Podcasts about parasha

The pasuk says in this week's Parasha, Ki Tavo , ושמחת בכל הטוב – we are to rejoice with all of the good that Hashem gives us. In this world, when a person appreciates what others do for him, those people are happy to give him more. But when a person denies the good, it makes others turn away from giving him. At the end of the year, when we are going to request of Hashem to give us a new year of blessing, the best thing we could do is to first appreciate how much He has given us already. One of the reasons people don't appreciate is because they feel that everyone else has more than them and everyone else is happier than them. But they are very mistaken. The sefer Orchot HaYeshiva tells the story of a young man who went to see Rav Shach, zatzal , and lamented that it seemed to him that his friend, who had gotten engaged at the same time as he did, seemed to be happier than him. He was asking the Rabbi if he should perhaps break off his engagement. Rav Shach replied, "The boy you are talking about was here before and he had the exact same complaint. He thought that you seemed happier than him." This is the nature of man, to always think that others are happier than he, but in actuality, Hashem gives each person exactly what he needs to be happy, to do his job. If we could only focus on what we do have rather than on what everyone else seems to have, we would be so much happier. Just saying the Birkot HaShachar in the morning with kavana can bring a person such an appreciation for Hashem. The Chochma U'Musar writes, before we say each beracha , we should think about what exactly we are about to thank Hashem for and then appreciate it to the fullest. For example, he said, one of the berachot is פוקח עיוורים – that Hashem gives eyesight to the blind. Simply, we are saying when we go to sleep we can't see and each day when we wake up, Hashem gives up the ability to see once again. We are supposed to imagine the feelings of a blind man, lo alenu , and then imagine that all of a sudden, a doctor came up with a medication that could cure the blind. How much joy would a blind man have finally being able to see? That is the amount of appreciation that we are supposed to show Hashem every single day because nothing is a given and just because a person has something today doesn't necessarily mean he'll have it tomorrow. It is only because of the chesed of Hashem that we are able to enjoy the blessings He gives us each and every day. We also have to feel so fortunate that we have the zechut to serve the Melech Malchei HaMelachim HaKadosh Baruch Hu . The sefer Mizmor L'Asaf writes, when a person enters the shul in the morning, he should be overcome with hakarat hatov that Hashem gave him the privilege of entering His home to come and speak to Him. The more we appreciate, the better our avodat Hashem will be, the happier we will be and the happier Hashem will be to give us even more.

