Insight of the Week

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.

The beginning of Parashat Shemini tells us of the first day that Aharon and his sons served as Kohanim. Hashem commanded that several special sacrifices be offered in honor of this day, one of which was an עגל – a calf – which Aharon was to bring as a sin-offering. The commentaries explain that Aharon was required to sacrifice an עגל to atone for his role in חטא העגל – the sin of the golden calf. As we know, it was Aharon who collected gold from the people and turned it into the image of a calf, which the people worshipped. Aharon needed כפרה (atonement) for this act, and so he was required to bring an עגל as a sacrifice. This raises the question regarding Aharon's role in the story of חטא העגל . Clearly, Aharon was a righteous man who would never worship an idol or encourage others to worship an idol. There is no question that his intentions in this incident were pure. According to some commentators, Aharon saw that the people were insistent on making an idol, and so he went along with the plan to delay the process, hoping that Moshe would return from the top of Mount Sinai in the interim. Nevertheless, despite his good intentions, his actions resulted in a grave חילול ה' , as the nation sinned by worshipping the idol that he created. Therefore, although his intentions were pure, he was held accountable for the way he went about it, which yielded disastrous results. The simple lesson that this incident shows us is that good intentions are not sufficient. Even when we truly want to do the right thing, we need to go about it wisely. We need to think carefully about how to carry out our intentions in the most appropriate and effective manner. Just to give one example, I am sure most if not all of us have had the experience of being at a Shabbat table or social function when people start talking gossip or lashon ha'ra , and there's somebody present who, rightfully, wants no part in this forbidden conversation. Sometimes, the person simply remains quiet and does not participate. But sometimes the person chooses the less intelligent approach of condescendingly criticizing the people, telling them, "Oh, you talk about other people? You talk lashon ha'ra ? I don't talk this way!" His intentions are pure, but he goes about it the totally wrong way, making everyone at the table uncomfortable and upset. This is neither helpful nor constructive. Another example is the well-intentioned but very harmful comments that relatives sometimes make when a young man or woman starts becoming more religiously observant. Almost invariably, there is an aunt or uncle who says something to the effect of, "What's wrong? We're not religious enough for you?" "You're wearing only long skirts now – how will you get married?" "Oh, so you got brainwashed?" "You're going to yeshiva – how do you expect to make a living?" In some cases, the concern is legitimate. It is understandable that family members might be worried about a young person making drastic changes that perhaps they are not prepared for, or decisions that will impact their future in ways that they might not realize. The intentions might very well be pure – but these comments are very destructive. So many young people have told me that the greatest impediment to spiritual growth that they've encountered is the fear of these comments by family members. Here's an example of a well-intentioned comment made in the proper way. I once received a phone call from somebody I never met, who told me that he listens to my classes online. He told me how much he appreciates them and how much he gains from them. He then mentioned to me that he watched a short video message that I had made a couple of days earlier, and that he liked it very much – but there was one thing I said which he thought was not appropriate. And he politely explained to me why he felt that way. I told him how much I appreciated and welcomed his feedback, and especially how he expressed his criticism so respectfully. This is how it is done. If we are legitimately concerned about something and feel that a comment is in order, we need to go about it the right way. The fact that our intentions are sincere does not mean that we can say it however we want. The fact that our concern is legitimate does not make everything we say or do legitimate. Even the great Aharon Ha'kohen needed to atone for doing the right thing, since it was not done in the right way. Let's try to be smart, and not just right, and do the right thing in the right way. Our input is often valuable and necessary – but only if we ensure to say it the right way, with respect, with love, with warmth, and with friendship, showing our genuine concern.

** This week's Derasha is dedicated in memory of Avraham ben Gemilah A"H ** As the child observes during the singing of מה נשתנה , there are two points during the seder when we dip some food before eating it. Early in the seder , after kiddush , we dip the karpas (a piece of vegetable) in saltwater, or vinegar (depending on one's family custom), and later, right before the meal, we dip the marror in haroset . What might these two dippings represent? The Ben Ish Hai explained that the two dippings, which are performed before and after the main part of the seder , correspond to two dippings that in essence bookended the period of exile in Egypt. The first dipping commemorates מכירת יוסף , Yosef's sale as a slave by his brothers, when they dipped his special garment in goat's blood to make it appear as though he was attacked by a wild animal. As we prepare to tell the story of our ancestors' bondage in Egypt, we bring to mind how it started – with hated among brothers, with divisiveness, with jealousy, with brothers turning against one another. Then, after we learn about the process of Yetziat Mitzrayim , we dip a second time to commemorate the night Beneh Yisrael left Egypt. In preparation for this night, they slaughtered a sheep and dipped branches in the blood, which they then smeared on their doorposts. These branches were bound together into a bundle, symbolizing unity, as the people corrected the scourge of hatred and divisiveness that had caused their exile and joined together in peace and harmony. I also saw an additional explanation of the two dippings. The first time, we take the karpas , a tasty vegetable, and dip it into something foul-tasting. The second time, we do just the opposite – we take the bitter marror and dip it into the sweet haroset . The karpas and the marror represent the two different kinds of stages we go through in life. At times, we enjoy " karpas " – good fortune, happiness and success. But we all go through phases of " marror ," of "bitterness." Every person, without exception, struggles at various points in life. Whether it's devastating loss, financial hardships, problems within the family, or challenges with physical or mental health, we all deal with " marror " of one kind or another. The two dippings instruct us how to handle both the joys and the bitterness. During times of joy and good fortune, we need to exercise caution not to become too confident or arrogant. We must not become overly self-assured, certain that we will always enjoy unbridled happiness and success. We must remind ourselves that life is fragile, that we are always vulnerable. The dipping of the karpas into the saltwater thus represents the tempering of our joy, teaching that while we are certainly entitled to enjoy our good fortune, we must ensure not to see ourselves as invincible, or that our continued success is guaranteed. But in times of "bitterness," when we are struggling, when life has taken a wrong turn, when we feel pain, sorrow or anxiety, we need to do the opposite – we need to "dip" these feelings into the " haroset ," and make them "sweeter." We must believe that Hashem is always helping us, and even the direst, most painful situation can be reversed. Instead of wallowing in sadness and self-pity, we need to "sweeten" our feelings through emunah , by reminding ourselves that Hashem is in control. The message of the two dippings, then, is we must never get too high or too low. Both in times of joy and in times of struggle, we need to place our faith in Hashem, and trust that He is managing our lives, and that we can and must always rely only on Him.

This Shabbat we begin reading the Book of Vayikra, much of which deals with the laws of the korbanot , the sacrifices which were offered in the Bet Ha'mikdash . For many of us, these laws seem very difficult to relate to, as the Jewish People have been unable to offer sacrifices for nearly two thousand years, since the destruction of the Bet Ha'mikdash . Ironically, however, the Midrash tells us that it is customary for schoolchildren to begin learning Humash specifically from this book, Sefer Vayikra. Although these laws strike us as dry, uninteresting and irrelevant, and we would never imagine making this part of the Humash the first section to teach our children, the Midrash tells us that this is precisely what should be done. The Midrash explains: הואיל וקרבנות טהורים והתינוקות טהורים, יבואו טהורים ויתעסקו בטהורים . Since the sacrifices are pure, and the children are pure, let the pure ones come and deal with that which is pure. Today, the custom is that when children begin learning Humash , they read the first several pesukim of Sefer Vayikra, and then they are taught the story of creation at the beginning of the Humash . But let us delve a bit deeper into this notion, that the children must be taught the concept of sacrifices already at an early age. A researcher named Dr. K. Anders Ericsson once conducted a major study, involving students at the Berlin Academy of Music. This school trains some of the greatest young musicians in the world, many of whom go on to become the most accomplished people in their fields. Dr. Ericsson studied the work habits of these students, since they began learning music. He and his team found that all of them had begun learning when they were very young, and all worked hard throughout their youth. However, there was a vast difference in the number of hours that the students had devoted to practicing. Some had spent a total of 10,000 hours of practice by the time they were twenty, some around 8,000 hours, and some just 4,000 hours. The researchers discovered that this factor – the number of hours of practice – was the main determinator of the students' level of achievement. Those who invested the most effort were the ones who showed the most promise and were on track to become the world's leading musicians. Natural talent was not nearly as significant a factor as hard work and effort. The most important thing we need to teach our children, already at a young age, is the value of korbanot – sacrifice, exertion, hard work, and effort. If our children get the message that success is determined by natural talent, by how smart a person is, by one's good looks, by the wealth of the family he was born into, or by any other factor other than hard work – we are lowering their chances of success. King Shlomo says in the Book of Mishleh (24:30-31): על שדה איש עצל עברתי, ועל כרם אדם חסר לב – "I passed the field of a lazy man, and the vineyard of a person without a heart." He then proceeds to describe how it looked: overgrown, abandoned, and in ruins. The lazy person's field does not produce much, if anything. There are so many people in our society – even adults in their 20s, 30s and 40s – whose lives look like these fields, who fail to produce, because they were never taught about the central importance of korbanot , of making sacrifices – giving our time, our energy, our attention, and our money for the sake of pursuing valuable and ambitious goals. This message needs to be taught to our children when they are still טהורים , when they are very young and still developing their habits. The earlier in life children learn this message, the easier it will be for them when they grow older to make the sacrifices and effort that they need to make in order to succeed and maximize their potential.

After the people in charge of building the Mishkan completed their work, they brought it to Moshe. The Torah relates: וירא משה את כל המלאכה והנה עשו אתה כאשר צוה ה' כן עשו ויברך אתם משה. Moshe saw all the work – and behold, they had done it as Hashem had commanded, so did they do it. Moshe blessed them . Rashi tells us what blessing Moshe gave the people. He said: יהי רצון שתשרה שכינה במעשה ידיכם – "May it be the will that the Shechinah shall reside in your handiwork." At first glance, this means that Moshe prayed that the Shechinah , the divine presence, should dwell in the Mishkan . This prayer seems very puzzling. After all, Hashem had stated very clearly when He first commanded the people to construct a Mishkan that He would dwell within it – ועשו לי מקדש ושכנתי בתוכם ("They shall make for Me a sanctuary, and I will then reside among them" – Shemot 25:8). Once Moshe saw that the people constructed the Mishkan properly, he should have known that the Shechinah would come to reside within it, because this is precisely what Hashem had promised. He did not need to pray for this to happen. Rashi's comments seem difficult also for another reason. Normally, when we offer a prayer that begins with the words יהי רצון ("May it be the will"), we explain that we are talking about Hashem's will. We add, יהי רצון מלפניך ה' אלוקינו ואלוקי אבותינו – "May it be the will before You, Hashem our G-d, and G-d of our forefathers," or something to this effect. In Moshe's prayer, however, as Rashi writes it, he simply said, יהי רצון , without specifying whose "will" this should be. The Ketav Sofer answers these two questions by presenting an entirely new reading of Rashi's comment. Moshe was not praying to Hashem, but was rather guiding and instructing the people. He was telling them that their will should be that the Shechina should reside among them. He was blessing them that מעשה ידיכם , everything they do, should be done with the hope of bringing Hashem into their lives. In everything they do, even their ordinary, mundane affairs, their primary goal and aspiration should be connecting to Hashem. If we would ask people what they think about Rabbis, and the role of a Rabbi, we would receive many different responses. At one extreme, some people think that Rabbis are perfect, infallible figures who speak absolute truth all the time, and cannot ever make mistakes or be challenged. On the opposite extreme, people dismiss Rabbis as charlatans, driven solely by personal agendas and politics. In the middle, we find people who view Rabbis as formal functionaries, whom they call when their child is getting married to perform the ceremony. Others think that a Rabbi's job is to provide halachic guidance, and no more. I believe that the insight of the Ketav Sofer shows us what a Rabbi is supposed to be, and why we all need a Rabbi to look up to and learn from. A real Rabbi is someone whose primary ambition is שתשרה שכינה במעשה ידיכם – to bring Hashem in their lives. A real Rabbi is someone who works very hard, and makes considerable personal sacrifices, to achieve this goal, to immerse himself in Torah study, to selflessly help other people, and to serve Hashem and the His beloved nation. This is what being a Rabbi means. It doesn't mean that he is perfect, that he never makes a mistake, that he never says the wrong thing, that he doesn't have an ego, that he does not struggle with the vices and temptations that all human beings struggle with. It just means that his primary goal, for which he invests a great deal of time and effort, and for which he makes a great deal of personal sacrifices, is to bring the Shechinah into his life, to connect with Hashem. He might occasionally err, but he is constantly striving for spiritual greatness, and this is his main ambition in life. And this is why we all need a Rabbi – to help us redirect our focus and attention. It is so easy in our world to lose sight of our purpose, to get distracted by materialism, to pursue vanity instead of what really matters. We all need someone who will set an example of the רצון שתשרה שכינה , the desire to connect with Hashem, to strive for something far greater than the ordinary, mundane things that we get bogged down with. This is the role model we should be looking for, and the role model that we need, so that in all מעשה ידיכם , in everything we do, we have our priorities straight and understand the purpose for which we were brought into the world.

Parashat Vayakhel tells of the construction of the Mishkan , the site that represented Hashem's residence among the people. In the center of this structure stood the aron , the ark, and it was from atop the aron that Hashem would speak to Moshe Rabbenu. The aron was made from wood, with gold plating on the interior and the exterior. Meaning, the aron had three layers: the gold on the outside, which is what people saw; the golden interior; and the wood in the middle. The Gemara in Masechet Yoma teaches that the two layers of gold plating convey to us a crucial lesson – that a Torah scholar must have the quality of תוכו כברו – "his inside is like his outside." His interior must match the piety and religious devotion that he projects externally. The image that he presents to the people around him must be an accurate reflection of who he really is inside. But if this is true, then why isn't the aron made entirely of gold? If the Torah wants the aron to represent the quality of תוכו כברו , then why doesn't it require making the aron pure gold, to symbolize that a talmid hacham should be "pure gold," inside and out? The answer is, quite simply, that nobody is perfect. The aron shows us that we all have "three layers" to our beings. The first is our exterior, our appearance, the way we present ourselves, the way people see us. The second is the "wood." This refers to our embarrassing faults, our mistakes and our mess-ups, that probably only our immediate family members know about. We all have a part of us that isn't "gold," that is flawed and far from perfect. But the main thing is to ensure that our interior, the innermost part of our beings, is truly "gold." This refers to our core identity. Yes, we are going to make mistakes, we are going to mess up from time to time. But the question is what kind of person we identify as, how we define ourselves. It's ok to have "wood" – as long as our inner beings are "gold," as long as we identify ourselves as genuinely Torah-committed Jews, and we strive to live in a way that reflects that "golden" identity. It is common to refer to a Torah-committed boy as a ben Torah – literally, "son of Torah" – and to a Torah-committed girl as a bat Torah – literally, "daughter of Torah." No matter what a person does, he cannot ever change the fact that he or she is his or her parents' child. Our biological relationship to our parents is a permanent and unalterable part of our identity. Similarly, we should be aspiring to be a " ben Torah " or " bat Torah ," a "child" of Torah. Our commitment to Torah must be a core element of our identity, of who we are, that will never change, even if we occasionally slip. We are going to make mistakes. And, living in our world, with all the lures and all the crazy influences all around us, we are going to be tested. The key to our success as Torah Jews is maintaining our core identity, defining ourselves as Torah Jews. Once we firmly establish that we are Hashem's children, that we are members of His special nation, that we are the ones who received the Torah, which offers us the opportunity to live the most meaningful and beautiful lives possible, then we can withstand every challenge, and we can recover from every failure. The most important thing for us is to make sure that our interior is "gold," that our commitment is genuine and real.

**This week's essay is dedicated in memory of Rosa bat Shafia** The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tisa makes the following brief comment about Yehoshua, the closest disciple and trusted attendant of Moshe Rabbenu: ומשרתו יהושע בן נון נער לא ימיש מתוך האוהל – "…and his servant, the young lad Yehoshua bin Nun, did not budge from inside the tent" (33:11). Yehoshua remained in Moshe Rabbenu's tent, his study hall, at all times, without ever leaving. One of the commentators takes note of the fact that Yehoshua is referred to here as a נער , a term that normally denotes youth. If we make the calculation based on what we know about Yehoshua's life, it turns out that Yehoshua at this point was actually 56 years old. Why would a man this age be called a נער ? The answer is that the Torah here refers not to Yehoshua's age, but to his humility and desire to learn. Yehoshua was always learning from Moshe Rabbenu, even at an advanced age. He didn't grow "old" and set in his ways. He was open and receptive to new information, to criticism, to feedback, to challenges to his old assumptions. This is what made him Moshe's greatest disciple, and what made him suitable to succeed Moshe as the next leader of Beneh Yisrael . To see just how important a quality this is, let's go back several parashiyot , to Parashat Yitro. That parashah tells of Matan Torah , Hashem's revelation to our ancestors at Mount Sinai, but before it does, it first relates a story involving Yitro, Moshe's father-in-law. Yitro had belonged to a different nation, the nation of Midyan, but after hearing of the miracles that Hashem performed for Beneh Yisrael , Yitro came to join them. The Torah tells that Yitro observed how Moshe Rabbenu sat the entire day tending to the people's issues, singlehandedly resolving all their conflicts. Yitro urged Moshe to appoint other judges to shoulder this burden with him, so he would not have to deal with all the people's problems by himself. Moshe accepted Yitro's advice, and right away appointed a network of judges. The Torah presents this story before the story of Matan Torah to explain why Moshe was chosen for the role of bringing the Torah from the heavens to Beneh Yisrael – because he had the humility to listen, to accept feedback even if it was not pleasant – and even from an outside – to acknowledge that he could do things better. This is what made him the outstanding leader and teacher that he was. We naturally hate hearing negative feedback. We get very defensive when people criticize us. The reason is that we don't want to acknowledge that we do things wrong, that we have a lot to learn, that we need other people's advice and guidance. And so we reject it, convincing ourselves – and trying to convince the person giving the criticism – that we were right and they were wrong. But if we are going to excel, we need to be open to feedback, even negative feedback. Whether it's from a friend, a spouse, a parent, a coworker, or even, at times, a child, we mustn't be so quick to reject criticism. To the contrary, it is precisely by being humbly receptive to criticism that we can grow and improve ourselves. Many years ago, my father gave me one of my first speaking jobs, asking me to speak at se'udah shelishit every Shabbat during the summer in his shul in Deal. I was young and inexperienced, and I was very nervous. But I thought I did the job fairly well, and I received a good deal of positive feedback. But one Shabbat, after se'udah shelishit , a man – who was a prominent member of the community – asked me to sit down with him. He told me that my speech was one of the worst he had ever heard. He threw in a very nice compliment, but he went on and on about everything I did wrong. He said that I tried to be funny but I wasn't, that the devar Torah was not relatable, and that I kept talking about "the good old days" which was insulting. He went on and on for about ten minutes. When our meeting ended, I was almost in tears. I couldn't function for the next three days. I was so pained by his critique. Looking back many years later, I realize that most of what he said was correct. True, he spoke too harshly, and could have and should have done this differently, in a less brutal way. But in retrospect, I realized that I gained a great deal from his critique. It made me a better speaker. Let's not be afraid to be wrong. No person is perfect. No person gets everything right. It's ok if our spouse, our boss, our coworker, our friend, or somebody else finds fault in something we said or did. Instead of rejecting it, we should give the feedback serious consideration, take it to heart, and turn it into a learning experience – because this is exactly how we will grow and become greater.

