest of the nation. The first portion of this berachah is: יברכך ה' וישמרך – "G-d shall bless you and protect you" (6:24). Rashi explains this to mean that Hashem should bless us with material prosperity, and then protect it for us. Normally, Rashi writes, when a person gives his fellow a gift, the giver's involvement ends the moment the gift is given. It is now entirely up to the recipient to do with the gift what he wants, and to take care of it. It can be stolen, it can be misused, it can be damaged, it can be lost, it can end up causing harm in some way. The kohanim bless the people that Hashem will not only give them money and possessions, but also protect these gifts for them. Hashem does not leave us after giving us a gift. He stays with us, guarding it and protecting it. We've all received many gifts. Our spouse, our children, our homes, our careers or businesses, our friends, our community – everything we have is a gift from Hashem. And, as we all know, these gifts can often be difficult to handle. Raising children in today's day and age is very, very hard, and fraught with challenges. Full-time jobs are often very demanding, and take up our entire day. Every businessman knows how much stress and pressure is involved in running a business. Our close-knit community is wonderful, but with so many people knowing each other and working with one another, complicated and uncomfortable situations arise. We have so many blessings, but with those blessings come numerous challenges. This is particularly felt when one is privileged to make a simchah , like marrying off a child. Nowadays, the logistics involved in making a wedding are overwhelming. There are so many details that need to be ironed out, so many different people that we are trying to please, accommodate, and avoid offending, and so many different pieces that need to fit into the puzzle. What should be the happiest time in our lives can easily become the most stressful time. We need to remember that Hashem stays with us after giving us a gift. He doesn't just hand it to us and go away. We are not shouldering the burden by ourselves. Whatever it is that we're struggling with, we must realize that we are not alone. Hashem is by our side, carrying the weight of the responsibility with us. Once we realize this, and we turn to Him in prayer and ask for His help, the burden becomes so much easier to handle. We will then be able to truly enjoy and cherish all the blessings in our lives, without seeing them turn into sources of stress and hardship.

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 way of Torah: You eat bread with salt, you drink water in rations, you lie on the ground, and you live a life of distress – and you toil in Torah. At first glance, the Mishnah is telling us that the Torah requires us to live in abject poverty. But this is clearly not the case. While it is true that many great Rabbis were very poor, many others were wealthy. And most were somewhere in the middle between very poor and very rich. Certainly, most Torah scholars today sleep in comfortable beds, not on the floor, and eat far more than bread with salt. What, then, does this Mishnah mean? The answer brings us back seven weeks – to the celebration of Pesach. The Alter of Kelm raises the question of why Hashem needed to rush Beneh Yisrael out of Egypt so frantically, such that their dough didn't have time to rise, and they ended up baking matzah. They spent hundreds of years in Egypt – they couldn't stay there an extra half-hour so they could have proper bread? Why did Hashem find it necessary to have them chased out so quickly? The Alter of Kelm answered that this was necessary to teach us a vitally important lesson – that in order to succeed as Hashem's nation, we need to be prepared to eat "matzah," to sacrifice luxuries, to live with just the basics. The Torah demands מסירות נפש – self-sacrifice. In order to excel as a Torah Jew, a person needs to be prepared to forego comforts and luxuries, and to show his commitment even when the circumstances are far less than ideal. This is the meaning of the Mishnah. It is not telling us that we need to suffer in order to live a Torah life. Rather, it is telling us that we must be prepared to sacrifice for Torah, that living a Torah life requires us to do things that are difficult, that are uncomfortable, that are inconvenient, that are unpopular, that are challenging. It is wonderful to attend a Torah class with several hundred other like-minded community members in a comfortable, air-conditioned shul at 8pm when one has a free evening. Every single person who does so should be commended, and I have nothing but praise for all of them. But – this is not how greatness is achieved. One achieves greatness by displaying commitment when it's difficult. When a person maintains his Torah learning schedule even when he's had a very hard day, when he didn't get a good night's sleep, when the material is difficult or the speaker isn't at his best. One achieves greatness when his friends are getting together for an event that he knows is inappropriate, so he does not go. Of course one should learn Torah and perform mitzvot when it's convenient. But in order to fully actualize our potential, we need to be ready to learn Torah and perform mitzvot even when it's not convenient, when it's challenging, when it requires struggle and sacrifice. This is why the Torah was given in a desert – to teach us that we must be committed to Torah even under "desert" conditions, when we don't have our usual comforts and conveniences, when things are difficult. This is how greatness in Torah is achieved. After my father zt"l passed away, we came across one of his books. He owned hundreds upon hundreds of books, but this one was very special. When he was already very sick, he asked for this book, and one of my nephews bought it for him. After he passed away, we saw that the book had been read through – and it had numerous handwritten notes on the margins. On some pages, there were stains of blood, apparently from the times when he learned the book after receiving an injection or IV infusion in his hand. This is what the Mishnah was talking about. This is מסירות נפש for Torah – learning Torah intensely even when this is challenging. Of course there is nothing wrong with learning under comfortable conditions, in a comfortable room, with heat or air conditioning, when we are well fed, after a good night's sleep, feeling healthy, and in good spirits. But in order to truly excel, we must be prepared to devote ourselves to Torah even when we find ourselves in a "desert," in difficult circumstances. As Shavuot approaches, let us all choose one thing we are willing to do for Torah even though it is difficult, one challenge we are willing to take upon ourselves for Torah. We will then be able to truly say that we earned the great privilege of standing on Shavuot morning and receiving the Torah from Hashem anew.