Parashat Ki-Tabo begins with the Misva of Bikkkurim – the obligation upon a farmer to bring the first fruits that ripen to the Bet Ha'mikdash and present them to a Kohen. The farmer then makes a special declaration praising and expressing gratitude to Hashem for bringing our nation out of Egypt into the Land of Israel, where he was able to till the land and produce delicious, nourishing fruit. The unique significance and importance of this Misva is expressed in the special fanfare that characterized the process of bringing Bikkurim. The farmers would assemble and march with song and festivity through the roads, and the shopkeepers in Jerusalem would close their stores and come out to welcome and celebrate the visitors who were bringing their fruits to the Bet Ha'mikdash. The importance of Bikkurim is also articulated by the Midrash, which teaches that this Misva is mentioned in the very first word of the Torah: "Bereshit." The Midrash interprets this word to mean that the world was created for the sake of Bikkurim, which is called "Reshit" ("Reshit Bikkureh Admatecha" – "the first of the fruits of your land that ripen" – Shemot 23:19). Remarkably, the Midrash is telling us that the entire world was created so we can fulfill the Misva of Bikkurim! The reason is that G-d created the world so that He could shower us with goodness which we would then appreciate and be grateful for. The most elementary of all Torah values is gratitude, acknowledging and appreciating what was done for us. Hence, the Misva of Bikkurim, which revolves around the concept of gratitude, thanking Hashem for providing us with food, can be seen as the purpose of all creation. Our Sages teach that gratitude toward Hashem begins with feeling and showing appreciation for other people. The Midrash states: "Whoever denies his fellow's goodness will ultimately deny the Almighty's goodness." The classic example demonstrating this principle is Pharaoh, who is said to have "not known Yosef" (Shemot 1:8). It is inconceivable, the Rabbis explain, that a king who ascended the throne soon after Yosef's lifetime had not heard of Yosef. He was the one who saved Egypt from the devastating famine that struck the rest of the region, and thereby enriched the kingdom, as all the surrounding peoples came to purchase grain which Yosef had stored in anticipation of the looming drought. Rather, this means that the new Pharaoh did not acknowledge Yosef's role in saving the kingdom and bringing it to great heights of wealth and prestige. Because Pharaoh denied all the good that Yosef brought to the kingdom, he ultimately denied G-d Himself, brazenly and outrageously telling Moshe many years later, "Lo Yadati Et Hashem" – "I do not know G-d!" (Shemot 5:2). Translating this message into practical terms – one cannot be considered "religious" if he recites Birkat Ha'mazon after every meal with intense concentration, thanking Hashem for his food, and says "Modim" in the Amida prayer three times a day with great emotion, expressing gratitude to Hashem for all He does – but he does not show gratitude to the people in his life. Gratitude begins at home, with the people who do the most for us – first and foremost our parents, who gave us life and exerted so much hard work and made so many sacrifices for us, and then our spouse, the one closest to us, with whom we build and run our families. If we are not grateful to them and to everyone who helps us and does things for us, we will ultimately feel ungrateful also toward G-d. And, yes, this applies also to those who are paid to do things for us. Many years ago, I was hired as a private tutor for a teenage boy in the community. While we were learning, he called the family's housekeeper on the intercom system, and told her to bring him soda and some snacks. I was startled by the way he spoke, not even using the word "please." She came a minute later with the soda and snacks, and he said, "Close the door on your way out." I turned to the boy and asked, "You don't say 'thank you'??" "Rabbi," the boy replied, "she works for us. We're paying her to do this." "Now you're making me very nervous," I said. "Why?" "Because I also work for you. Your parents pay me, too. Are you going to treat me that way because I'm getting paid?" Whether it's the secretary, the cashier, the uber driver, the coworker, the delivery guy – feeling and expressing gratitude is not just required, but it is the ABC's of the Torah, our most basic obligation as Jews and as human beings. The more we appreciate all the people in our lives and all that they do for us, the more we will appreciate all that Hashem does for us – and this will, in turn, make us worthy of even more of His unlimited blessings and goodness.

G-D will never give up on you. Listen to Rabbi Toby's Shabbat sermon based out of Parasha Ki Teitzei at Congergation Mayim Chayim.

Cuando salgas a la guerra sobre tu enemigo

Kie Teetsee'De lezingen van parshat Kie Teetsee' zijn Deuteronomium 21:10 – 25:19 en Jesaja 54:1 – 55:5. We staan deze keer in het bijzonder stil bij Deuteronomium 23:8-24. In dit gedeelte lezen we onder meer dat de Israëlieten hun uitwerpselen buiten het kamp moeten begraven, zodat God geen afkeer van hen krijgt. Wat betekent dit begraven van de uitwerpselen in geestelijke zin en welke lessen leert Yeshua ons hierover? Dit en meer in deze aflevering van het Leerhuis. Support the show

Quando você tem um desafio, de que forma você resolve ele? Vai para cima com tudo ou se sente amedrontado? Você cumpre todas as promessas que faz? Descubra o que aconteceu com um americano, um espanhol e um português quando foram beber na China