לך כנוס את כל היהודים Purim & Unity In presenting to Ahashverosh his plan to annihilate the Jewish Nation, Haman said: ישנו עם אחד מפוזר ומפורד בין העמים בכל מדינות מלכותך...ואת דתי המלך אינם עושים ולמלך אין שוה להניחם. There is one nation that is dispersed and scattered among all the provinces of your kingdom…and they do not follow the king's rules, and so it is not worth it for the king to keep them . (3:8) To understand the deeper meaning of Haman's statement, let us look at a story told by the Gemara in Masechet Baba Batra, of an exchange between Rabbi Akiva and a Roman officer named Turnus-Rufus. The officer posed to Rabbi Akiva a number of philosophical questions in an attempt to undermine Judaism, including the question of why Hashem does not care for the needy. Rabbi Akiva replied that Hashem expects the rest of us to care for the needy by giving charity, as in this way we earn merit. Turnus-Rufus then countered that to the contrary, people should be punished for supporting the poor. He explained that if a king was angry at one of his servants, and sent him to jail, ordering all his subjects not to feed him, surely anyone who fed the servant in defiance of the royal edict would be put to death. Similarly, if Hashem condemned a person to poverty, those who defy this decree by helping the pauper should deserve to be punished! Rabbi Akiva explained that this analogy would be accurate if we were only Hashem's servants. But we are not just His servants – we are also His children, whom He loves unconditionally. And if a king becomes angry at his son, and orders that he must not be given food, undoubtedly, one who feeds the son in defiance of the king will not only not be punished – but will be handsomely rewarded. By the same token, Rabbi Akiva said, Hashem loves and rewards us when we extend ourselves to help His children whom He had condemned to poverty. Haman, it seems, made the same mistake as Turnus-Rufus. He told Ahashverosh that the Jews were מפוזר מפורד בין העמים – dispersed among the nations, in exile, due to their sins. Indeed, ואת דתי המלך אינם עושים – they were not observing the laws decreed by the "king" – referring to the King of the universe, Hashem. The Jews were not loyal to the Torah, and so למלך אין שוה להניחם – there was no reason for Hashem to keep them. Haman assumed that he could destroy the Jews because they were not committed to Hashem, as evidenced by their dispersion among the other nations in exile. But Ester knew that this wasn't true. She knew that the Jews were Hashem's children, and He loved them despite their mistakes, even though they had not been observing the Torah the way they were supposed to. And to prove this, she instructed לך כנוס את כל היהודים – that all the Jews should assemble, should join together. If we are Hashem's children, then, necessarily, we are all siblings. Thus, in order to demonstrate that we are Hashem's children and worthy of His unconditional love, we must all come together with אחדות , with unity. The question then becomes, what exactly is "unity"? This is a word that often gets thrown around, but what does it really mean? And how is it achieved? The answer is that אחדות means unifying for a greater cause, realizing that not everything is about me, about my personal agendas, about my own interests. When the Jews of Persia joined together, this was very clear to them. They understood that the future of the Jewish Nation was at stake, that their own personal interests at this moment meant nothing. This was the quintessential אחדות moment – when the Jews all transcended their personal egotistical concerns, and joined together for a higher cause. This is the example of אחדות that we need to emulate in our lives, as well. And it's a lot more difficult than it sounds. When two sisters or sisters-in-law make a sheva berachot , and one takes credit for it, the other has to remind herself that this isn't about her, about her credit, but rather about the great joy of the new couple. When people are working together on some project for a shul, or a fundraiser, and one gets more attention than the other, the other has to remind himself that this isn't about him, it's about the lofty purpose that he was seeking to achieve. Unity when assembling for a Tehillim recitation on behalf of fellow Jews in distress is not very difficult. The greater cause for which we assemble is very clear. But unity when we feel hurt by a family member or friend can be brutal. We need to realize, though, that it is specifically at such times when our commitment to אחדות comes to the fore. It is then when we have the opportunity to show that the real story is the Jewish Nation, and our Torah values, not our ego, our prestige, or our own selfish interests. לך כנוס את כל היהודים . Let us all join together like siblings who put aside their differences for the sake of the family, and then we will be worthy of Hashem's unconditional love.

**This Week's Essay is in Memory of RACHEL Bat SARAH** Parashat Terumah tells of the construction of the Mishkan , the place where Beneh Yisrael offered sacrifices to Hashem in the desert and until the Bet Ha'mikdash was built. The commentaries explain that the Mishkan is symbolic of the way we are to bring Hashem's presence into our lives. The Mishkan was the place where Hashem resided among the people, but it represents the work that we need to do to have Hashem reside with us each and every day of our lives. Therefore, when we study the details of the Mishkan , we should expect these details to instruct us about the proper way to live. The parashah begins with Hashem listing all the materials that Beneh Yisrael needed to donate for this project. The list includes things like precious metals – gold, silver and copper – wood, and fabrics. Surprisingly, this list also mentions שמן למאור – oil for the kindling of the menorah . The reason why this is surprising is that the oil was not needed for the construction of the Mishkan – it was needed only after the Mishkan was built. The Torah did not include in this list animals for the various sacrifices, or flour for baking the bread that was placed on the shulhan (table) in the Mishkan . But for some reason, it did include here the oil for the menorah . Apparently, as one of the commentaries explains, the lighting of the menorah was not just something done in the Mishkan , but was part of the building process . Even after the entire structure and all its furnishings were fully built, it was not really finished until the menorah was lit. Therefore, the oil for the lighting is considered one of the building materials – because without it, without the light of the menorah , the Mishkan was not actually completed. The reason is that a house is not a house without light. It can have plenty of otherwise comfortable rooms, lots of furniture, and all the usual appliances, but without light, it's not really a home. The house is not considered "built" if there are no lights. The same is true about life. There are many things that go into "building" a happy, meaningful life. Most people would say that a fulfilling life should include marriage, children, a home, income, Torah study and observance, and perhaps some hobbies. However, even if all these are present, a person's life is not complete without "light." There is one thing that we all need and that without which, we are living "in the dark." What is this "light" that we're referring to? The story is told of a woman named Leah Teitelbaum, who lived in Hungary during World War II. When the Nazis came, she and thousands of other Jews were packed onto cattle cars that made their way to the concentration camps. Along the way, the train made a few stops. During one stop, after the people got off the train, a group of men decided to make a minyan for minchah , realizing that this might likely be their last opportunity to pray. A group of women, including Mrs. Teitelbaum, gathered to the side to pray with them. When the Nazi officers saw the Jews praying, they became very angry, and they shouted at them furiously. The group quickly dispersed in a panic – except Mrs. Teitelbaum. She continued praying, her eyes closed, as though nothing was happening around her. The guards surrounded her, shouted, and pointed their guns at her, but she just continued praying. When she finished praying, she opened her eyes, and saw guards pointing their guns at her. She immediately fainted. Later, someone who witnessed the scene asked her about what happened. Why did she continue praying instead of running away? Mrs. Teitelbaum explained that she didn't hear anything. "When we pray," she said, "we pray." She was fully present and focused on her tefillah . She was oblivious to everything going on around her. Miraculously, she survived the war. This is the "light" that so many of us are missing. We have everything that life is supposed to have – a family, a home, a livelihood, a community, friends, Torah and mitzvot , and so much more. But we aren't present. We aren't focused on what we're doing. We aren't experiencing all the goodness, we aren't enjoying all that we have. There are different reasons why. Some are too busy, constantly running from thing to the next. Some have one problem that overwhelms them so they can't think of anything else. Some overthink things, creating problems or turning small problems into big problems. Some are consumed by jealousy. Some are afflicted with anxiety. Some have an addiction to technology or to something else. Whatever the cause, too many of us aren't present in our lives. We live in the "dark," without joy and without fulfillment, because we're either too distracted or too busy to enjoy all that we have. I remember once meeting with a couple about a problem they had with a certain relative. After discussing the problem with them and offering some advice, as we were wrapping up, I turned to them and I said, "I just want you to realize what an amazing life you have." They had a beautiful marriage, wonderful children, and a comfortable livelihood. Without minimizing for a minute the challenge that they were dealing with, which was a real problem, I wanted to make sure that they were still able to enjoy the blessings in their lives. We need to recognize that there is no such thing as a perfect life. There is not one person I have ever met whose life is perfect, who does not struggle with some problem, or with several problems. If we cannot enjoy life until life is perfect, then we will never enjoy life. We need to embrace our life even with the challenges we face, even with the struggles that we have. If we don't, then we'll be living in the dark. So let's turn on the "light" by always being present and enjoying life the way it is at every moment.

Parashat Mishpatim begins with the subject of עבד עברי – the Jewish servant. In ancient times, there were certain situations in which a person who fell into financial straits would sell himself as a servant. The Torah commands that the master must release the servant after six years. However, if the servant says that he likes the arrangement, and he is happy with his master, then he may remain. In such a case, the Torah says, the master must drill a hole through the servant's ear. Rashi (21:6), based on the Gemara, explains that this act is intended as a punishment for the servant. His ear heard Hashem proclaim at Har Sinai , כי לי בני ישראל עבדים – that Beneh Yisrael are servants only of Hashem, and not of other human beings. And yet, despite hearing this pronouncement, the servant decided he wanted to remain in servitude when he was allowed to go free – and so the ear that heard this proclamation is pierced. Rashi here is teaching us something exceptionally profound, and exceedingly relevant to each and every one of us. He is telling us that we are not allowed to become "slaves" to anyone or anything else but Hashem. Nobody and nothing is ever allowed to take control of us. To develop this point further, let us examine a fascinating comment by the Midrash regarding the creation of Adam. The Midrash states that when Adam was first created, he had the ability to see מסוף העולם ועד סופו – from one end of the world to the other. This means that the human is created with vast capabilities. Our potential is far greater than we can ever imagine. When we look at the remarkable creations and inventions that human beings have come up with, we need to realize that people are actually capable of far more than that. We are many times more powerful and capable than we think. The thing that limits us, that holds us back from maximizing this vast potential, is our "slavery" to nonsense. We become subservient to things which are worthless, which have zero value, but which somehow hold us in their grip and prevent us from achieving all that we're capable of achieving. And never has this been truer than today. In order for the entertainment industry to sustain itself, it needs to bring in trillions of dollars. And the only way it can bring in trillions of dollars is by "enslaving" us. The industry invests enormous amounts of time, money, personnel and ingenuity to make nonsense seem important. We need only to look at the estimates of how many millions of Americans watch the Superbowl, and how many millions bet significant sums of money on this game. Whether it's sports, movies, television series, or celebrity culture – there is a concentrated effort to draw us in, to grab our attention, to get interested in utter nonsense. A person picks up his phone to send an important message – and then ends up spending an hour – or more – looking at all kinds of video clips, memes, and other media that do absolutely nothing for him. He has become a slave to the industries that need his attention in order to make money. We need to remind ourselves that we are so much greater than this. We are human beings, endowed with the divine image, and we are Jews, members of Hashem's special nation, whom He charged with a special mission. Can we imagine any distinguished Rabbi or leading communal figure spending hours watching funny videos on his phone? Well, we, too, are distinguished and important. We are capable of greatness, we can achieve extraordinary things – but we don't because we are pulled away from what matters by things that do not matter at all. Of course, we all need a little entertainment in our lives. There's nothing wrong with some amusement, some laughs, and some distractions. But, as our parashah teaches us, the problem is when we become slaves to the entertainment, when it takes over our lives, and pulls us away from the greatness that we are capable of achieving, and which we are meant to achieve. The Gemara in Masechet Sukkah teaches that in the next world, the sinners will see the yetzer ha'ra – the evil inclination that led them to sin – and it will appear to them as a tiny thread of hair. They will then be overcome by shame and regret, wondering how they were defeated by something so tiny and so minuscule. This is precisely the yetzer ha'ra 's strategy – making a "thread of hair" seem big, important, formidable, worthy of our time and our attention. In the next world, we will see how so many things that we were subservient to, that we allowed to consume our time and our minds, were really just a "thread," so meaningless, so unimportant, so bereft of value. Let's not wait till the next world. Let's already now have the clarity to identify meaninglessness, to recognize the nonsense around us, and not let it take us away from our pursuit of greatness.

Parashat Yitro describes a situation that is quite common – a father-in-law giving his son-in-law unsolicited advice. Yitro – the father of Moshe Rabbenu's wife, Tzippora – observed how Moshe sat all day as the people lined up to consult with him, specifically, to resolve their disputes. This worried Yitro, who warned Moshe that such an arrangement could be harmful to Moshe. He therefore advised Moshe to appoint judges who would help him shoulder this burden of responsibility. They – not him – would advise the people, and only the more difficult questions would come to Moshe for him to decide. Notably, Moshe accepted Yitro's advice, and appointed a network of judges. Seeking advice is critically important. Somebody who doesn't seek advice, who always acts upon his own thoughts and decisions, is living in an island in his own head. If a person thinks he's smarter and knows better than everyone else is, in all likelihood, a fool. However, we must be very careful when seeking advice. For one thing, we need to exercise discretion, and not allow ourselves to take advice from everybody and anybody. Too many people offer "drive-thru" advice, just blurting out recommendations and suggestions without knowing anything about us, or about the situation. Telling someone to get married at a young age because "the finances will work out, don't worry," without knowing anything about the person's situation, is not necessarily great advice. The same goes for advice about what career to pursue, what schools to enroll one's children in, and so on. "Off-the-cuff" advice given by somebody who doesn't have much knowledge about the person he or she is advising should be taken with a healthy dose of skepticism. But there is also a more fundamental concern when it comes to advice, one which is developed by Rav Shlomo Wolbe, in a fascinating passage in Aleh Shur . Rav Wolbe laments the practice that many people have to immediately turn to a friend whenever they encounter any sort of question, whenever they are uncertain about how to proceed. This habit, Rav Wolbe writes, prevents a person from becoming wise. The proper approach is to first analyze both sides of the question, weigh the pros and cons of each option, and then reach a decision. Afterward, one should bring his question, and his decision, to his fellow to receive his advice. If a person never develops the skill of decision-making, of reaching his own conclusions, then he will never live an authentic life. He will instead be living the life that other people tell him to live, without actualizing his unique potential and being the unique person that he's supposed to be. Significantly, Yitro began his advice to Moshe by telling him the following: והזהרתה אתהם את החוקים ואת התורות, והודעת להם את הדרך ילכו בה, ואת המעשה אשר יעשון. You shall warn them of the statutes and the laws, and you shall inform them of the path they should follow, and the actions that they should perform. (18:20) Yitro was concerned not only about Moshe's wellbeing, but also about the nation asking him for too much advice. He was worried about Moshe working too hard – but also that the people were coming to him right away with their problems, without first trying to work it out themselves. Therefore, his advice to Moshe was not only to appoint others to assist him – but also to instruct the people, to impart to them knowledge and wisdom, to explain to them how Hashem wants us to live our lives. This will encourage them to first look for the answers themselves before seeking advice. As we mentioned earlier, it is vitally important to get advice, to be open-minded, to recognize that we don't have all the answers, and that we can often benefit from other people's experience and perspectives. At the same time, however, we need to be careful not to outsource our lives, not to leave all our decisions in the hands of people who don't really know us and what we're going through. In a famous pasuk in the Book of Mishleh (19:21), King Shlomo teaches, רבות מחשבות בלב איש, ועצת ה' היא תקום – "There are many thoughts in a man's heart, but it is the counsel of G-d that will prevail." The common understanding of this pasuk is that as much as we plan and strive to do certain things, ultimately, it is the will of Hashem that materializes. Rav Wolbe, however, offers a deeper explanation of this pasuk. He explains that we have many "thoughts," many different ideas, questions about whether we should do X or Y. But more often than not, we know what עצת ה' is, what it is that Hashem wants of us. When we sort through the various מחשבות , the many different thoughts and ideas, it is not difficult to determine עצת ה' , the right decision to make, the right thing to do. Very often, when we face some uncertainty, we actually know the answer. It's just a matter of being honest with ourselves and recognizing what Hashem wants of us. As important as it is to be open to advice – it is no less important to know when we don't need advice, and when we need instead to listen to the עצת ה' , to have the strength and conviction to do what we know we should do.