The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (5:16) teaches: כל אהבה שהיא תלויה בדבר – בטל דבר, בטלה אהבה . ושאינה תלויה בדבר, אינה בטלה לעולם . Any love that is dependent on something – once that thing is gone, the love is gone; but [love] that is not dependent on anything will never be gone. As an example of אהבה התלויה בדבר – love that is dependent on something – the Mishnah points to the story of Amnon and Tamar, two children of David Ha'melech. They were half-brother and half-sister, and Amnon desired Tamar. After satisfying his lust, he then despised her. Amnon's love for Tamar did not last. As the paradigm of אהבה שאינו תלויה בדבר , the Mishnah mentions אהבת דוד ויהונתן – the special bond between David and Yehonatan – the son of Shaul, who was king before David. Their love endured forever. Let us examine these different kinds of love. Sometimes, a person loves somebody because of some feature, because of some quality, because of something that the other individual provides. For some, it is the person's good looks and physical attractiveness. For others, it might be the person's income, or his or her coming from a wealthy family. A person might love someone because that other person is intelligent or funny, or has some talent. The problem with these models of love is that the love is תלויה בדבר , it is dependent on a specific factor. Once the person's appearance changes, or when the wealth isn't there anymore, or the personality changes somewhat, or the skills and talents aren't quite what they used to be, then the love is gone. The paradigm of this kind of love is Amnon's "love" for Tamar. He didn't really love her; he loved himself, and he wanted to use her for his gratification. And so once he got what he wanted, there was no longer any connection. The love was gone. The greatest example of the opposite kind of love, of אהבה שאינה תלויה בדבר , is the love between David and Yehonatan. These are two people who stood in each other's way. Yehonatan was the king's son, and the heir apparent to the throne, whereas David was anointed by the prophet as Shaul's successor. Each blocked the other's road to the kingship. They loved each other despite the fact that each threatened the other's pursuit of fame and glory. This love was true and genuine, and was not conditioned on any benefit that each party sought to gain from the relationship. And so it was enduring, unable to ever be broken. The strongest marriage is one where the husband and wife feel 100 percent safe in the relationship, where neither is concerned the relationship will be threatened that if they do this or don't do that. If the relationship is based on factors such as looks or income, then it isn't safe, because they know it could be lost once the looks or the earnings aren't what they once were. A marriage is strong when the husband and wife feel safe and secure with each other, confident that nothing can ever undermine the love between them. And this how children should feel toward their parents, as well. There is a saying that a good parent is one whose children all feel the most loved, where each child feels he or she is loved more than the others. I strongly disagree. I don't think it's good for any child to feel that the parents love him or her more than the others. This is an arrogant feeling. In my opinion, the greatest parent is the one who makes each child feel that he or she will never be loved less than any other child, that nothing could ever cause the parent to love another child more. A child needs to feel that the love is entirely unconditional, and אינה תלויה בדבר – not dependent on anything, not on grades, not on helping around the house, not on religious observance, not on being accepted to a particular school or yeshiva, not on professional or financial success, not on whom he or she marries, and not only how his or her children behave. The greatest parents are those whose love for their children is אינה תלויה בדבר , and whose children feel that this love is אינה תלויה בדבר . This is what every child needs, more than anything – to feel safe with his parents, to know that his parents will always be there for him and will always love him, no matter what he does. This kind of unconditional love is described by a pasuk Shir Hashirim (8:7): מים רבים לא יוכלו לכבות את האהבה ונהרות לא ישטפוה, אם יתן איש כל הון ביתו באהבה בוז יבוזו לו. This pasuk speaks of a level of love that is like a fire which can never be extinguished, not even with powerful streams of water, and that if someone would offer the person a fortune in exchange for this love, he would be ridiculed, because it is so clear that the love is worth far more than anything money can buy. Parents should strive to have their children feel this way toward them, to make them feel safe and secure, knowing that their parents love them unconditionally, and nothing will ever threaten this relationship.