In the beginning of Parashat Beshalah, we are told that as Beneh Yisrael left Egypt, Moshe made a point of bringing with him Yosef's remains. Many years earlier, before Yosef died, he made his brothers promise that they would bring his remains with them out of Egypt, so he could be buried in the Land of Israel. This promise was fulfilled through Moshe Rabbenu, who retrieved Yosef's remains at the time of Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt). The Gemara in Masechet Sotah (13a) applies to Moshe Rabbenu the pasuk in the Book of Mishleh (10:8), חכם לב יקח מצוות – "The wise-hearted takes mitzvot ." Whereas the rest of the nation was busy collecting the riches of the Egyptians to bring with them out of Egypt, Moshe was preoccupied with the mitzvah of tending to Yosef's remains. Many commentators ask the question of why the Gemara speaks in such praise of Moshe for retrieving Yosef's remains. After all, Hashem had explicitly commanded the people before Yetziat Mitzrayim to take the Egyptians' belongings with them. Collecting the spoils of Egypt was also a mitzvah . Why, then, was Moshe deserving of special praise for tending to the mitzvah of retrieving Moshe's remains – if all Beneh Yisrael were also involved in a mitzvah ? To answer this question, let us take an honest – and uncomfortable – look at something that many of us are occasionally guilty of. And that is – failing to sufficiently concern ourselves with other people. Why is it that sometimes, when we hear of somebody going through a hard time, we just forget about it, and go back to our own affairs? Worse, why do we sometimes find ourselves feeling a bit of satisfaction hearing about other people's struggles, especially if this is somebody who always seemed to have the "perfect" life (as if such a thing exists)? Why is it sometimes so hard to feel genuine empathy, and share in the pain or grief of others? The answer is not that we're bad people, or even that we're selfish people. We all of course understand the value of empathy and concern for our fellow, of hesed , of lending a helping hand, of extending beyond ourselves to help people. But doing so is a challenge for the simple reason that we are, legitimately, busy and stressed with our own needs and our own concerns. We all have pressures, we all have stress, we all have things that we're worried about, that we're upset about, that are weighing heavily on our minds. And so it's hard for us to allocate some of our headspace for the needs of the people around us. This might explain the Gemara's comment about Moshe Rabbenu. The rest of the nation was busy collecting the riches of Egypt, as they were supposed to, but Moshe went beyond that. He had the wisdom – חכם לב – to at the same time look out for what other people needed. Even amid the tumult and hustle-and-bustle of Yetziat Mitzrayim , his mind was thinking not only of himself, but also of others, and about Am Yisrael generally. A pasuk in Tehillim (114:3) – which is included in the text of Hallel – describes, הים ראה וינוס – "The sea saw and fled." Before the sea split for Beneh Yisrael to cross, it "saw" something. The Midrash comments that the sea "saw" Yosef's bones. It was in the merit of Moshe's care and concern, his ability to look beyond his own needs and concerns, and to take in consideration the greater good and the needs of the Jewish People, that this great miracle occurred. When we wake up in the morning and begin our day, we are usually thinking about the things we need to get done that day, or the things that we are worried about. This is perfectly legitimate – but imagine what our lives would be like if we also asked ourselves every morning, "What does Am Yisrael need from me today? In what way can I make the world better today? What can I do for other people today? Where might I be needed today?" Perhaps there's a friend or relative who could use a friendly phone call or visit. Perhaps there's an organization or project that can use some volunteer work, an extra pair of hands. Perhaps it's a single parent who can use a favor, or an invitation. Just imagine what our lives – and our community and our nation – would look like if we started our day asking ourselves these questions. Let us learn from the "wisdom" of Moshe Rabbenu – and find the time, despite our busy schedule, to look out for other people!

Parashat Bo begins with Hashem commanding Moshe to return to Pharoah to warn him about the eighth plague, the plague of locusts. Moshe, as we know, had already been to Pharaoh many times, warning about the plagues that would befall him if he continued refusing to let Beneh Yisrael leave. Pharaoh repeatedly agreed to let the people leave, but then changed his mind each time after the plague ended. The commentaries note something unusual about the command in the beginning of our parashah : בא אל פרעה . Literally, this means, "Come to Pharaoh." Naturally, we would expect Hashem to tell Moshe to go to Pharaoh. What is the meaning of the command בא אל פרעה – " Come to Pharaoh"? The Rabbis give a very powerful, and relevant, answer to this question. Moshe was now about the begin the final stage of the process of Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt). He was going to warn of the final three plagues, which were the most devastating: the locusts, which destroyed all the remaining food; darkness, which prevented the Egyptians from even just moving about; and the plague of the firstborn, whereby every single family in Egypt suffered a casualty. Moshe was, understandably, reluctant. He felt intimidated, having to confront Pharaoh and warn of nationwide catastrophes. Hashem therefore told Moshe not to go to Pharaoh, but rather to come with Him to Pharaoh. This pasuk should be read to mean, "Come with Me, Moshe… You're not going alone. I'm coming with you. I'll be there the whole time. Don't be afraid." Many of us have likely considered undertaking some bold, ambitious project, but decided that it was too difficult. Perhaps it was a personal learning project, like joining Daf Yomi. Perhaps it was launching a new hesed initiative, or a meaningful community event or program. Perhaps it was a decision to enhance something at home within the family. When we feel intimidated, or fear that we might not be capable, we need to hear Hashem calling us and saying, בא – to come with Him. We need to remember that we are not doing this alone – He will be there helping us at every step of the way. Later in the Humash, we read about the spies whom Moshe sent to survey the Land of Israel, and who came back with a frightening report. They told the people about the large, powerful armies of the land's inhabitants, and the people were very scared. They felt they could not possibly capture the land, and so they thought they should return to Egypt. At that point, one of the two dissenting spies, Kalev, stood up and said, עלה נעלה וירשנו אותה, כי יכול נוכל לה – "Let us go up and take possession of it, because we can surely take it!" (Bamidbar 13:30). Rashi explains that Kalev was telling the people, "Even if Moshe tells us to climb to the heavens, and to make ladders to get there – we will do it!" Sometimes it seems that our goals and aspirations are in the "heavens," they're just too much for us, beyond our reach. Rashi here teaches us to just get started, to go ahead and bring the first ladder, and the next, and then the next – and let Hashem figure out the rest. One of the most fascinating Rabbis in Israel today is Rav Yitzchak Grossman. He grew up in the Meah Shearim neighborhood of Yerushalayim, and after Israel's astounding victory in 1967, during which the Israeli army captured Yerushalayim's Old City, he went to pray at the Kotel for the first time. He was a young yeshiva boy, and he was overcome by joy and excitement over the great gift Hashem had just given the Jewish People. He decided as he was there that he needed to give something back, to do something for Hashem in gratitude for this victory. He had the idea of opening a yeshiva in a place that needed it the most, an area plagued by poverty, crime, drugs and alcohol. He left Meah Shearim and went to a poor town in northern Israel called Migdal Ha'eimek. When he arrived, he was told that the local youth spend their evenings in the disco. So this young Rabbi, who grew up in what is probably the most sheltered religious Jewish neighborhood on earth, who never learned anything about outreach, went to the disco fully dressed in his Rabbinic garb. The only skill he had was his heart, his genuine desire to reach out and inspire Jewish youth. He would eventually be given the nickname "the Disco Rabbi," and some 40,000 students have learned in his yeshiva and emerged as Torah-committed adults. Rav Grossman at the time had no idea how he would do this. But he had a plan, and he brought the "ladders" to put the plan into action. Hashem did the rest, and made his project wildly successful. Whenever we feel that we can't, we need to remember that this would be true only if we were going at it alone – which we aren't. We are working together with Hashem, and He is helping us succeed. We need to just get started, and He'll then step in to make it work.

Parashat Vaera begins with Hashem's response to Moshe Rabbenu, who, in the final pesukim of last week's parashah , expressed his angst over the plight of Beneh Yisrael in Egypt. Hashem had sent him to Pharoah to demand that he allow Beneh Yisrael to leave, but Pharaoh not only refused, but made things much worse – ordering that Beneh Yisrael would now have to find their own straw for bricks, but produce the same number of bricks every day. Moshe cried to Hashem, and Hashem replied: וארא אל אברהם אל יצחק ואל יעקב בקל שד-י, ושמי ה' לא נודעתי להם. Hashem told Moshe that he had appeared to the avot (patriarchs) – Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov – with the Name קל שד-י , but not with the Name Havayah (the Name spelled yud , heh , vav and heh ). Most of the commentators explain that Havayah is the Name of Hashem that signifies His mercy and compassion, and this was not shown to the avot . Hashem made promises to each of the avot , assuring them that a great nation would emerge from them, which would reside in the Land of Israel. But none of the avot ever saw this happen; each of them died well before there was an Am Yisrael residing in Eretz Yisrael . Nevertheless, they did not question or challenge Hashem. They lived with firm belief that these promises would eventually be fulfilled. The secret to this faith can be found in a pasuk in last week's parashah , Parashat Shemot. When Hashem first appeared to Moshe in the burning bush, and commanded him to return to Egypt and inform Beneh Yisrael that they would soon be leaving, He told Moshe to convey to them that His Name was אהיה אשר אהיה – "I shall be that which I shall be" (3:14). What is the meaning if this Name – אהיה אשר אהיה ? The word אהיה is in the future tense. It means that whatever is happening now, things will be better in the future. This Name holds the secret of Jewish optimism. Hashem was telling Moshe that even in the darkest periods, the Jewish People must continue holding onto this belief – that things can and will turn around for the better. We have always lived with this spirit of hope and positivity, knowing that no matter what we're going through, Hashem is holding our hand and will get us through it. We don't break or give up. We hold our heads high, and handle whatever life throws our way with the confidence that a brighter future awaits. This is the secret to the faith of the avot . They did not see the fulfillment of Hashem's promises, but they believed with all their hearts that these promises would eventually be fulfilled. I saw this optimism on full display when I visited Israel in the midst of the war, several months after October 7 th . I visited, among other places, the ruins of Be'eri, the site of the Nova festival massacre, and the ward of Tel Hashomer hospital where wounded soldiers are treated – many of whom are missing limbs. Wherever I went, I was amazed by the spirit of the Israeli people, by their hope and optimism. Despite all they had gone through, they were smiling. I spoke with a wounded IDF soldier who had lost a leg and who told me with a big smile that he was so grateful to be alive, and that he wished he could return to battle to continue the fight. This is the meaning of אהיה אשר אהיה – the unwavering belief that no matter how bad things seem now, no matter what we're struggling with, Hashem is with us, and He will get us through this and turn things around for the better. Let us try to cling to this faith, to always believe in the future even when today is challenging, and to trust that Hashem is always holding our hand and helping us at every step along the way.

Hashem's first prophecy to Moshe Rabbenu occurred at the "burning bush." While tending to his father-in-law's flocks, Moshe came across an unusual sight – a bush that was on fire, but was not being consumed. He stepped toward the bush to get a closer look, and then Hashem spoke to him. He commanded Moshe, אל תקרב הלום – not to step any closer, and to take off his shoes, because the ground he was standing on was sacred. Hashem proceeded to instruct Moshe to return to Egypt and begin the process of leading Beneh Yisrael out of bondage. What is the significance of this vision – a burning bush – and why was Moshe told to remove his shoes? Moshe lived in Midyan, but was well aware of the suffering endured by his people back in Egypt. And in his mind, they had no hope of being saved. They were enslaved by the most powerful empire on earth, and they had no merits through which they could earn Hashem's salvation. During their years in Egypt, they became assimilated and even worshipped idols. How could they possibly be worthy of Hashem performing a miracle to rescue them from bondage? Moshe saw the burning bush, and realized that this was a symbol of Beneh Yisrael . They were "on fire," in grave crisis, but yet, they could not be "consumed," they could not be destroyed. No matter what their enemies try doing to them, they somehow survive. This is why Moshe was so surprised. He did not understand how this was possible. How could Beneh Yisrael miraculously survive the efforts made by powerful nations to destroy it, if they had no merits through which to earn Hashem's salvation? Hashem responded to Moshe's questions by saying אל תקרב הלום – "Don't come any closer." He was telling Moshe to stop thinking such thoughts, to stop asking such questions, to do an about-face, to change the way he thought about the people. He told Moshe to remove his "shoes" – meaning, to stop looking down on the people, to stop "stepping" on them, thinking that they were lowly and unworthy of being helped. Because in truth, המקום אשר אתה עומד עליו, אדמת-קודש הוא – "the place upon which you are standing, it is sacred ground." The people he was looking down on were, in fact, sacred people. They may have fallen to low spiritual levels, but they were full of kedushah , full of vast spiritual potential. They were, in fact, worthy of being saved, because they had the potential to rise to greatness. The first words we are to utter when we wake up in the morning are מודה אני לפניך מלך חי וקיים שהחזרת בי נשמתי – "I thank you, the living, eternal G-d, for Your having restored to me my soul." During the night, we experience a temporary "death," as our soul departs our body, and it is returned to us in the morning. To appreciate what this means, let us consider the analogy of someone who borrows his friend's car. When he returns it at the end of the day, there's a noticeable scratch on the side. Several days later, he needs to borrow it again, and the friend unhesitatingly agrees. At the end of the day, he brings it back – and there's an even larger scratch, on the other side. Nevertheless, when the fellow asks his friend to borrow the car again a couple of days later, the friend happily agrees. This time, he gets it back with a dent in the front fender. Two days later, the man asks to borrow the car again – and the friend agrees… No matter what the guy does to his friend's car, the friend continually lends it to him, over and over, without complaint, no matter how many dents and scratches the car has… The same is true of our souls. Hashem graciously "lends" us our soul each morning, and we return it with "scratches" and "dents." Invariably, we make mistakes during the day. We might not pray properly, we might forget to recite a berachah or birkat ha'mazon , we might say something hurtful to our spouse, child, or friend, we might turn down a request to help someone who needs us, or we might do something else wrong. When we turn in at night and return to Hashem the soul which he had entrusted to us, we give it back "damaged." And yet, Hashem returns it to us the next morning, and the next morning, and the next morning, and every single morning. Why does He do that? Why does He keep entrusting us with something that we keep "damaging"? The answer is found in the last two words of the brief מודה אני prayer that we recite right when we wake up: רבה אמונתך – "abundant is Your faith." Some explain this to mean that Hashem has great faith in us. He gives us back our souls because He believes in us. He knows that no matter what we did the day before, or the day before that, or the day before that, or at any point in the past, we have the capacity to attain greatness. He knows better than we do how much potential we have. He believes in our abilities, and so He gives us back our soul each morning. Our past mistakes don't say anything about how much potential we have. The very fact that we opened our eyes this morning and got out of bed means that Hashem believes that we can be great, regardless of what happened in the past. We need to believe this, too, and work each day to maximize our potential and pursue greatness.

We read in Parashat Vayehi the special berachot that Yaakov gave to his sons just before his passing. He addressed each son individually, and delivered a specific blessing that was appropriate for each one. After telling us of all the berachot , the Torah summarizes this event by stating, ויברך אותם, איש אשר כברכתו ברך אותם – "He blessed them; each one according to his [appropriate] blessing did he bless them" (49:28). The Or Ha'haim takes note of the last word in this pasuk – אותם . Rather than say, ברך אותו – that Yaakov blessed each son with the blessing that was appropriate for him , the Torah instead says that ברך אותם – Yaakov blessed them with the blessing that was appropriate for each of the sons. The Or Ha'hahim 's explanation of this nuance is exceedingly powerful, and so relevant to us. He writes that each son's blessing was a blessing for all the other sons, as well. When the tribe of Gad is blessed, this is a blessing for the entire Jewish Nation. When the tribe of Asher is blessed, this is a blessing for the entire Jewish Nation. And the same is true of every other tribe. When any of the tribes succeeds and prospers, the entire nation benefits. A blessing for one group is a blessing for all the others, because, at the end of the day, we are a single nation. This is so crucial for us to remember today, when Am Yisrael is fragmented into so many different groups and subgroups. We often make the terrible mistake of assigning labels and names to different groups of Jews, regarding them as lower and less significant. Each group within the Jewish Nation, understandably, sees itself as exceptional, and as the most correct group. There is nothing wrong with this kind of pride, but this does not mean that we can or should assign derogatory labels to other groups. We are all in this together. And in case we may have forgotten that we're all in this together, our enemies have given us a very stark reminder of this fact over the past year. Our adversaries really don't care about our different customs, different prayer texts, different positions on important religious issues, different levels of observance, different countries of origin, different modes of dress, or the many other differences between the various groups of Jews. They see us as all the same – and this is how we must see ourselves, as well. Instead of looking down on other groups, or dismissing them as inferior, we need be helping and looking out for them – with the understanding that one group's success is a win for our entire nation. This is true also within our community. Our community has numerous different groups and subgroups, all of whom must be committed to one another. Each group has what to contribute to all of us, and can be a blessing to all of us and to all Am Yisrael . Too often, shidduch suggestions are turned down because the young man or young woman is from "the wrong kind of family," which is "not like us." This is a terrible mistake. We all know people who come from difficult backgrounds but grew to become the most wonderful people. The labels we given to a group within our community, or to certain families in our community, are so damaging. The Gemara in Masechet Baba Metzia (58b) teaches that people who refer to someone by a nickname, even if the person is not embarrassed by that nickname, are sentenced to Gehinam , and never rise from there. The Maharsha explains that assigning someone a nickname is akin to מוציא שם רע – slander. When we label a person or a group, we are basically announcing to the world that the person or group is bad, and irredeemable. That person or group is then dismissed and rejected. And this should never happen. We need to stop labelling, and to start respecting. We need to remember that we're all in this together, that every group bring our nation great blessing, and we must therefore all help one another achieve and succeed – realizing that every group's achievement is our achievement, and their success is our success.

Parashat Vayigash tells of how Yaakov and his sons moved from Eretz Yisrael to Egypt. A terrible famine struck the region, and the only country which had food was Egypt, where Yosef was the ruler. After Yosef revealed himself to his brothers, who had come to Egypt to buy food, he told them to go back home and bring Yaakov and their families to live with him in Egypt, where he would support them. The Torah (46:28) tells that as Yaakov made his way to Egypt, he sent his son Yehuda ahead to "show the way before him." Rashi explains this to mean that Yehuda was sent ahead to establish a yeshiva in Egypt, so it would be ready for Yaakov and his family when they arrive. Others explain that this refers to basic needs like housing and the like. Regardless, we might ask why specifically Yehuda was chosen for this role. What was special about Yehuda that made him the right person for this job, instead of any of Yaakov's other sons? Rav Moshe Sternbuch explains that Yehuda possessed a certain quality that is essential in order to successfully build. And that quality is the willingness to sacrifice. We see this quality in several instances. For example, we read in last week's parashah , Parashat Miketz, that the brothers found themselves in a very difficult position when the ruler of Egypt – who they did not realize was actually Yosef – ordered them to return home and bring their youngest brother, Binyamin, to Egypt. Yaakov adamantly refused to allow Binyamin, his youngest and most beloved son, to go to Egypt, but the family had no food, and they could not go to Egypt to buy food without Binyamin. At that point, Yehuda stepped up and took personal responsibility for Binyamin. He told his father that if he would not bring Binyamin back to him, then "I will have sinned against you for all the days" (43:9). The Rabbis explained that Yehuda here declared that he would forfeit his entire share in the next world if he failed to bring Binyamin back safely to his father. This is how far Yehuda was willing to go in sacrificing for the sake of his family. In the beginning of our parashah , Yosef wanted to keep Binyamin in Egypt as his slave, but Yehuda stepped forward and begged Yosef to allow him to remain in Egypt forever as Yosef's slave in Binyamin's stead. Yehuda was prepared to spend the rest of his life as a slave in a foreign country so that his younger brother could return safely home to Yaakov. This is why specifically Yehuda was chosen to go ahead of the family as they made their way to Egypt. Building requires sacrifice. If a person wants to build anything, he needs to be willing to sacrifice, to let go of things he wants, for the sake of the goal that he is pursuing. This is especially true when it comes to building a relationship. The Gemara teaches in Masechet Bava Metzia (59a): איתתך גוצא גחין ותלחוש לה – "If your wife is short, then bend down and whisper to her." Clearly, the Gemara cannot simply be giving this simple piece of advice, to lean down when necessary to talk to one's wife. Rather, the Gemara is teaching us that in order to build a happy marriage, we need to be able to "bend," to yield, to give in, to go to the other spouse's place to understand him or her. A person cannot expect to have a great relationship without "bending," without sacrificing. Sacrificing is a great challenge in today's day and age. Growing up in our society, youngsters are not conditioned to sacrifice, to give of themselves, to "bend." But this is something we need to teach them and to model for them. Sacrifice is such a crucial quality. The ability to restrain ourselves, to tell ourselves "no," to give up something that we want, is indispensable for achievement. If a person wants to build a successful career or business, he needs to sacrifice. If a person wants to build a great marriage, he needs to sacrifice. If a person wants to be a great parent, he needs to sacrifice. The more we learn how to bend, to give of ourselves, the more we will achieve and succeed in everything we do.

Yosef's brothers arrived in Egypt to purchase grain, as they faced a harsh famine in the Land of Israel, leaving them and their families without food. They stood before the ruler of Egypt, the second-in-command to Pharaoh, not realizing that this was their brother, Yosef, whom they had sold to merchants as a slave many years earlier. Yosef proceeded to accuse them of coming to Egypt as spies, and demanded that they bring their youngest brother, Binyamin, to prove their claim, that they were brothers who had come to purchase grain for the family. The brothers, reflecting on this unexpected turmoil, recognized that they were being punished for what they had done to Yosef many years earlier: אבל אשמים אנחנו על אחינו, אשר ראינו צרת נפשו בהתחננו אלינו ולא שמענו. Alas, we are guilty in regard to our brother, that we saw his distress when he was pleading with us, but we did not listen . (42:21) Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch writes that the word אשמים stems from the word שממה – "desolation." When a person recognizes that he had made a terrible mistake, that he chose a course that was entirely wrong, he feels a devastating sense of emptiness within him. The letter א at the beginning of אשמים , Rav Hirsch explains, signifies אני – "I," such that אשמים means, "I caused myself desolation." When we regret something, when we realize that we've made a serious mistake that had terrible consequences, we often feel unrelenting pain over the fact that we brought about our own ruin. The brothers were certain that getting rid of Yosef was the right thing to do. At the time, it seemed clear to them that this was the necessary and just course of action. They saw him as a threat to the family. But now, as they faced a grave crisis in Egypt, they realized that they had been wrong. And so they cried, אשמים אנחנו , feeling devastated by the mistake they had made. The question becomes, how should we handle these devastating feelings? We all experience regret over the course of life. As we grow older, we come to realize that some of the decisions we had made in the past were wrong, or even very wrong, and, in some cases, ended up causing a lot of anguish either to ourselves or to others. How can we deal with the "empty" feeling that we experience when we think about mistakes which we've made that had terrible consequences? Perhaps the most important thing we need to understand in order to handle regret is that right now, at this point, no matter what we've done or didn't do, no matter what terrible mistakes we've made in the past, Hashem is with us. He hasn't given up on us. He is holding our hand and helping us to correct our past mistakes and make the very most of our current situation. Nobody exemplifies this more than Yosef. As Yosef languished in an Egyptian dungeon for thirteen years, we can easily imagine him asking himself, "If only I hadn't worn that special coat that my father made for me!" "If only I hadn't reported to my father about the bad things my brothers were doing!" "If only I hadn't told my brothers about my dreams!" "If only I hadn't gone to check on my brothers alone!" In hindsight, each of those things he did appear very foolish. And they led to his life being completely ruined. Yosef was in a dungeon, serving a life sentence without any possibility of parole, with – as far as he knew – absolutely nobody caring about him. But Yosef did not despair. He never forgot that Hashem was with him, even in the dungeon. Even at our lowest points, and even at our low points which we ourselves caused, Hashem is helping us. As long as we are still alive, Hashem can help us attain happiness and set our lives back on track. Yosef maintained his optimism and his faith in Hashem, and, sure enough, through the unlikeliest series of circumstances, he was brought out of the dungeon and made the second-in-command over Egypt. Whatever mistakes we've made, we shouldn't allow them to imprison us forever. We should not spend our lives saddled by a heavy burden of regret. We should instead trust in Hashem's unending love for us, and firmly believe that He is holding our hand and helping us get our lives back in the right direction.

The Shulchan Aruch ( Orah Haim 670:2) writes: ריבוי הסעודות שמרבים בהם הם סעודות הרשות, שלא קבעום למשתה ושמחה . The extra meals that people add [during Hanukah] are optional meals, because they [the Rabbis] did not institute them [these days] as [a time of] feasting and rejoicing. According to halacha , there is no obligation whatsoever to have special meals or eat special foods on Hanukah. The celebration of Hanukah starkly contrasts in this regard with the celebration of Purim, when there is a mitzvah to have a special meal, no less an obligation than the obligation to hear the Megillah reading or to send mishloah manot . On Hanukah, the mitzvot we are required to observe are the nightly candle lighting, and להודות להלל – to express praise and gratitude to Hashem for the great miracle of the Jews' victory over the Greeks and the miracle of the oil in the menorah . There is no mitzvah to have a special meal, or to have a Hanukah party. Several explanations have been given for this distinction between Hanukah and Purim. One explanation is given by the Levush , who writes that the danger we faced at the time of the Hanukah story was much different from the danger we faced at the time of the Purim story. Haman wanted to destroy the Jewish People, whereas the Greeks wanted to destroy the Jewish religion. The Greeks did not want to kill the Jews; they wanted the Jews to stop practicing their religion, and to adopt the Greeks' beliefs, culture and lifestyle. Haman was just the opposite – he wanted to kill all the Jews, regardless of what they did or how they acted. Therefore, the Levush explains, on Purim, when we were physically threatened, we celebrate through physical expressions of joy – eating and drinking. On Hanukah, we were threatened spiritually, and so we celebrate through spiritual means – lighting candles and reciting Hallel to give praise to Hashem. Despite this, as we know, Hanukah is traditionally celebrated with feasting. "Hanukah parties" have become an integral part of the Hanukah experience. Families get together for eating, fun, and exchanging gifts. Although the Shulchan Aruch clearly ruled that parties are not required on Hanukah, this has become the norm. In truth, the Shulchan Aruch himself appears to acknowledge that this practice was common already in his time. The Hiddushei Ha'Rim points out that the Shulchan Aruch does not simply write that there is no obligation to eat festive meals on Hanukah. Instead, the Shulhan Aruch writes that ריבוי הסעודות שמרבים בהם הם סעודות הרשות – the extra meals that people eat are optional. It seems clear that this was something that people did already in the Shulchan Aruch 's time, and he was just clarifying that this is not strictly required according to halachah . The Hiddushei Ha'Rim explains that Hashem wants our parties and festive meals on Hanukah to come from our hearts, from our own initiative, and not from a sense of halachic obligation. The Bet Ha'mikdash was ransacked and defiled by the Greeks, and it was then rescued, purified, and rededicated. This should generate such joy and excitement within us that we should automatically rejoice and feast. The Hiddushei Ha'Rim draws an analogy to a poor, downtrodden, lonely peasant, who suddenly discovered that he would be marrying the princess. Does he need to be told to have a festive celebration? We were downtrodden and alone, without the Bet Ha'mikdash , and without the opportunity to learn Torah or perform mitzvot – until, miraculously, we defeated the Greeks so we could once again have a relationship with Hashem. This should evoke such joy that we celebrate without a halachic obligation to do so! The Hanukah candles are lit during the darkest, dreariest time of year, symbolizing our nation's remarkable ability to shine brightly even under the most difficult circumstances. We have always faced great challenges, of many different kinds, and yet, despite all the hardship, and despite our many faults, we always shine. Torah learning and observance have survived against all odds, and we continue to show our love and devotion to one another, aways rising to the occasion when a fellow Jew is in need. On Hanukah, when we see the lights shining in the dark, and we contemplate the bright light of Am Yisrael , we are driven to celebrate and feast even without being obligated to do so. We are overcome with joy and pride, and with gratitude to Hashem for the miraculous survival of Torah throughout the millennia. Feasting on Hanukah may be optional – but we do it because there's no way we can't feast when we see the Hanukah lights and think about the greatness of our nation, how brightly we shine, with Hashem's help. We are naturally drawn to joyously celebrate our spiritual survival and achievements even in the face of adversity, from the time of the Greeks until our day.

The Gemara in Masechet Hagigah (5b) tells of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Hananiah, who was exceptionally effective in responding to the heretics of his time, those who worked to challenge Judaism and oppose the Jewish faith. When he grew old, and it was apparent that he would soon leave this world, the Rabbis approached him to express their concern over how they would deal with the heretics after his passing. Rabbi Yehoshua reassured the Rabbis by citing a pasuk (Yirmiyahu 49:7) indicating that when wise people are lost from the Jewish Nation, the wise from the enemy nations are lost, as well. Meaning, Hashem ensures to maintain a constant balance in the world between the forces of good and the forces of evil. And so if Rabbi Yehoshua, a strong counterforce to the powers of evil, was departing, then those forces will necessarily be diminished. Rabbi Yehoshua drew further support for this concept from a pasuk in Parashat Vayishlah. After Yaakov and Esav's dramatic reunion, Esav extends an offer to Yaakov, asking that they travel together: נסעה ונלכה, ואלכה לנגדך – 33:12). This indicates that "Yaakov" and "Esav" work in tandem. There is a certain balance between good and evil. Hashem sees to it that the forces of "Yaakov" and "Esav" work together in the sense that there is always good, and there is always bad. To probe a bit deeper, and to understand how this concept is practically relevant to each and every one of us, let us look at Yaakov Avinu's response to Esav's offer. Yaakov tells Esav to continue forward without him, עד אשר אבוא אל אדוני שעירה – until Yaakov would eventually catch up to him, in Seir. Meaning, Yaakov declines Eisav's offer, preferring that Esav go forward while he, Yaakov, would travel at his own place and join Eisav at some point in the future. Of course, as we know, Yaakov never went to join Esav in Se'ir. He went to Eretz Yisrael , and his descendants, the Jewish People, have always lived separate and apart from Esav. Rashi explains that Yaakov referred to the time of Mashiah , when the world will reach perfection, at which point the descendants of Yaakov and Esav will be reunited. In our current reality, until the time of Mashiah , we are in a constant state of limbo. We are always on a journey, making our way to our destination, without reaching it. This is true both in the national sense, regarding Am Yisrael 's journey, and individually, in the life of each person. The Jewish People have almost always been on a journey, having experienced virtually no periods of perfect stability, where we were right where we were supposed to be. But this is true also individually. Is there any person who can say that he is precisely where he wants to be, that his marriage is perfect, his income is perfect, his health is perfect, his children are perfect, all his relationships are perfect, his religious observance is perfect, and everything in life is exactly the way he wants it to be? Of course not. In every person's life, there is a "balance" between "Yaakov" and "Esav," between good and bad. There are things to be grateful for, and there are things which we would prefer not to have to deal with. Until Mashiah comes, we are on a journey, during which we balance these two aspects of our reality. It is vitally important for us to recognize this truth, that life is not supposed to be perfect, that we cannot and should not expect it to be perfect. We feel discontented and aggravated because we expect to already be at our destination, to reach the completion of our journey, to experience perfection. When we live with this expectation, we make it all but inevitable that we will feel unhappy and bitter due to life's challenges. Once we realize that life is supposed to be a journey, that we are supposed to live in limbo, then life's challenges become so much easier to deal with. We accept them as part of our journey, as part of the "Yaakov-Esav balance" that we are supposed to experience. We will recognize that we have so much goodness in our lives to rejoice over, alongside the hardships which we are expected to handle to the best of our ability. Many people go through life thinking that once such-and-such problem is resolved, their lives will be perfect and they will feel happy. But by the time that problem is resolved, there is another problem which arises – and this becomes the problem that needs to be solved in order to attain happiness. We must train ourselves to accept the reality of our life's ongoing journey, that life will always be a balance of "Yaakov" and "Esav," of the good and the less good, and we can feel content and blessed with the good fortune we enjoy even while struggling with the less desirable aspects of our lives.

We read in Parashat Vayetze of Yaakov Avinu's arrangement with his father-in-law, Lavan, whereby he would work for seven years and then be given Lavan's daughter, Rachel, as a wife. As we know, Lavan deceived Yaakov, bringing Yaakov at the end of the seven years his other daughter, Leah, instead of Rachel. He then allowed Yaakov to marry Rachel a week later, on condition that he work for another seven years. The Torah makes a very surprising comment about the first seven years that Yaakov spent working for Lavan in exchange for Rachel's hand in marriage: ויהיו בעיניו כימים אחדים באהבתו אותה – "They were in his eyes like just a few days, because of his love for her" (29:20). This seems to mean that because Yaakov loved Rachel so much, the seven years he spent working so he could marry her felt like just a few days. At first glance, this is backwards. We would think just the opposite – that since Yaakov loved Rachel so much, and wanted to marry her, those seven years would feel like an eternity! Why did these seven years seem like "just a few days"?! The answer is that this was not just about Rachel and Yaakov's feelings for her. Yaakov understood that he was now about to embark on the historical mission of building the Jewish Nation. As he slept along the roadside on his way to Lavan's house, he beheld a prophecy promising him that he would be the father of Hashem's special nation. Furthermore, Rashi famously tells that the stones beneath his head merged into a single stone – and some commentators explain that these were twelve stones that came together, symbolizing the fact that Yaakov would have twelve sons that together would form Am Yisrael . Yaakov knew that he was now building a great nation. And if this was what it was all about, then indeed, a period of seven years isn't a long time to wait. Each and every one of us, too, is building something great. Every household, every institution, is another vitally important link in the chain of Am Yisrael . Thus, everyone involved in building a home is, like Yaakov Avinu, involved in building something monumental, building the Jewish Nation. And just like Yaakov Avinu, we need to remember this in order to keep a proper perspective when challenges arise during our process of building. Raising a family can be fraught with struggles. Children get sick, they challenge their parents' authority, they don't always succeed in school, and they aren't always obedient. Finances are sometimes very tight. The house might have problems which the family cannot afford to fix. Not everything is going to proceed as smoothly as we want it to. When struggles arise, we need to remember Yaakov Avinu's perspective. When we build a home, we are building Am Yisrael . We are building something special, something monumental. And whenever we build something great, complications are going to arise – but it's so worth it. Whatever struggles we face over the course of our "building" should be considered as ימים אחדים , as just a little inconvenience which we are happy to go through for the lofty objective of doing our part of build Am Yisrael .

What is the defining difference between us Jews and the surrounding society? There are several, but if I had to choose one, I would say: the tattoo. The most significant and fundamental difference between us and them is the tattoo. Why do I say that? True, tattoos are forbidden by the Torah, but so are cheese burgers. So why do I see tattoos as reflecting the defining difference between us and our society, rather than cheese burgers – or the many other things which they do which we don't?? The answer is that the tattoo is permanent, and the young person who gets a tattoo does so without thinking beyond the immediate here-and-now. People get tattoos of the logos of their favorite sports team – but how do they know that they will still be rooting for that team in thirty years? How do they know that they will even be interested in sports in thirty years? People get tattoos of dragons and the like on visible parts of their body, like the neck. How do they know that they won't one day seek a high position in a major corporation, where such images are wholly inappropriate? Of course, the young people who get these tattoos aren't thinking long-term. They like the idea of the tattoo now, so they get it, without taking the future into account. And this might be the most important distinction between us and them. We are the eternal nation. This means not only that the Jewish People are guaranteed to exist forever, but that we live each day with an awareness of our future, both individual and collective. We live with an understanding that we are part of a story that began millennia ago with Avraham Avinu, and will continue forever. We cannot focus only the here-and-now. We are always thinking of our future, our legacy, the everlasting impact that we have, and our children and our grandchildren. This "eternity mindset" is one of the defining characteristics of the Jewish experience. We read in Parashat Toldot the story of Esav selling the birthright to Yaakov. Esav came in from the fields weary and famished, and found Yaakov making a lentil stew. Rashi explains that on this day, their grandfather, Avraham Avinu, passed away, and Yaakov was cooking lentils because it is traditionally a food fed to mourners. The round shape of the lentil symbolizes our belief in eternity; just as a circle has no end, we believe that life does not end after death, as the soul lives forever. Esav, however, saw this food and asked Yaakov to feed him מן האדום האדום הזה – "from this red, red stuff" (25:30). Esav didn't see the symbolism of the lentils; he saw only their color. He saw everything superficially. He didn't look beyond the immediate present. Yaakov knew at that point that Esav could not be a part of the process of building Am Yisrael . He could not be a patriarch of the eternal nation. And so Yaakov demanded that Esav give him the birthright. Part of what makes us unique is this long-term mentality, the understanding that there is so much more to life than the fleeting moment, that so many things that seem important right now are, from the perspective of the eternal nation, so trivial and insignificant. When we live with the "eternity mindset," we see beyond the "red" of the "lentils," we see everything on a deeper level. We are then able to keep our priorities straight, to know what's important, what has value, what deserves our time and our attention, and what doesn't. And when we live like this, we make the most of every day we are given, and use our time in this world to have the greatest long-term impact that we can make.