We are currently observing the period of sefirat ha'omer , when we refrain from festive celebrations and from haircutting and shaving, as we mourn the tragic death of Rabbi Akiva's thousands of students. The Gemara (Yevamot 62b) famously teaches that Rabbi Akiva's students died as a punishment for their failure to treat each other with proper respect: שלא נהגו כבוד זה בזה . The obligation to treat people with respect is exceedingly difficult – far more difficult than we tend to think. Elsewhere, in Masechet Nedarim (81a), the Gemara makes the observation that many Torah scholars have children who do not follow their father's example, and do not become Torah scholars themselves. The Gemara proceeds to bring several possible reasons why this is so. One reason, offered by Rav Ashi, is striking. Rav Ashi said: משום דקרו לאינשי חמרי – "Because they call people 'donkeys'." According to Rav Ashi, many great Rabbis are not worthy of having children who become great Rabbis because they look down on other people, and they treat them like "donkeys." I find this Gemara very frightening. I find it frightening because there is no question that the Rabbis described by the Gemara did not intend to treat people like "donkeys." If we are aware of the obligation to treat people with respect, then obviously great Rabbis are also aware of this mitzvah . But many of them are still guilty of treating others like "donkeys" without realizing it. Why? The answer is that when somebody is good at something, when he is accomplished in any area, it is so easy for him to look down on, and to disrespect, other people who aren't as good as he is in that area. If a person is an accomplished Torah scholar, it is so easy for him to look down on people who aren't Torah scholars. If a person is a successful businessman with lots of money, it is so easy for him to look down on people who earn a modest livelihood and live simply. When a person excels in some professional field, it is so easy for him to look down on people who aren't familiar with his field. Treating people with respect does not come naturally. It is a skill that we need to learn and develop. It requires thought and effort. King Shlomo instructs us in Mishleh (3:4), ומצא חן ושכל טוב בעיני אלוקים ואדם – "And find favor and sound wisdom in the eyes of G-d and man." This means that finding favor in people's eyes requires שכל טוב – a good deal of intelligence. We need to be smart. We need to think carefully and understand how people work. And we need to be aware of ourselves, of our tendency to feel superior to others, so we can resist this tendency. There is also another reason why the Gemara says that some outstanding scholars treat others like "donkeys." When a person strives for greatness, he might feel entitled to knock over other people in the process. If a person is ambitious and does great things, he could forget about the basic, simple things. He might not take the time to give people his attention and to extend himself to help them. In other words, a person who is preoccupied with being great might neglect being good. This, too, requires שכל טוב , wisdom and intelligence. Of course we must pursue greatness – but with the שכל טוב to remember to be not just great, but good, that the amazing things we're involved in do not absolve us of our basic obligations toward other people. During this period of sefirat ha'omer , let us try to develop this שכל טוב , the wisdom to treat all people with respect, no matter who they are.