Parashat Hayeh-Sara tells of Avraham Avinu's efforts to purchase מערת המכפלה – the Machpeila Cave in Hevron, where he wished to bury his wife, Sara, who had just passed away. The territory of this special cave was owned by a man named Efron. After Efron first said that he would give the land to Avraham free of charge, he then turned to Avraham and said, ארץ ארבע מאות שקל כסף ביני ובינך מה היא – "What is a 400-shekel piece of land between us?" (23:15). Avraham immediately paid Efron this sum – 400 silver coins, which was an outrageously exorbitant amount of money for this property. Efron's tactic is one which many a wily salesman has used since then. Many of us have probably had the experience of somebody trying to sell us something, and he tells us, "Because I like you," or "Because you're a friend," or "Because you're a valued customer" he was offering a "discounted" price. This price is not necessarily a discount, and the merchandise or service is not something we necessarily need or even want, but framing the deal in this way, making us believe that he actually likes us, cares about us, and wants to do something nice to us, convinces us that this is to our benefit, which in truth, it isn't. Rashi (23:16) notes that in the pasuk that tells of Avraham paying Efron the 400 coins, Efron's name is spelled unusually. Throughout this section, his name is spelled עפרון, but in this pasuk, it is spelled עפרן, without the letter ו'. Rashi explains that because Efron acted dishonestly, pretending to be Avraham's friend, to be giving him a great deal, when in fact he was charging an outrageous sum, a letter was taken out of Efron's name. People act dishonestly because they see only the here-and-now. They see an opportunity to make money or obtain something they want by being less than truthful, and so they go ahead and do it. But long-term, this has the effect of ruining their "name," their reputation. Dishonesty might yield short-term benefit, but it causes long-term harm. A single dishonest act can ruin a person's reputation and standing, forever. If we think long-term, we realize that dishonesty hurts us infinitely more than it helps us. The contrast to Efron's shortsightedness is Sara Imenu. The first pasuk of our parashah tells us that Sara lived for 127 years, and it then concludes, שני חיי שרה – "these were the years of Sara." Rashi explains that this phrase was added to tell us that כולן שווין לטובה – Sara's days were all equally good. At first glance, this seems very difficult to understand. Sara went through many ordeals over the course of her life. She went with her husband to a new land as commanded by Hashem, and soon after they arrived, a famine struck, forcing them to move again, to Egypt, where she was forcibly taken by the king. She would be abducted again later, by a different king (Avimelech). She was childless for many years, eventually having Avraham marry her maidservant, who then immediately conceived, and started disrespecting Sara. Sara did not have an easy life. So how could Rashi say that the days of her life were all equally good? The answer is that although Sara's life wasn't all easy, all her days – both good and bad – led her to her share in the world to come. In the short-term, she had some difficult periods. But in the long-term, even the hard times were "good," because she lived not for the moment, but for eternity, to live in the service of Hashem, through thick and thin, and earn her share in the next world. Things which seem appealing in the moment, in the "here-and-now," can ruin our "name," and cause us long-term harm. Whenever we feel tempted to lie, to gossip, to say something we shouldn't, to forego a mitzvah, or to act in a way we know is wrong, let's remember the long-term benefits of doing the right thing – which always, but always, far exceed the fleeting, short-term benefits of the wrong thing which we currently feel like doing.

Parashat Vayera tells us the story of Lot, Avraham Avinu's nephew, who was living in Sedom, a city of very wicked people, and which Hashem condemned to annihilation. Hashem saved Lot by sending two angels to bring him and his family out of the city. Lot and his two unmarried daughters were saved, but his sons-in-law laughed at him when he told them the city was about to be destroyed. They remained in the city and were killed. To understand more about Lot and who he was, let us briefly look back at his history with his uncle, Avraham Avinu. The Torah says that when Avraham moved from his home to Eretz Yisrael , as Hashem had commanded, וילך איתו לוט – Lot went with him. Later, they were forced to temporarily move to Egypt to escape a famine in the Land of Israel, and while in Egypt, they became very wealthy. The Torah says that Avraham moved back to Eretz Yisrael ולוט עמו – and Lot was with him. Then, we read that there was not enough pasture for Avraham and Lot's cattle, and the Torah says about Lot in this context, ללוט ההולך את אברהם – he was with Avraham. The Torah uses different words for the word "with" in these pesukim . Sometimes it uses the word את or איתו , and sometimes it uses the word עם , or עמו . Why? Imagine two friends or siblings who decide to go into the city together. They meet at the subway station, and ride the train together to the city, talking to each other and being very excited to be together. Now let's imagine two people who never met one each other and have absolutely nothing to do with each other, sitting next to each other on the subway train, hardly away of each other's existence. In both cases, the two people are riding "together" on the subway, but these are very different kinds of "together." In the Torah, the word עם describes the first type of together, where people aren't together incidentally, but rather are really together as a pair. The word את or איתו describes the second kind of together – where people happen to be together, but aren't really bonded. They are physically together, but their "togetherness" is incidental. When Avraham first journeyed from his homeland, not knowing where he was going, trusting in Hashem's promises, וילך איתו לוט – Lot joined him only because he had nobody else, as his father had died. He wasn't enthusiastic about being with his uncle, leaving to an uncertain future, but he joined anyway. But then, after they became wealthy in Egypt, ולוט עמו – Lot was really with him, excited and happy about the good fortune he enjoyed as a result of being with Avraham. Afterward, however, when they had problems finding pasture, ההולך את אברהם – Lot was again less than enthusiastic about being with Avraham. Indeed, Lot left Avraham and went to reside in Sedom. And the Torah says הפרד לוט מ עמו – Lot was no longer עמו , he did not feel connected to Avraham. There are two kinds of religious Jews – unconditional Jews, and conditional Jews. Unconditional Jews are those who remain loyal to Hashem and the mitzvot no matter what. They are devoted to Torah in good times and in not such good times. They observe the mitzvot that they understand, and those that they don't understand. They follow halachah when it's convenient and when it's not so convenient. The unconditional religious Jew, by contrast, makes his commitment conditional. He is loyal to the mitzvot only when he understands, or only when it's convenient, or only when in fits into his schedule, or only as long as observance doesn't get too much in the way of other things he wants to do. Lot was the second type of Jew. He wasn't a bad person, but his allegiance to Avraham and Avraham's values was conditional. As long as things were going well, he was truly "with" Avraham, bonded and connected to Avraham's faith and values. But once things became difficult, he was no longer truly "with" his uncle. Returning to our parashah , Hashem tells us why He chose Avraham for a special mission: למען אשר יצווה את בניו ואת ביתו אחריו לשמור את דרך ה' (18:19) – because He knew that Avraham Avinu would succeed in transmitting his teachings to his offspring, ensuring that his descendants would embrace his faith and his values. Lot, however, as mentioned, was not this successful. Some of his children scoffed at his warnings of what would happen to Sedom, and he had two daughters who later committed a grave sin with him. When we are consistent, remaining devoted to mitzvot even when this is not convenient, even when we aren't in the mood, and even when we don't fully understand – we will have a better chance of inspiring our children to do the same. If they see our passionate and uncompromising commitment, that we are consistent, that we don't make conditions and don't make compromises, then they are more likely to follow our example. But if we are like Lot, committed to Hashem only on our terms, we have less of a chance of raising committed children. Let us be "Avraham Jews," committed to Hashem unconditionally, through thick and thin, in the good times and bad, and may we thus succeed in raising children who proudly and steadfastly devote themselves to Torah and mitzvot .

Parashat Lech-Lecha begins with Hashem speaking to Avraham Avinu and commanding, לך לך – to go forth from his homeland, and journey to an unknown place, which, of course, turned out to be Eretz Yisrael . Hashem promised Avraham that he would be showered with great blessings in his new land. What was true of Avraham, the founder of our nation, is true for each and every one of us, his descendants and bearers of his legacy. In order to bring blessing into our lives, we need to respond to the call of לך לך , to leave something behind and proceed to the unknown. If we think about it, each of us has our own personal לך לך story. For some, it was leaving behind a bad habit that they were hooked on. For some, it was leaving a friend or group of friends to avoid negative influences, not knowing if they would find new friends. For some, it was turning down a shidduch because of spiritual concerns, not knowing when another good opportunity would present itself. For some, it was making a difficult school choice for themselves or their children, or a difficult career choice, not knowing what the future would bring. We have all heard the call of לך לך at some point in our lives, when we were forced to leave something behind for the sake of Hashem. There is also another call of לך לך , one which has become especially pertinent in today's day and age, and which bears particular resemblance to the original call of לך לך which was made to Avraham Avinu. And that is the call to go forth from our surroundings, to leave the society around us. In order to succeed as Hashem's special nation, we need to have the courage to "go forth," to be different, to withdraw, to separate ourselves from the surrounding culture. In order to build a nation and earn Hashem's blessings, Avraham had to leave behind the values and lifestyles of the society he grew up in. Similarly, we, his descendants, must have the strength and the resolve to "leave" our society's values that conflict with our values. Hashem promises Avraham, ונברכו בך כל משפחות האדמה – that all of mankind will be blessed through Avraham. This means that Avraham would fundamentally change the world, forever. Avraham was the first to teach the belief in Hashem, and the belief in morality, in ethical behavior, the importance of sensitivity and kindness to other people. Ironically, Avraham was able to bring about this change specifically by engaging with the people of his time, by getting involved, by interacting with society. The same man who was commanded לך לך , to separate himself and withdraw, was expected to change the world through his positive influence, which was possible only through engagement and interaction. This is the delicate, exceedingly difficult, balance that we, Avraham's heirs, need to maintain. On the one hand, we need to set up barriers, to make it clear that we are different, that we follow a different value system and embrace different beliefs than the people around us. We must have the strength and courage to resist the influences of the surrounding society, and to stubbornly cling to Torah values and traditions, even when they are drastically different from those of society. But at the same time, we are not expected to isolate ourselves completely. We are supposed to interact and engage with other people – in a manner that brings blessing to the world. We are to interact with society in such a way that we influence them, rather than being influenced by them. We are to show the world how Hashem's special nation acts, what it means to be ethical, honest, courteous and dignified. If we do this, then we will succeed in changing the world just as Avraham Avinu did, and we will succeed in continuing the mission for which he and his descendants were chosen – to be a blessing to the entire world.

The Zohar tells of a conversation that took place between Noah and Hashem after the flood. Noah turned to Hashem and asked, "I thought You were a merciful, benevolent G-d. How could You allow such a thing to happen?!" Hashem replied by angrily calling Noah a רועה שוטה – "foolish shepherd." He said, "NOW you remember to care about the people?! I told you what I was planning on doing. I commanded you to build an ark because I was going to bring a flood that would destroy the entire earth. You spent 120 years building it. You had plenty of time to intervene, to pray, to help, to work to avert this catastrophe. Where were you then? You worried only about saving yourself and your family. Now you come and ask Me how I could do this??" The Zohar proceeds to contrast Noah with Avraham Avinu. When Avraham heard that Hashem was planning to destroy the city of Sedom, Avraham immediately interceded and prayed on Sedom's behalf. He did everything he could to save the people. Noah didn't do this. He just built the ark to save himself and his family. In 1923, hundreds of the greatest Rabbis in the world assembled in Vienna for the first Kenesiya Ha'gedola ("great assembly") of the Agudat Yisrael organization. These Rabbis included the Hafetz Haim , and there is a famous video clip of him arriving at the site in Vienna for this event. One of the speakers at this gathering was the legendary Rav Meir Shapiro, the Rosh Yeshiva of the Hachmeh Lublin yeshiva in Poland. It was at this event that Rav Shapiro introduced the idea of Daf Yomi , the daily Gemara study program which many thousands of people participate in to this very day. When Rav Shapiro got up to speak, he discussed this difference between Avraham and Noach. He described how Noach cared only for himself, while Avraham cared for everyone. "The reason for this assembly," Rav Shapiro said, "is that we believe that we need to be there for our brothers and sisters across the world. We cannot care only about ourselves. We must concern ourselves with the needs of the entire Jewish Nation. This is why we have come here – to discuss how we can help all our fellow Jews." Why, in fact, did Noach concern himself only with his and his family's wellbeing? Why did he not try to save the people of his generation? Could it possibly be that this man, whom the Torah describes as an איש צדיק ("righteous person"), was selfish and indifferent to the needs of other people? The answer is that Noah was weak. He lacked confidence in his ability to bring about change. He didn't think he could have an impact. And this was his mistake. This is why he was criticized and called a רועה שוטה . It is foolish to think that we cannot make a difference, that we cannot contribute. Other nations are called בני נח – the children of Noah, but we are the children of Avraham Avinu. We carry his legacy, his belief in the power of every person to have an impact. We cannot conveniently excuse ourselves from helping out, from getting involved, from donating, volunteering and contributing, by claiming that we have nothing meaningful to achieve, to give, or to add. As the children and heirs of Avraham Avinu, we need to believe in our ability, and have the self-confidence to act in any way we can. There are so many people who need assistance, and so many ways to help. Each of us can find an area in which to contribute, a way to make a difference, and it behooves all of us – especially during the difficult times in which the Jewish People currently find themselves – to believe in ourselves and do what we can to have a real impact.

The Torah tells that before Hashem created Adam, He announced, נעשה אדם בצלמנו כדמותנו – "Let us make man in our image and in our form" (Bereshit 1:26). Already the earliest commentators raised the question of why Hashem spoke here in the plural form – נעשה ("Let us make"). Of course, there was nobody for Him to talk to at this time. And even if there was, nobody created Adam besides Him. So why did He say נעשה , in the plural form? Rashi explains that Hashem was speaking here with the angels in heaven, who were already in existence. In order to teach us the important lesson of humility, Hashem "consulted," as it were, with the angels before creating the human being. It goes without saying that Hashem did not need, and never needs, to consult with anyone. His knowledge and understanding are perfect and flawless, and so He does not ever require a second opinion. Nevertheless, Hashem asked the angels for their opinion before creating Adam in order to teach us about the importance of considering other people's viewpoints. We often like to think that we know better than everyone else, that we don't need anyone's guidance or advice, that we are always right about everything. It is so important for us to not have this attitude, to realize that other people might know better than us – that Hashem made a point of "consulting" before creating the first human being, to show us an example of seeking other opinions. We need to accustom ourselves to considering other viewpoints, and humbly recognize that other people might know more and might have better ideas that we do. But there is also an additional interpretation of this pasuk . A number of commentaries explain that in this pasuk , Hashem is talking not to the angels – but rather to the human being whom He was now creating. Hashem turns to each and every one of us and announces: נעשה אדם – "Let US create you!" Hashem creates our physical body, and gives us a soul, as well as skills, talents, capabilities – and, yes, limitations and struggles. He also sends us challenges and hardships throughout our lives. He gives us all this for the purpose of נעשה אדם , so that together, we will create ourselves. Our obligation throughout life is to build ourselves, to improve ourselves, to grow, to change. Hashem does not do this work for us; instead, He partners with us. He gives us the tools, and He puts us in the right circumstances. We then have to do our part by taking all that He gives us and using it to create ourselves, to make ourselves better, to achieve greatness. Any skill we have is for the purpose of נעשה אדם , of creating ourselves. Every blessing we are given in our lives is for the purpose of נעשה אדם . And every challenge and difficulty we face in our lives is presented to us for the purpose of נעשה אדם . Whenever life takes an unwanted turn, whenever we deal with adversity, we must hear Hashem calling נעשה אדם , inviting us to build ourselves through this challenge. Every challenge is our opportunity to attain greatness, to reach higher, and to "create" the very best possible version of ourselves.

One of the prophets, Habakuk (1:14), compared the human being to fish – ותעשה אדם כדגי הים . Rav Shlomo Alkabetz explains this analogy by noting that if one catches a large fish and opens it, he will see smaller fish in its stomach, as large fish eat small fish. Surprisingly, however, the small fish's bodies are in the opposite direction of the large fish. We would have assumed that the small fish run away from the large fish, and are then caught, so their bodies should be facing the same direction as the large fish that devoured them. But when we cut open the large fish, we see the small fish facing the opposite direction, as though they swam right into the large fish's mouth! The reason, Rav Alkabetz explained, is because the small fish indeed run away from the large fish – but just when they think they've escaped, another large fish appears, and the small fish swim right into its mouth…. We are like fish. At any given time, we have one or perhaps two "large fish" chasing after us, one or two problems which we desperately need to solve. And we think that once we get that one issue under control, then our lives will be perfect. But as soon as that problem is solved, right away we come across another… We are never fully in control of our lives, and this is something we need to learn to accept. So many people spend their lives waiting to have full control. They think, if they just made another $20,000 they will be happy. If they could just solve this problem with such-and-such child, or marry him or her off, then they will be happy. If they could just afford to fix such-and-such problem with the house, then they will be happy. But this doesn't work. Because as soon as one problem is solved, another one pops up. We need to learn to be happy and content RIGHT NOW, with whatever we have and don't have at this very moment. No matter how imperfect life is, we can experience joy and satisfaction. The holiday of Sukkot is observed at the conclusion of the harvest season, after farmers have completed the process of harvesting and collecting their produce. The Torah therefore refers to this Yom Tov as חג האסיף – "the holiday of the gathering." In agrarian societies, this was a time of year when people felt the proudest and the most financially secure. The warehouses were filled with grain, bringing them great satisfaction. And specifically during this time of year, the Torah commands us to leave our comfortable, stable homes and reside in a small, cramped, temporary sukkah , and to reexperience our ancestors' conditions when they travelled in the wilderness. Moreover, we are commanded ושמחת בחגך – to experience special joy on this Yom Tov. In fact, during the times of the Bet Ha'mikdash , a special שמחת בית השואבה celebration was held in the Bet Ha'mikdash , which featured special festivity. On no other Yom Tov was this celebration held. The Torah is teaching us that we must never look to material success as our source of joy and contentment. Specifically when the warehouses are full, when the bank accounts are doing well, when the portfolio is worth many times more than our original investment, we are told to experience unbridled joy and contentment not in our large, comfortable homes, but in a small, simple sukkah . The lesson being taught is that we must be able to feel happy and content in whatever condition we find ourselves. If we make our contentment dependent on any particular factor, we will never be happy – because as soon as that wish is fulfilled, we will find that we have another "big fish" chasing us, another problem to deal with, another unfulfilled wish to pursue. In order to live a truly happy life, we need to be able to rejoice inside a sukkah – even under less-than-ideal conditions, when things aren't exactly the way we want them. We need to look to find Hashem's blessings in all situations, and to celebrate the fact that we are privileged to have Him in our lives, a precious gift that should bring us joy no matter what struggles we are dealing with.