A fable is told of an egg in an eagle's nest high in the branches of a towering tree, that fell out of the nest and landed in the middle of a chicken coup. It soon hatched, and a baby eagle emerged. The baby bird looked around, saw the other chickens, and naturally figured that it, too, was a chicken. It realized that its wings looked much different, but it was raised among the chickens and acted just as chickens act. It ate chicken feed and ran around the coup, without flying. Then, one day, its mother swooped down from the skies into the chicken coup. It saw its baby, and told it to get onto its back. "Why?" the baby eagle asked. "I live here in the chicken coup." "This isn't where you belong," the mother eagle said. "You're not meant to be here. You're meant to fly, to soar to the heavens." The baby eagle had no idea what the mother was talking about. It never imagined that it could fly to the sky. Finally, the mother convinced the baby to get onto its back. The mother flew to a mountain peak, and told the baby to get off. It then told the baby to flap its wings, and start to fly. The Mishna in Pirkeh Avot (6:2) tells that every day, a voice is sounded from Mount Sinai, exclaiming, אוי להם לבריות מעלבונה של תורה – "Woe unto those creatures, who disgrace the Torah ." This heavenly voice bemoans the fact that so many people neglect the Torah, filling their time instead with other, vain pursuits. The Mishna applies to such people the verse in the Book of Mishleh (11:22), נזם זהב באף חזיר – "A gold ring in the nose of a pig." We were given the Torah, which is more precious than the most expensive piece of gold jewelry. We were given the opportunity to soar to the greatest heights, to achieve greatness, to live meaningful, spiritual lives, to live lives of kedushah . If we waste our time on vanity, then we are like someone who is given a piece of gold jewelry and puts it on a pig. Parashat Kedoshim begins, דבר אל כל עדת בני ישראל ואמרת אליהם קדושים תהיו – "Speak to the entire congregation of Beneh Yisrael, and say to them: You shall be holy." Moshe was to tell כל עדת בני ישראל , the entire nation, every single person among the Jewish People, that they are meant to be sacred. We are all meant to soar. We are all meant to be great. We are like that baby eagle in a chicken coup. All around us, people aren't "flying." They're spending their time on social media, watching all kinds of videos, playing games, and being glued to their screens. This is the society we live in, but this is not the way we are supposed to live. We are supposed to soar, to live at a much higher standard, to fill our time and our lives with meaning, with purpose, with רוחניות (spirituality), with kedushah . We aren't supposed to act like "chickens," to occupy ourselves with vanity. Let us hear the call of קדושים תהיו , and make the commitment to be better, to avoid the distractions, to avoid the nonsense, so we can soar to the great heights that we are meant to reach.

The Vilna Gaon, in his commentary to the Book of Mishleh (16:1-4), discusses how each and every person is created as a unique and distinct being, different from all other people. We all have not only a distinctive appearance, but also a distinctive set of qualities, natural talents, and ways of thinking and processing what we see and learn. This is because every single soul is unique. No two souls are alike. This point is probably not new to most of us. But the next point made by the Vilna Gaon is fascinating. He writes that during the times when there was prophecy, a person could go to a prophet who, though prophecy, could analyze his unique soul, and on this basis advise the individual what his role and mission in the world is. The prophet could tell the person what kind of person to marry, what kind of career to pursue, what kind of activities he should be involved in, and so on, in accordance with his unique characteristics. But nowadays, the Vilna Gaon says, when we don't have prophecy, we have the power to do this ourselves. The Vilna Gaon writes that each person has a certain level of ru'ah ha'kodesh , a kind of spiritual insight resembling prophecy, which helps him identify his unique mission, what unique role he is to fill and what unique contribution he is to make. The Vilna Gaon here is teaching us something so important, and so powerful, which, I'm afraid, some people fail to realize. He is teaching us that the only thing that matters is our unique mission, our unique journey through life. What other people do, or the way other people perceive us, is irrelevant. We each have a journey to take to life – and this is what we should be focused on. So many people get distracted from their journey because they're too worried about what others think of them. They're too busy trying to impress their peers, trying to get attention, trying to win approval and admiration. Trying to impress people is so foolish, because what other people think does not matter. What matters is our journey, our mission, our efforts to achieve what we've come into this world to achieve. This is what we should be focusing on – not on impressing people. Parashiyot Tazria and Metzora deal mainly with the subject of tzara'at , a type of affliction that would befall those who indulged in lashon ha'ra – gossip and negative talk about other people. Very often, we feel the need to hear and spread gossip, to talk about other people's faults and mistakes, so that we can feel good about ourselves, so we can feel that we're better, that our lives are more impressive than theirs. This, too, is terribly foolish. Other people's mistakes and other people's faults have nothing to do with us. The fact that our fellow did this or didn't do that says absolutely nothing – nothing! – about how we're doing, about whether we're living our best life, about whether we're on the right track, whether we're fulfilling our unique mission and advancing in our unique journey. Everyone has issues of one kind or another. Everyone is struggling with something. How somebody else is managing with his issues says absolutely nothing about how we're managing with ours. Focusing on other people's struggles accomplishes nothing but diverting our attention away from the work we need to do to overcome our own struggles. Let's stop worrying less about what other people think of us, and what other people are doing, and start worrying more about working to grow, to achieve, and to pursue the goals that we have been brought into the world to achieve.