If we look around, we will notice that many people – perhaps most people – are unhappy. There are people who have fulfilled many of their dreams. They got married, had children, bought a house, built a career or a business, but are disappointed and dissatisfied. The reason – or one of the reasons – for this is that many people look for happiness in the wrong places. They make the mistake of thinking that they will find happiness in the tangible things, such as a house, a car, vacations, clothes, and so on. But these tangibles aren't what bring happiness. Imagine somebody who is thirsty decides to eat some delicious, nutritious food. The food tastes good, and is beneficial for his body and his health, but it won't quench his thirst. It's of course good to eat healthy food – but this won't help him if he's thirsty. The same is true of material things. There is certainly nothing wrong with enjoying material blessings. And they are even beneficial for us. But this is not what brings happiness. We achieve happiness through the intangible, by feeling accomplished, by feeling fulfilled, by filling our lives with meaning. In marriage, for example, a husband and wife can exchange wonderful expensive gifts but still be unhappy. What makes a marriage happy and fulfilling is not the gifts, but the intangible aspects of the relationship, being able to sit together and laugh, to enjoy each other's company, to listen to each other. This concept, the importance of the "intangibles," is relevant to teshuvah , as well. When people think of what they need to change, they usually come up with specific things they need to change. Perhaps it's the about the way they talk, the words they use, the way they dress, the things they do or don't do on Shabbat, or how often they pray. Of course, these are all extremely important. But this isn't enough. The Gaon of Vilna taught that the six most important qualities for Torah life are alluded to in the first word of the Torah – בראשית . They are: בטחון – Placing our trust in Hashem, believing that He is caring for us at all times. רצון – The will and passion to do the right thing, no matter what this entails. אהבה – Loving other people, and loving Hashem. שתיקה – Knowing when to be silent, when not to speak, when not to respond when we feel upset, angry or hurt. יראה – Genuine fear of Hashem, deferring to His authority. תורה – Making Torah learning an important part of our lives. These six qualities are intangible, things that we cannot necessarily quantify. But these are the areas which we need to focus on if we are going to make real changes. Too many people feel content just checking off boxes on the religious checklist. They make sure to dress a certain way, to spend Shabbat a certain way. Of course this is important – but it can't stop there. It has to be sincere. We have to change our interior, the intangibles such as our trust in Hashem, our love for our fellow Jew and for Hashem, and the other qualities mentioned by the Gaon of Vilna. To demonstrate this point more clearly – I am blessed with a large and impressive library. Somebody who walks into my study will see enormous bookcases lined with all types of books. Outwardly it seems like I'm an accomplished scholar, having so many books. But I know that this means absolutely nothing. The number of books in my office is a tangible statistic, but it says nothing about my commitment to Torah or about how much I know. This is the problem that too many of us have. We look at the tangibles in our lives, the boxes that we check, and we feel that it's enough. But it's not. We need to work also on the intangibles, on our inner beings. How sincere are we in our commitment to Hashem? How genuinely do we care about the feelings and wellbeing of our fellow Jews? Do we really make Torah and mitzvot our highest priority, or do we just try to fit them in? Do we just go through the motions, or do we really seek to build a strong relationship with Hashem? In order to truly change, to really become the people we want to become, we cannot just make a couple of "cosmetic" modifications to our lives. We need to look deep inside ourselves and change our outlook, our mindset, our priorities. This internal "reset" will help us transform into the great people we know we can be, which will then bring us the greatest levels of happiness and fulfillment.

One year on the second night of Rosh Hashanah, my son turned to me and said, "These simanim , the special foods we eat on Rosh Hashanah, are horrible! "Don't we want to have a good year, a happy year? So why are we eating this terrible stuff????" "Moshe," I said, "you have to understand – we're eating these things in order to destroy our enemies!" "So let our enemies eat this!!!!" he protested. "Moshe," I explained, "the enemy is us. We're eating these foods to destroy the enemy within ourselves." When we pray on Rosh Hashanah for the demise of our enemies, we're not referring only to Hamas, Hezbollah, and their ilk. We're referring also to ourselves, to the bad habits and negative impulses that are so often our worst and most destructive foes. The Hovot Ha'levavot , in the Sha'ar Ha'bitahon section, teaches that there are three stages in the performance of any good deed: 1) the thought, or the inspiration, to perform the deed; 2) the decision to act upon that inspiration; 3) the actual execution. There is a critical distinction, the Hovot Ha'levavot writes, between the first two stages and the third stage. The first two stages are entirely up to us. Hashem does not help us with this. It is up to us to want to do the right thing, and it is up to us to make the firm decision to follow up on this desire. Once we've taken these first two steps, then – and only then!!! – Hashem comes to help us perform the mitzvah , or to make the change in our lifestyle. We have to get the process started by deciding we want to do the right thing – and then we earn Hashem's help to actually do it. The first of these three steps is pretty easy. We're all good people. We all sincerely want to do the right thing, to observe the mitzvot , to speak the right way, to be good spouses, parents, children and friends, to be the best version of ourselves. We all have the right values and the right idea of how we are supposed to live. The problem that we have – the "enemy" that we face within ourselves – is in regard to the second step. It is so hard to make the firm the decision to change, to tell ourselves: "I am going to do this no matter what. Nothing will stand in my way. Nothing is stopping me. I am resolute, and I am determined, and I am going to make this change." And the reason why this is so hard is that we like the wrong things we do. People find it hard to stop speaking lashon ha'ra because they enjoy the thrill of gossip. People find it hard to close their businesses on Shabbat because they enjoy that income. People find it hard to avoid anger because they enjoy the feeling of power that they experience when they scream at people. People find it hard to put down their phones and stop wasting time because they enjoy wasting time on their phones. People find it hard to go to shul in the morning because they enjoy sleeping in. Everyone has some bad habit that they can't kick because they just enjoy it too much. This enjoyment is the "enemy" that we are trying to fight during this time of year. We need to remember that we are strong enough to fight this enemy. We have the power to overcome these challenges. As we head into Rosh Hashanah and the Aseret Yemeh Teshuvah (Ten Days of Repentance), let us commit to wage this battle, to make the firm decision to change, and we will then earn Hashem's assistance in making these changes and living our best lives.

A quick review of the text of the Rosh Hashanah prayers shows us that the theme of this day is מלכות – Hashem's kingship over the world. This is the day when we crown Hashem as King over the universe, and we reaffirm our loyalty to Him as His subjects. Another theme that features prominently on Rosh Hashanah is עקידת יצחק – the story of Avraham Avinu's willingness to sacrifice his son in fulfillment of Hashem's command. We read the story of עקידת יצחק from the Torah, we mention it several times in our tefilot , and one of the explanations for the symbolism of the shofar is that it brings to mind the ram which Avraham sacrificed instead of Yitzhak (after Hashem told him not to kill Yitzhak). Furthermore, it is customary to eat meat from the head of a sheep on Rosh Hashanah, and one reason given for this practice is that sheep closely resemble rams, and we thus wish to invoke the ram of עקידת יצחק . How are we to understand the significance of עקידת יצחק on Rosh Hashanah, and its connection to the theme of מלכות ? Yitzhak represented Avraham's spiritual ambitions. His dream was to transmit his faith to his son, who then carry his legacy and form a nation that would represent Hashem in this world. This was Avraham's aspiration, his plan. But the moment Hashem commanded him to offer Yitzhak as a sacrifice, Avraham prepared to sacrifice this dream, to forego on his plan. It was very painful, and he didn't understand, but being Hashem's loyal servant means making difficult sacrifices for the sake of submitting to Hashem's authority and obeying Him. Too often, we want to have the best of both worlds. We want comfort and ease, and to then include Hashem. We want a lot of money, some of which we will donate to charity. We want to be very successful during the week so we can close on Shabbat without losing anything. We want to have amazing, well-behaved kids who are easy to raise and educate to be religiously observant. We want to do what Hashem wants – but in the way that we want. Being a faithful servant of Hashem means serving Him under conditions which aren't the way we want. Proclaiming Hashem as King means serving Him not only when we are in good health, but with whatever health He decides we should have. Proclaiming Hashem as King means serving Him happily even if we're struggling financially. Proclaiming Hashem as King means having a Torah home even with challenging children. On Rosh Hashanah, we draw our attention to עקידת יצחק because this is what crowning Hashem as King is all about – being willing to sacrifice, being willing to serve Hashem and obey His will under difficult conditions, when things aren't going our way. Crowning Hashem as King means turning to Him and saying, "Whatever it is that You want from me – I'm ready to do." And this is precisely the lesson of עקידת יצחק . The Gemara derives the details about the mitzvah of shofar blowing on Rosh Hashanah from the sounding of the shofar on the yovel (jubilee year). Every 50 years, the shofar would be sounded, proclaiming the release of all servants, setting them free. The Torah uses similar words in the context of the Rosh Hashanah shofar blowing and the shofar blowing on the yovel , indicating that the halachot that apply on yovel apply also on Rosh Hashanah. When we truly crown Hashem as king, we attain freedom – freedom from anxiety, from frustration, from anger, and from disappointment. When we see ourselves as servants of Hashem, and understand that we are here to live the life He wants us to live, and not the life that we think we want to live, then we will spare ourselves so much stress and aggravation. When life doesn't go the way we planned, we will just accept it as Hashem's will, realizing that He wants us to serve Him under the conditions that He gives us. There is no greater feeling than this mindset. When we live this way, we aren't worried about what may happen or not happen, because we know that everything that happens is Hashem's will. And we won't be frustrated or angry when things don't go our way, because we will understand that this is what Hashem wants for us. Let us take advantage of the precious opportunity Rosh Hashanah offers us to truly proclaim our loyalty to Hashem, so we can experience the unparalleled freedom of being His servants.

Parashat Ki-Tavo begins with the mitzvah of bikkurim – the requirement that a farmer bring the first of his fruits that ripen each year to the Bet Ha'mikdash , and present them as a gift to a kohen . The Torah commands, ובאת אל הכהן אשר יהיה בימים ההם – "You shall come to the kohen who will be in those days." Rashi explains that the Torah adds the words אשר יהיה בימים ההם – "who will be in those days" – to teach us אין לך אלא כהן שבימיך כמו שהוא – "all you have is the kohen in your times, the way he is." A person should bring his bikkurim to the kohen who is there in his time, even if this kohen is not of the same caliber as a kohen of a previous generation. Rashi makes a similar comment earlier in Sefer Devarim (17:9), in reference to the Torah's command that one bring his difficult Torah questions אל השופט אשר יהיה בימים ההם – "to the judge who will be in those days." In that context, too, Rashi explains that the Torah is emphasizing that even if the judge is not as great as the judges of earlier generations, אין לך אלא שופט שבימיך – "all you have is the judge who is in your times." The Ramban raises the question of how Rashi applies this to the context of bikkurim . After all, the kohen simply receives the bikkurim . He does not need to be wise, scholarly, or righteous. When it comes to judges and halachic scholars, it's understandable that one might be reluctant to bring his halachic question to a rabbi who is less impressive than the Rabbis of yesteryear. But why would a person feel this way about his bikkurim ? The answer given is that when a person gives something to someone, he wants to feel good about the recipient. A farmer is bringing the first fruits, which he worked very hard to produce, to give them as a gift to a kohen . If he sees that the kohanim in his generation aren't quite on the same level as the kohanim of earlier generations, he might feel uneasy about presenting them with this gift. The Torah therefore tells him, אין לך אלא כהן שבימיך כמו שהוא – all you have is the kohen in your time. These are the kohanim you have been given, so appreciate them, and support them. This is something which is relevant when it comes to family members. Many people, if not all of us, have issues with somebody in the family, or with several members of the family. It could be a spouse, a parent, a child, a sibling, a parent-in-law or a child-in-law. They think, "If only he wouldn't do that," or, "If only she wouldn't be weird in that way," or, "If only he wouldn't talk like that," or, "If only she didn't act this way." People seem to always be complaining about someone, or more than one person, in their family. We need to remember, אין לך אלא כהן שבימיך כמו שהוא – these are the family members that Hashem gave us. Yes, they aren't perfect, just like we ourselves aren't perfect, and just like all people on earth aren't perfect. Yes, they're a little weird in some way, just like we ourselves are weird is some way, and all people on earth are weird in some way. We have to accept them and love them for who they are. אין לך אלא כהן שבימיך כמו שהוא . The Gemara in Masechet Hulin (58b) tells what appears to be a very peculiar story about two small flies. The female fly got angry at the male fly, and stayed away from the male for seven years. The reason it was angry is because it once saw the male fly suck blood from a person, and did not inform the female fly so she could also have some blood. The Gemara questions how this could have happened, given that this was a special species of fly that lives only for a single day. How could the female fly have separated from the male fly for seven years, if they lived for only one day? The Gemara answers that the "seven years" refers to שני דידהו – their "years." Meaning, this refers to just a short while, the amount of time proportional to seven years in the life of a human being. What is the meaning of this seemingly bizarre story? One Rabbi explained that the Gemara here is talking not about one-day flies, but about us. So many families are torn apart over nonsense, just like this pair of flies. So many siblings are not on speaking terms because of some silly fight, because somebody got offended by something that the other person did. And if only they realized that they live for just "one day," that life is shorter than it appears, they wouldn't have made an issue out of it. Let us try to appreciate the family we've been given, the people we are blessed to have in our lives, flawed and imperfect as they may be. Instead of complaining, let us be grateful for everyone we have around us, and work to strengthen and enhance these relationships as best we can.

The story is told of a man who once approached a Rabbi and asked a question which we have likely all asked ourselves at one point or another, in some form or another. "Why does Hashem want me to perform mitzvot ?" he asked. "He already has angels, who are perfect, pristine creatures. I'm just a human being. I'm very flawed. I make a lot of mistakes. I do a lot of things wrong. What are my mitzvot worth?" The Rabbi replied by asking this fellow what he did professionally. The man said he was an artist, who drew paintings. "What's your favorite piece of art that you've produced?" the Rabbi asked. The artist explained that he painted a beautiful picture of the sunset over the ocean. It's considered an exquisite piece of art, and is worth an exorbitant amount of money. "What makes it so exquisite? Why is it so highly valued?" the Rabbi wondered. "Because it's perfect," the artist explained. "It depicts the ocean, the sun and the horizon in a manner that so closely resembles the real thing." "So tell me something," the Rabbi continued. "Why doesn't someone just take a good camera to the ocean and take a picture of the sunset? If he wants a perfect picture of the sunset, then surely a picture can provide a far more perfect replica than your painting, as good as it is." The artist smiled and explained that the whole point of art is to depict the subject as accurately as possible given human limitations. With a camera, there's no challenge, and so there's no achievement in producing a precise replica. The beauty of art lies in the ability to attain near-perfection within the limits of the human being's abilities. "This is precisely why Hashem wants us to serve Him," the Rabbi said. The angels' service of G-d is like the camera's depiction of the sunset. It's perfect and unflawed, without any struggle or challenge. Hashem created us flawed human beings so we can be "artists" – so we can create as beautiful a life as we can, with the understanding that we aren't going to be perfect. Religious life is an art, whereby we make ourselves as close to perfect as possible. Of course, we will never be perfect, and we should never expect ourselves to be perfect. We must, however, expect and demand of ourselves that we consistently work to get better. This month, Elul, is the time especially earmarked for growth. This is the time when we are to see how we can make our "painting" a little better, and bring ourselves closer to perfection. This is not the time to pretend that we can make ourselves perfect. This will never happen. If we see this month as the time to get perfect, then we'll likely end up accomplishing nothing. Instead, we need to commit to make ourselves better, to getting closer to perfection. And in order to do this, we must be willing to push ourselves, and to challenge ourselves to make real changes. The Gemara teaches in Masechet Sotah (21b): אין דברי תורה מתקיימין אלא במי שמעמיד עצמו ערום עליהן . This literally means, "The words of Torah are sustained only within someone who makes himself 'unclothed' over them." The Gemara here is telling us that in order to grow in Torah, we need to make difficult sacrifices. Needless to say, we don't have to actually give up all our clothing. We do, however, need to give up things that we have come to like, or we have come to look to for enjoyment. We should not expect ourselves to be perfect – but we must absolutely expect ourselves to work hard and to sacrifice in order to improve. If we are committing ourselves to Torah and mitzvot , then we cannot allow ourselves to act as we like, to go wherever we like, to watch whatever we like on our devices, or to speak however we like. We need to give up things which we know are wrong, even if giving them up is difficult. May Hashem help all of us this month to produce beautiful, exquisite "paintings," as we develop ourselves into the greatest people that we are capable of becoming.

I was once in a post office, and started chatting with the fellow working there behind the counter. Over the course of our conversation, he mentioned that he had served in the Marines. "The Marines?" I said. "Wow, that's amazing." He said that he spent some time in Afghanistan. I asked how much time he spent there, and he said that he was there for seven months. He had been a Marine for many years, but he spent only seven months serving in Afghanistan. "Why only seven months?" I then asked. His answer caught me off-guard. "Because complacency is no good." He explained that war is very dangerous, and very complex. In order to succeed, you need to be on high-alert at all times. At every moment, you need to be fully prepared, and completely focused. You need to make sure that all your equipment and all your ammunition is in tip-top shape and ready for action. And maintaining this level of alertness and preparedness requires the highest levels of motivation. The moment a troop falls even slightly, for a moment, into complacency, letting his guard down, he puts himself at great risk. In fact, this ex-Marine post-office worker said, there was a sign hung in his base in Afghanistan that read: Complacency Kills . This man, I believe, helps us understand what the month of Elul is all about. It is about taking us out of our complacency, it is about ensuring that we don't become the kind of people who sit back in our chair, pick up our feet, and take it easy. The month of Elul is meant to wake us up from our feeling of "whatever," of "I'm fine the way I am." It is about reminding us that we've been brought to this world to excel and to achieve, not to just sit back and relax. Every so often the yetzer ha'ra (evil inclination) puts a dream in my head – a dream where I just sit somewhere doing absolutely nothing, without my phone, without anyone around me, without any obligations or responsibilities. This is my yetzer ha'ra 's dream. And I hope I never have a single day like that in my entire life. I don't want to ever spend a day doing nothing, a day when I am not making the most of the precious time I've been given here in this world. The Midrash tells what appears to be a very peculiar story of a man who sat down along the side of the road to eat, and suddenly saw two birds fighting, with one eventually killing the other. The living bird then left and later returned with a leaf from a certain plant, which it placed on top of the dead bird. Miraculously, the bird came back to life. The two birds then flew away together. The man set out to find the miracle plant. He found it, and took some leaves. He then went around seeing how he could use them. He chanced upon the carcass of a lion, and he placed the plant on it. The lion came back to life – and immediately proceeded to devour the man. Rav Shmuel Pinhasi explains the meaning of this story told by the Midrash. The man was granted remarkable power – the power to restore life. He could have utilized this power to bring back Moshe Rabbenu, David Ha'melech, or Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov. He could have brought back his parents. This miracle plant presented him with so many precious opportunities. But instead, he used it to bring back to life a dangerous, violent animal, and he lost his life because of it. This is the mistake that so many of us make – we misuse, or fail to use, our capabilities. The very fact that we are alive proves that we have the potential to achieve, to do great things. If Hashem keeps us here in His world, it is because we are powerful, because we have so much to give. Elul is the time to ask ourselves, honestly, whether we are using these abilities to their fullest, whether we are achieving to our full potential, or if we have become complacent, preferring to "take it easy," to sit back and relax, rather than put in the work to maximize our potential. If we use our talents and capabilities for a "lion," for the wrong purposes, then we, like the man in the story, are hurting ourselves. In order to shine, in order to live life the right way, we need to avoid complacency, and make the decision to invest effort to be the best that we can be. And Elul is the time to make that decision, to stop being complacent, to stop accepting the way things are, to get up from our chair, and to resolve to go ahead and turn our lives into what they are meant to be.

Parashat Re'eh begins with Moshe Rabbenu making the following pronouncement to Beneh Yisrael : ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה. See that I am placing before you today a blessing and a curse. The commentaries explain that every day, Hashem gives us opportunities. Everything He gives us is another opportunity to serve Him, to do something meaningful, and to attain greatness. Everything our community has been blessed with – its shuls, its schools, its programs, its close-knit nature – is an opportunity for us to do great things. Everything we have in our personal lives, too, is an opportunity. And yes, even the challenges that we face are an opportunity for us to grow by overcoming them and persevering. It is up to us to decide whether to turn everything we have into a ברכה or a קללה – a blessing, or, Heaven forbid, the opposite. Moshe here emphasizes that this opportunity is given to us היום , today, right now. Too often, we think to ourselves that only when such-and-such happens, when such-and-such problem is solved, or when something changes, we will be able to achieve and do what we know what we need to do. Moshe tells us that there is no reason to wait. אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום . Today, right now, whatever is going on in our lives, we have the opportunity to choose ברכה , to take all that Hashem has given us, and turn it into a blessing. I was once talking to friend toward the end of the summer, and I asked him how his summer was going. He lamented that he had been eating too much during the summer, and gained weight. "So what are you going to do about it?" I asked. "I'll go on a diet after the summer," he replied. This is the mistake that so many of us make. We decide to wait. We don't realize that already היום , right now, we can bring ברכה into our lives. We don't have to wait for the end of the summer, or for anything else to happen, to enjoy and take advantage of Hashem's blessings. Already today, no matter what is happening in our lives, we have precious opportunities to grow and achieve. There is also something else worth noting in this opening pasuk . The pasuk begins in the singular form, addressing the individual – ראה – but then immediately transitions to the plural form – לפניכם . The explanation might be that in order to find the opportunity for ברכה today, we need to look as individuals, at our own lives, without being distracted by other people's lives. ראה – we have to look by ourselves, individually. One of the greatest obstacles to capitalizing on our opportunities is a phenomenon known today as "FOMO" – the "fear of missing out." Once upon a time, this was something that teenage girls suffered from. But now, it seems, even adults experience FOMO. We see lots of cars parked near a home, and we right away realize that there's some event going on which we didn't know about – and we feel we're missing something. We hear of things happening, and we right away think we need to join. We're always looking around to see what other people are doing, thinking that we should probably be doing that, too. If we are going to live our best lives, then we need to focus on living *OUR* best lives. We have to be able to block out the noise, to ignore what other people are doing, and to focus our attention on the opportunities that Hashem has given us to shine and excel. We don't have to be doing what others are doing – we need to be doing the things that will make our lives the most meaningful, the most fulfilling, and the most accomplished that they can be.

n Parashat Ekev, Moshe Rabbenu commands the people that after they cross into the Land of Israel, they must remember what their lives were like in the desert. They must remember the miraculous existence that they lived – being fed by manna which fell from the heavens, drinking water supplied by a supernatural well which traveled with them, and wearing the same clothes and shoes, which never became worn. Moshe then warns the people that after they enter Eretz Yisrael , and after they till the land, produce large amounts of food, and amass wealth, they might grow arrogant, and think to themselves, כוחי ועוצם ידי עשה לי את החיל הזה – "My strength and the power of my hand made for me all this wealth" (Devarim 8:17). Instead of attributing their prosperity to Hashem, they will take all the credit for their success. Moshe commands us: וזכרת את ה' אלוקיך כי הוא הנותן לך כח לעשות חיל. You shall remember Hashem your G-d – that it is He who gives you the strength to attain wealth . (8:18) This section is among the most important sources in the Torah regarding the proper balance between hishtadlut (effort) and emuna (faith). We are told that it is perfectly acceptable, and even necessary, to work for a living, but we must also firmly believe that the success of our endeavors depends entirely on Hashem – כי הוא הנותן לך כח לעשות חיל . The analogy I like to give is one of a baseball player who steps up to the plate. When the pitcher throws a pitch, and it's in the strike zone, nobody would tell the batter not to swing the bat, and to instead trust that Hashem will help him get on base. The right thing for him to do is to swing – and to swing the best way he knows how, powerfully, to try to hit the ball squarely. But just before he swings, he must remind himself that the outcome of his swing depends entirely on Hashem. And after he hits the ball over the fence, and he's rounding the bases, he must realize that הוא הנותן לך כח לעשות חיל , that it was Hashem who made his swing successful, who sent the ball out the park. When I meet with older singles in our community, they often ask me about this subject, how much effort they should be investing in trying to find a shidduch . I tell them that they should take out a piece of paper, and make a list of everything they can do to find a marriage partner. They should think long and hard of what the maximum effort is, and write down every single measure that they can take to make this process work. This might mean contacting a certain number of shadchanim , attending a certain number of events, different ways to expand their social network, and so on. Then, after this list is complete, and they have written down everything they could possibly do, they should put the list away, and remind themselves that this process depends exclusively on Hashem, that it is He, and not their efforts, that will bring them their shidduch . After contemplating this for a few minutes, I tell them, they should pull their list out again, and do every single thing on the list, without any exceptions. They need to "swing" hard – but only after establishing in their minds that הוא הנותן לך כח לעשות חיל , that the outcome depends solely on Hashem. Returning to our parashah , this is why Moshe commands the people to always remember their supernatural existence in the desert. They must realize that just as Hashem cared for them during those years, when they had no ability to obtain food or water on their own, Hashem would be caring for them in the land, when they would be working to sustain themselves. There is no difference. Even though we are to invest effort to attain our needs, whatever those needs may be, it is Hashem who provides them. Every day, when we get a good "pitch," when we have an opportunity for parnasah , for a shidduch , for a cure, for whatever it is that we need, we need to "swing" as hard as we can. But just before we "swing," we need to remember that only Hashem determines where the "ball" lands.

n Parashat Va'et'hanan, Moshe Rabbenu recalls the event of Ma'amad Har Sinai , when Hashem spoke to Beneh Yisrael at Mount Sinai, and pronounced the Aseret Ha'dibberot (Ten Commandments). The final of these ten commands is לא תחמוד – "You shall not covet." This mitzvah forbids us from wanting what our fellow has and trying to obtain it. Let us, then, take a moment to talk about jealousy, particularly in today's day and age. There has never been a generation that saw so many pictures as our generation. And the vast majority of these pictures are fake, or give a fake impression. One Rabbi compared this phenomenon to artificial grass. Every "blade" is the perfect size, and the perfect color. Real grass, however, is never perfectly green, and never the perfect size. People today are like artificial grass. They project an image of perfection. They want everybody to see them as having the perfect life. We all, to one extent or another, "photoshop" our lives, both on social media and in real-life interactions. We make it seem like our marriage is perfect, our kids are perfect, our home is perfect, our portfolio is perfect, and our mental health is perfect. But we know the truth – that our lives aren't perfect, that we have our share of problems and struggles, that things aren't exactly the way we want them to be. We know that we're just putting on a show. And if we're putting on a show, that means that the people we're jealous of are also putting on a show. They make their lives look perfect just like we do – but the truth is that their lives aren't so perfect, just like ours isn't so perfect. This is true also about the way we tend to judge other people. We see people act a certain way, and we reach conclusions about them, as though we know the whole story. I was once giving a talk, and ten minutes into the talk, three women in the audience stood up and left. In my mind, as I was speaking, I thought to myself that they left because the introduction to this talk was the same as the introduction to a speech I had given around a month before, and these women heard that speech online, and thus assumed that I was giving the same talk now. I then realized that I had just done something very silly. I concocted an entire story about three people whom I know absolutely nothing about. I didn't have any idea who these women were, what they were doing there and why they left, but I created a narrative in my mind about them. And we do this so often. We see only the "tip of the iceberg" of a person's life, and then decide that we know all about the "iceberg," we know everything about the person, why he does what he does. And then we feel we can criticize him and look down on him. Not only do we see only the "tip of the iceberg," but even that "tip" which we see is fake. What we see isn't real. Why do we think we can judge other people, and why do we feel jealous of other people, if we know so little, if anything, about their lives? One Rabbi taught: "Judging favorably is the worst-case scenario. The best-case scenario is – it's none of your business." We have our lives, other people have their lives; they don't know about our lives, and we don't know about their lives. So there's no reason to feel jealous, and there's no reason to judge.

The Book of Devarim consists mainly of the speeches that Moshe Rabbenu delivered to Beneh Yisrael before his passing. In the first several parashiyot , Moshe reviews some of the events that took place after Beneh Yisrael left Egypt, placing particular emphasis on the sins that they committed. He speaks at length about the sin of the golden calf and the sin of the spies. He also mentions the instances when Beneh Yisrael complained in the desert, and briefly notes also the revolt by Korah. As Moshe prepared to leave this world, in his "farewell address," he reprimanded the people for the mistakes they made, so that they would not repeat these mistakes. The Midrash describes Moshe reprimanding the people by bringing a pasuk from the Book of Mishleh (28:23): מוכיח אדם אחרי חן ימצא ממחליק לשון . Literally, this means, "He who reprimands a person after Me will find more favor than a slick-tongued person." The Midrash states that this refers to Moshe, who reprimanded the people "after Me," in the proper way, and so his words – despite being critical – found favor in the people's eyes, more so than the words of somebody with a "slick tongue," who has mastered the art of rhetoric. Moshe, as we know, had difficulty speaking. He was not "slick-tongued." Nevertheless, his words of rebuke were effective, and he "found favor" with the people despite talking them harshly about the things they had done wrong, because he spoke to them אחרי – "after Me." The commentaries explain that אחרי refers to sincerity, intentions that are purely לשם לשמיים , for Hashem's sake. When we criticize, people can sense whether we do so sincerely, out of a genuine concern for them, or if we criticize with impure motives. They will feel if we are criticizing because we really care about them, or if we're just angry, or if we're just trying to feel superior to them by putting them down, by showing that we're better than them. They know by the way we speak to them if we are sincere or if we have some agenda. If we criticize אחרי , genuinely לשם שמיים , then we will "find favor," the person will be receptive and open to what we have to say. But if our intentions are insincere, if we are just angry, or looking to feel good about ourselves at somebody else's expense, then the person will notice, and is not likely to accept what we have to say. Instead, he will react with hostility and defend himself. Sincerity has power. When we are sincere, people feel it, and respond accordingly. We often feel the need to criticize the people around us – our children, our spouse, other family members, friends, employees, coworkers, etc. And, many times, it is indeed necessary to criticize. But our criticism will be effective and achieve the desired result only if we are truly sincere, if our only intention is to help the person improve, without any hostility, arrogance or agendas. If we speak with even a tinge of disdain, of disrespect, of gloating, of "gotcha," of "I'm better than you," the person is going to feel it, and will reject everything we say. When it comes to criticism, sincerity is everything. It is only when our sole intention is to help the person get better that there is a chance of our words being heeded.

The first section of Parashat Maseh lists all the different places where Beneh Yisrael encamped during the forty years they spent in the desert, from the time they left Egypt through their last station before crossing into the Land of Israel. The first pasuk of the parashah introduces this section as follows: אלה מסעי בני ישראל אשר יצאו מארץ מצרים...ביד משה ואהרון. These are the journeys of Beneh Yisrael, who left the land of Egypt…by the hand of Moshe and Aharon . We must ask why the pasuk emphasizes that the people were brought out of Egypt by Moshe and Aharon – literally, "by the hand of Moshe and Aharon." Why does this need to be said? How is this significant? The Ketav Sofer explains that to the people, it appeared that they left Egypt ביד משה ואהרון , because of Moshe and Aharon. They thought that it was their leadership that brought them out of slavery and into the wilderness. Therefore, the next pasuk says: ויכתוב משה את מוצאיהם למסעיהם על פי ה' – Moshe recorded the nation's journeys "in accordance with Hashem." Moshe taught the people that every journey they took, every place where they encamped, everywhere they traveled – was all arranged by Hashem. It was He who brought them out of Egypt, and it was He who led them to every station they passed through on the way to Eretz Yisrael . The same is true of our journey through life. Sometimes this journey seems random, and sometimes it is difficult. But we need to have emunah (faith) and trust that Hashem brings us precisely to where we need to be at all times. Whatever situation we find ourselves in is the situation Hashem intentionally brought us to for a specific purpose. I was once talking to a community member about an organization I'm involved with, asking for his assistance. I apologized to him for taking his time. "Don't be sorry," this fellow said. "Your organization does amazing work, and it is a privilege for me to be part of it. Thank you for including me." This man understood that when somebody asks us for help, when we are invited to a fundraiser, or when we are given an opportunity to contribute to a meaningful cause, it is Hashem – not the person in need, not the Rabbi who leads the organization, and not the person running the event – who is asking for assistance. Hashem is taking us to that situation so that we can make an impact, because we have an important goal to achieve. Somebody once told me the story of a certain person in Israel who missed his bus by just a couple of seconds. He was terribly upset. He had to call a taxicab, and then wait for the taxi to come, and pay a lot of money. He was visibly frustrated. A person who was there asked him, "Tell me, if that bus which you were supposed to be on gets blown up, would you be upset about missing it?" "Of course not," the man said. "I would be very grateful to Hashem for saving my life." "Well," the other fellow replied, "why do all these people have to be killed just for you to feel happy?!" This is not just a funny line; it's truth. If we live with emunah , then we realize that Hashem puts us where we need to be, even if the bus doesn't blow up… Whatever is happening, wherever we find ourselves, whatever situation arises, we must realize that Hashem brought us there for a purpose. Even when it seems that our journey unfolds ביד משה ואהרון , as a result of things done by other people, in truth, everything occurs על פי ה' . Rather than complain and feel frustrated and embittered, we should embrace every circumstance we face, recognizing that it presents us with an important mission that Hashem wants us – and only us – to complete.

Parashat Pinhas begins with Hashem's announcement of the rewards that He would be giving to Pinhas, the grandson of Aharon. The background to the story is the sin of Ba'al Pe'or , when Beneh Yisrael became involved with the women of the nation of Moav, and also worshipped the god of Moav. Hashem punished the people by bringing a plague which killed 24,000 people. The plague ended only when Pinhas boldly arose and killed two people – a Jewish man and a gentile woman – who were committing a public sinful act. By defending Hashem's honor in this way, Pinhas brought an end to the devastating plague. Hashem then announced that Pinhas would receive two rewards. First, he would receive בריתי שלום – “My covenant of peace.” He was blessed with peace and serenity. In addition, he was rewarded with ברית כהונת עולם – the status of kohen . Due to a technicality, Pinhas had not previously been a kohen , despite being a grandson of Aharon. In reward for his heroic act during the calamity of Ba'al Pe'or , he and his descendants were declared kohanim . It seems that Pinhas received two rewards because of two great things which he accomplished. The Midrash tells that after he killed the two violators, he turned to Hashem and asked, “Because of these two people You are going to kill 24,000 members of Beneh Yisrael ?!” This shows that Pinhas acted as he did not out of anger and rage, but to the contrary, out of genuine love and concern for Am Yisrael . He truly believed, with every fiber of his being, that Beneh Yisrael were much better than this, that this debacle didn't at all define who they were. There were these two sinners who needed to be eliminated, but the rest of the nation were all good and deserved to be saved. This is how Pinhas felt toward Beneh Yisrael. Pinhas thus received two rewards: 1) He was rewarded with the status of kohen for his bold, courageous act to kill the two sinners. 2) He was rewarded with peace for his sincere love and concern for the people. Pinhas wasn't an angry, mean zealot who set out to violently oppose those who acted wrongly. Rather, he deeply cared for Beneh Yisrael even in their moment of disgrace. He realized that there were two “bad apples” whom he needed to confront for the sake of saving the rest of the nation. This was an act of love, not an act of rage. Tens of thousands of people sinned – but he loved them, and acted against only the two public violators. Rav Binyamin Finkel of the Mir Yeshiva in Jerusalem is an extraordinary figure, commonly known as “Rav Binyamin Ha'tzadik.” Once, when he visited our community, he came to shul on what turned out to be an exceptionally busy Shabbat morning. A lengthy, double- parashah was read, and a fundraiser was being held. There were lots of extra aliyot , and the shul was extremely noisy, with lots of talking. Before the time came for him to speak, I had no choice but to approach him and explain that the people in the shul are very strict about time, and so he had only three minutes, and no more, to speak. The words he spoke in those three minutes left me astonished. He spoke about how wonderful the shul is, how wonderful the congregation is, how wonderful the tefilah was. This man is the mashgiah (spiritual supervisor) of the Mir Yeshiva, where hardly anybody speaks a single word during the tefilah , ever. And here he was, in a commotion-filled shul with lots of noise, talking about how wonderful the people were. Rav Binyamin understood that the way to people's hearts is through positivity, not through negativity and criticism. Angrily berating people for doing things wrong is not likely to change them. It will just make them not want to listen to what we have to say ever again. If we want to elicit change, we need to treat people and speak to them with respect even if they do things to which we strongly object. In the early years of our community, there were many members who would drive to work after davening on Shabbat morning. The Rabbis of the time did not throw them out of shul. They did just the opposite – they warmly welcomed them, understanding that their ongoing connection to the shul, to tefilah , and to the Rabbi is what will gradually influence them to raise their standards of religious observance. Pinhas is not a model of angry zealotry, of harshly protesting against sin. He is a model of love and positivity, of caring for fellow Jews especially in their lowest moments. This is the way our community will, please G-d, continue to grow and flourish – through positivity, through love, through building connections between the different types of people, so that we can work together to move our community forward.

The Hovot Ha'levavot writes that when a person goes out to work in the morning, he should have kavanah (the intention) that he is now performing a mitzvah , fulfilling Hashem's command that he work to earn a livelihood. A person shouldn't go to work begrudgingly, wishing he could just stay home and do nothing. Rather, he should think to himself that he performs a mitzvah , since, after all, it is Hashem's will that a person work to support himself and his family. In presenting this idea, the Hovot Ha'levavot brings a pasuk from the story of creation. After Hashem created Adam and Havah, the first human beings, he placed them in Gan Eden לעבדה ולשמרה – to work in the garden, and to guard it (Bereshit 2:15). This pasuk , the Hovot Ha'levavot writes, is the source of the notion that we fulfill Hashem's will by working for a livelihood. It is noteworthy that the Hovot Ha'levavot chose to bring this pasuk , which refers to Adam and Havah's life in Gan Eden before the sin. As we know, Adam and Havah were soon banished from Gan Eden because they partook of the forbidden fruit, and Hashem decreed that Adam would have to work very hard to earn a livelihood: בזעת אפיך תאכל לחם – “By the sweat of your brow shall you eat bread” (Bereshit 3:19). Hashem cursed the land, such that it would not produce food without lots of hard work. Already before the sin, Adam and Havah needed to work, but after the sin, the work became much more grueling. We would certainly assume that this second pasuk is far more relevant to our situation, which the Hovot Ha'levavot addresses. As we all now, we need to work very hard to support ourselves and our families, and this is because of the curse which Hashem proclaimed after Adam and Havah's sin. Why, then, did the Hovot Ha'levavot bring the first pasuk , which describes work before Adam and Havah's sin, as the source of the “ mitzvah ” to work for a living? Perhaps we can find the answer in our parashah , Parashat Balak. Balak, the king of Moav, sent a delegation to Bilam, asking him to come and place a curse on Beneh Yisrael . Hashem appeared to Bilam and said, לא תאור את העם כי ברוך הוא – “Do not curse the nation, because they are blessed” (22:12). Rashi explains that Hashem first told Bilam, לא תאור את העם – not to curse Beneh Yisrael . Bilam then asked if he should bless them, instead. Hashem replied, כי ברוך הוא – the people were already blessed, and they did not require Bilam's blessing. What does this mean? Why did Hashem not want Bilam to bless the people? The answer, sadly, is found all around us, and perhaps even within ourselves. So many people are waiting to be blessed, not realizing that they are already blessed. So many people complain and feel unhappy, seeing themselves as deprived, and their lives as “cursed,” when in truth, they are blessed. They are unhappy and discontented, because they don't see that they already have so much blessing. Hashem was telling Bilam that Benei Yisrael are already blessed, and they do not need him to bless them. And this is the perspective we should have, as well. Of course, it is perfectly acceptable to want things we don't have, and to pray for these things. However, we must always remember כי ברוך הוא – that we are already blessed, that we already have so many beautiful blessings, that we are so fortunate, that Hashem has bestowed upon us so many wonderful gifts. We don't need to wait for ברכה to feel blessed, because ברוך הוא – we already have a great deal of ברכה in our lives. This might explain why the Hovot Ha'levavot chose the pasuk describing Adam and Havah before their banishment from Gan Eden . He is indicating to us that we are to see our lives as blessed, not cursed. Even if we need to work long hours at a job we do not love, we are to feel blessed, as if we are in Gan Eden , because we are doing what Hashem wants us to do. We shouldn't see our jobs as a curse, but rather as a blessing. We should go to work and do all the things we need to do – even the hard things! – with a feeling of כי ברוך הוא , that we are blessed, that we have the good fortune of living our lives in the service of Hashem and under His constant, loving care.

Parashat Hukat tells the famous story of Moshe's hitting the rock. To briefly review – Beneh Yisrael found themselves without water in the desert, and they argued with Moshe, demanding water. Hashem commanded Moshe to assemble the people around a rock, and to speak to the rock, whereupon it would miraculously produce water. Moshe gathered the people around the rock, and angrily criticized them, calling them מורים – “rebellious people.” He then struck the rock with his stick, and it produced water for all the people. Hashem was very angry at Moshe, and decreed that he would not enter the Land of Israel. He would instead die before Beneh Yisrael cross into the land. Many different explanations have been given to this story, for why Hashem was so angry at Moshe. What exactly did he do wrong? The most famous approach taken is that of Rashi, who writes that Moshe was commanded to speak to the rock, but he disobeyed Hashem, and struck the rock, instead. For a person on Moshe's level of greatness, this was considered a grave misdeed, and so he was severely punished. Another famous explanation was given by the Rambam. He writes that Moshe's sin was not striking the rock, but rather angrily criticizing the people, calling them מורים . The Kedushat Levi offers a beautiful insight, suggesting that in truth, these two explanations are one and the same. When we want to offer criticism – such as to children or students – there are two ways this could be done. One is to emphasize how bad the act was, repeatedly telling them that they did something disgraceful. The other way is to remind the wrongdoer that he is better than this, that he is capable of so much more, that he has such vast potential, that the world needs him, and that we are confident that he will do better in the future. Both responses are equally accurate. They are both factually correct. However, they have opposite effects on the person hearing the criticism. The first response knocks him down, and makes him feel low and worthless. The second lifts him up, and gives him the encouragement to improve. The Kedushat Levi explains that there is actually a much more powerful difference between these two forms of criticism. Remarkably, he writes that the way we criticize someone affects the way the world itself treats the person. The entire world was created for the human being; everything in nature is meant to serve us. But if we knock somebody down, depicting him as terrible because he did something wrong, then the world will not want to serve that person. Conversely, if we lift somebody up, emphasizing his great potential, how much he can achieve, and how much he can contribute to the world, then the world will respond by serving that person so he can make his important contribution. It thus turns out that the way we speak to somebody can determine the way the world treats that person! On this basis, the Kedushat Levi explains Moshe's sin. In this one instance, Moshe responded to the people's wrongdoing by knocking them down, instead of lifting them up. On this one occasion, he reacted the wrong way. As a result, the rock did not want to serve them. It did not want to miraculously provide water to מורים , to rebellious people. This is why Moshe needed to strike the rock in order for the water to come. Thus, Rashi's understanding and the Rambam's understanding are really the same. Moshe's mistake was reacting the wrong way, which necessitated striking the rock. We need to be very careful with the way we speak to and deal with other people, especially when they act wrongly. Instead of knocking them down, and reacting angrily, we should do just the opposite, and try to encourage them, to empower them, to build their self-esteem and ambition to achieve. This is how we help people actualize their potential, and enable them to do their share to make our world better.

Parashat Korah tells the tragic story of the uprising led by Korah against Moshe Rabbenu. The first pasuk in the parashah lists the names of the other prominent figures in this revolt, one of whom was a man named On ben Pelet. The Gemara observes that although On ben Pelet is mentioned in this first pasuk , his name never appears again anywhere in the story. Unlike the other people mentioned, On ben Pelet disappears. The Gemara explains that although On was among the original instigators of this rebellion, he eventually rescinded. Thanks to his wife, he pulled out of the revolt. Therefore, his name is never mentioned again. The Gemara says that this is why he was named און בן פלת . The name פלת alludes to the word פלא – “wonder,” something extraordinary, almost hard to believe. It is truly wondrous that somebody would do what On ben Pelet did – pull himself out of a fight that he helped to start. Usually, once somebody throws himself into a controversy, into some cause, it is almost impossible for him to change his mind and do an about-face. But On realized his mistake and pulled out of the uprising, and so he was called בן פלת , someone who did something “wondrous.” One of the commentators raises the question of why On's decision to withdraw was considered so “wondrous.” After all, the Torah says that Korah's followers numbered just 250 people. The rest of the 600,000 adult men in Beneh Yisrael , plus the women and children – around 2 million people!! – remained loyal to Moshe. What was so remarkable about On deciding to leave the tiny group of rebels to join the mainstream? Was this not the easier, more natural choice? The answer given is that when a person is part of a group, he sees only that group. Everyone outside the group doesn't count. Once On ben Pelet got involved with this rebellion, these were all the people he saw. From his perspective, these were the only people who mattered. And so his decision to leave them was, indeed, nothing short of “wondrous.” As someone who has been involved in high school education for many years, I can confirm this phenomenon. I'll have a conversation with a kid who is involved in drinking, partying, and other things that he shouldn't be involved in, and he'll tell me, “Everybody does it.” Then I'll have a conversation with a kid who goes to shul three times a day and is committed to learning Torah, and he'll tell me, “It's not hard… This is what everyone does.” “Everyone” is the people somebody associates with. Because everybody outside that circle doesn't matter. This is what makes peer pressure so powerful. A person's peer group is his “everybody.” He goes along with them because as far as he is concerned, they are “everybody,” there is no one else. How do we handle this problem? How do we resist the overwhelming force of peer pressure, and how can we equip our children with the strength to resist it? The Rambam, in a startling passage in Hilchot De'ot , writes that because we are so influenced by our surroundings, if a person lives in a time when everyone acts improperly, he should live alone. If necessary, he should go live in deserts and caves in order to avoid the negative influences of the society. I don't know anybody who did this, and the Rambam himself – despite writing that his generation was this way – did not do this. What the Rambam meant, I believe, is that a person needs to have the resolve, conviction and strength to “do it alone” when necessary. Of course we are not going to live in a desert or a cave. But we need to live with the courage to do what other people aren't doing, and to not do what other people are doing. We need to tell ourselves, and our children, that it's ok to be different, that we are strong and independent enough to do what we know is right even if the people around us aren't. When necessary, we are capable of living in a “cave,” according to our principles and beliefs that don't align with those of other people. True, it might seem like a פלא , a “wonder,” to have this strength and conviction, to be different from the people around us. But if On ben Pelet could do it, then so can we, and so can our children. It is an extremely difficult challenge, but it can be done. Let us empower ourselves, and our youngsters, with the confidence to do the right thing even when it isn't the popular thing.

Parashat Shelah tells the tragic story of חטא המרגלים – the sin of the spies. Moshe sent twelve spies into the Land of Israel to see what it was like before Beneh Yisrael proceeded to the land. Ten of the twelve spies returned with a negative and frightening report, and the people decided they did not wish to proceed. Hashem responded by decreeing that the nation would wander for forty years in the desert, until that entire generation perished, and only their children would enter Eretz Yisrael . In delivering their report to the people, the spies said about the land, ארץ אוכלת יושביה היא – “It is a land that consumes its inhabitants” (13:32). The Gemara explains that during the time the spies spent in Eretz Yisrael , they observed funerals taking place all over. Hashem wanted to distract the inhabitants so they would not notice the presence of twelve strangers, and He therefore brought a deadly plague in the land. Many people died, and the inhabitants of Eretz Yisrael were preoccupied with tending to their deceased that they did not notice the spies. But the spies saw this differently, concluding that Eretz Yisrael was an ארץ אוכלת יושביה – a place that kills the people who live there, where people cannot survive. Rav Shimshon Pincus explained the spies' mistake in light of a passage in the famous work Hovot Ha'levavot , which tells the tale of a wise man who was walking outside with his students, when they saw an animal carcass lying on the ground. The wise man turned to his disciples and asked, “What do you see?” “A revolting, smelly carcass,” they said. The wise man replied, “Look how white its teeth are. I see beautiful white teeth.” So many of us are addicted to negativity. So much of our conversation is devoted to complaining – about the weather, about politics, about the rabbi, about other people, about everything under the sun. For some reason, we love pointing out what is wrong. Rarely, if ever, do we point out the “white teeth,” the good in people, and ignore everything else. This was the spies' mistake. Hashem performed a great miracle for their benefit, but they saw it as an indication that the land was terrible. The Torah tells that the spies showed the nation the fruits of Eretz Yisrael , and the Midrash explains that these fruits were unusually large. The spies showed the people the fruit to convince them that the land was weird, that it wasn't a normal place where they would want to live. These fruits were a testament to the land's exceptional quality – but the spies said that to the contrary, the fruits proved how bad the land was. The Rabbis speak of חטא המרגלים as lashon ha'ra , negative speech. The way they spoke about the Land of Israel resembles the sin of lashon ha'ra – speaking negatively about other people. In light of this comparison, we can explain that lashon ha'ra is about the way we see what we see. When we speak lashon ha'ra about somebody, we're doing what the spies did – finding the negative instead of focusing on the positive; seeing the “carcass” instead of the “white teeth.” It's about how we view other people, zooming in on their faults and mistakes, rather than focusing on everything good about them. I once received a startling phone call from a man who said that he needed to speak to me because he had a problem. He explained that everything in his life is wonderful. He has a wonderful marriage, wonderful children, a wonderful community, and a wonderful income. He has time to learn Torah. “So what's the problem?” I asked. “My wife is 20 lbs. overweight, and it really drives me crazy. I just can't get over it.” Amidst my conversation with this fellow about his “problem,” I told him that the vast majority of people in the world would give anything to have as good a life as he has. When I hung up the phone, it occurred to me that as peculiar as this was, almost all of us are guilty of the same kind of thing, of ignoring the “white teeth,” of focusing on what's wrong about our lives and about the people around us, instead of appreciating all that is good. Let us ask ourselves honestly, how do we see what we see? Do we notice all the beautiful blessings in our lives, and all the beautiful qualities of our family members and friends? Or do we choose to focus on the negative aspects, on everything that is wrong? Hashem gives us many “large fruits,” countless wonderful blessings. The problem is that instead of recognizing them as blessings, we turn everything into a complaint. Let us learn the lesson of the meraglim , the ten spies, and correct this terrible ill. Let us see all that is beautiful in the people and the world around us, and always focus on what there is to praise and to feel good about, rather than focusing on what there is to complain about.

In 1943, shortly after arriving in the United States, Rav Aharon Kotler founded the Lakewood yeshiva with a small group of approximately fifteen students. The establishment of such an institution was seen as crazy. At that time, America was not a place where people sat and learned Torah. America was a place where Jews worked and made money. If necessary, they worked on Shabbat. It definitely wasn't suitable for a European-style yeshiva. Many American Jews ridiculed and criticized Rav Aharon Kotler for starting the yeshiva. They insisted that America wasn't Poland or Lithuania, and this institution had no chance of succeeding. Today, the yeshiva has some 8700 students. There is a pair of pesukim in Parashat Behaalotecha which is marked off in the Torah scroll by unusual symbols. These symbols – two upside-down נ 's – serve as “parentheses,” setting these two pesukim apart. According to one view in the Gemara, these two pesukim are set aside because they comprise their own sefer , a separate book of the Torah. Meaning, according to this opinion, there are not five books in the Torah, but seven: 1) Bereshit; 2) Shemot; 3) Vayikra; 4) the first part of Bamidbar, until these two pesukim ; 5) these two pesukim ; 6) the rest of Bamidbar; 7) Devarim. Let's look at these two pesukim , and try to figure out why they are so special that they are considered their own ”book”: ויהי בנסוע הארון ויאמר משה: קומה ה' ויפוצו אויביך וינוסו משנאיך מפניך. ובנוחה יאמר: שובה ה' רבבות אלפי ישראל. When the ark traveled, Moshe said: Arise, O G-d, and Your enemies shall be scattered, and Your foes shall flee. And when it rested, he said: Take residence, O G-d, among the hundreds of thousands of Israel . These are the pronouncements that Moshe Rabbenu made when the aron (ark) would begin to move as Beneh Yisrael traveled, and when the ark stopped as the people encamped. Why do these pesukim form their own “ sefer ”?? In this brief section, the Torah is teaching us how the “ aron ,” our tradition, “travels” through history, how it is preserved and perpetuated. This is done through קומה , by standing tall and proud, with confidence and courage. Like Rav Aharon Kotler, we need to stand up and do the right thing, ignoring our critics and naysayers. When we do that, then ויפוצו אויביך, וינוסו משנאיך – our adversaries will “flee,” they will be silenced. I have seen this happen so often here in our community. Families were reluctant to raise their standards of Torah observance, to devote themselves more fully to religion, as they feared the comments that people would make about them, how they would be looked at, the ridicule and scorn that they would be subjecting themselves to. But they courageously made the decision of קומה ה' , to stand tall and proud, and do what they knew was right. And when they did, everything was fine. ויפוצו אויביך . Nobody said anything. To the contrary, ובנוחה – when the family “came to rest,” upon settling into its new level of commitment, שובה ה' רבבות אלפי ישראל – they earned the respect of many, and inspired others to follow their example. This is what this little “book” is about – perpetuating our legacy, our Torah tradition, by ignoring אוביך and משנאיך , those who ridicule and mock, and moving forward in the right direction, undeterred and unaffected by their murmurings. When we do this, then we end up with more respect, more admiration, and more of an influence upon our surroundings.