The Torah in Parashat Ki-Teseh introduces the subject of the Ben Sorer U'moreh – the "wayward son." This is a delinquent 13-year-old child, whose delinquency manifests itself parituclarly in addictive indulgence. He eats and drinks so compulsively that he steals his parents' money to buy wine and meat. The Torah states that this child should be put to death, and the Gemara explains that this is because this child is set along a path to violent crime. Once he has reached this point, where he steals his parents' money to satisfy his lust for food and wine, we are certain that he will eventually mug people to steal their money, and will end up murdering. He should therefore be killed so he never grows to be a violent criminal. The Gemara further states that there has never been a child that qualified as a Ben Sorer U'moreh, and there never will be such a case. There are so many conditions that must be met for this law to take effect that it can never actually apply as a practical matter. The Torah nevertheless taught us this theoretical Halacha so we can earn reward by studying this subject. The Gemara then cites Rabbi Yochanan as testifying, "I saw him, and I sat on his grave." At first glance, it appears that there are two views in the Gemara as to whether there was a case of a Ben Sorer U'moreh. The first opinion said that it never happened, whereas Rabbi Yochanan said that it did. However, this sounds peculiar. Could the Sages have really been arguing about a historical point? Normally, debates among the Rabbis involve different rationales and different ways of understanding Torah laws. We are not accustomed to Rabbis arguing over historical facts. Perhaps we can advance a novel reading of the Gemara's discussion. We mentioned earlier that the Torah commands executing a Ben Sorer Ve'moreh because it is certain that he will grow to become a violent criminal. We must ask, why are we so certain? Do we not all know of juvenile delinquents who grew to become wonderful adults? Has there never been a child who caused a great deal of trouble as a young teenager but then put his life together and excelled? I know many outstanding Rabbis who were once troubled youths. Why are we so sure that this "wayward son" will turn out to be a criminal? The answer is that we aren't – and this is precisely why the Gemara tells us that there never was and never will be a case of a Ben Sorer U'moreh. The Torah speaks of a theoretical situation of a child who must be put to death because he will otherwise for certain become a violent killer as an adult – and the Sages tell us that this will always remain a theoretical possibility, because in actuality, every single person has the capacity to change, and to change drastically. No matter where a person is, no matter how low he has fallen, he always has the potential to achieve greatness. There are no exceptions. Rabbi Yochanan says that he saw a Ben Sorer U'moreh and went to his grave. Why do people visit graves? Mostly, people visit the graves of righteous Sadikim to pray to Hashem at the site. And this might have been what Rabbi Yohanan was doing at this grave – he was praying, because this wayward child, whom he saw in his state of rebelliousness and unbridled sinfulness, ended up becoming an outstanding Sadik, a pious and holy Jew at whose gravesite people should want to pray. Rabbi Yohanan is proving the point made earlier, that there never was and never will be a child determined to be a Ben Sorer U'moreh who must be put to death – because in reality, every child, no matter where he is currently, has the ability to turn his life around and rise to great spiritual heights. We must never give up on any Jew, because we are all the descendants of Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob, we all contain within our souls a divine spark, and we all have the potential for greatness. And just as we must never give up on another Jew, we must also never give up on ourselves. What we've done in the past does not determine who we are in the present, or who we will be in the future. We need to trust in our ability to change and in our potential to not only improve, but to achieve greatness and be worthy members of Hashem's special nation.

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

En este video discutimos la procion y su relacion con la idea del profeta.

When our eyes stay fixed on the King of kings, the world loses its grip on us. Listen to Rabbi David's Shabbat sermon at Congregation Mayim Chayim.

Parasja ShoftiemTe lezen: Deut. 16:18 – 21:9 / Jes. 51:12–52:12 / Mattheüs 23:1–36Inleidende tekstRechters en gerechtsbeambten moet je binnen al je poorten, die de Eeuwige, je God, je voor je stammen zal geven, aanstellen, die volgens rechtvaardige rechtsprincipes het volk berechten.”Deuteronomium 16:18 (Dasberg)Met deze woorden opent Parasja Shoftiem. Het is een krachtig beginpunt: gerechtigheid is geen vaag ideaal, maar een concrete opdracht van God aan Zijn volk. Niet ergens ver weg, maar “binnen al je poorten”, in het hart van het dagelijks leven.Het centrale thema van deze parasja klinkt in de oproep: “Gerechtigheid, gerechtigheid moet je najagen” (Deut. 16:20). De herhaling van het woord “gerechtigheid” onderstreept de urgentie: dit is niet vrijblijvend, maar iets dat telkens opnieuw gezocht, bewaakt en nagestreefd moet worden.Deze shabbat stelt ons dan ook voor een persoonlijke en gezamenlijke vraag: wat betekent het om gerechtigheid na te jagen? En hoe kunnen we dat doen zowel in ons eigen leven én te midden van de chaotische situatie in de wereld van vandaag?Support the show

Porque você precisa ter juízes e policiais? E se eles forem corrompidos? Qual a diferença de uma Matseiva e um Misbeah? Ambos marcações de um lugar mas em que diferem? Que você tenha um Shabat maravilhoso com sua família ouvindo

The Torah in Parashat Shoftim (18:15) introduces the command to obey the instructions of a prophet. Once someone has been confirmed as an authentic prophet, the Torah commands, "Elav Tishma'un" – we must heed everything he tells us to do. The Rambam discusses this command in Hilchot Yesodeh Ha'Torah (9:3), and he explains that it includes an obligation to obey a prophet in the exceptional case where he instructs doing something that the Torah forbids. Even when the prophet tells the people to transgress a Torah law – we are required to comply. However, the Rambam adds, this depends on several conditions. Firstly, and most obviously, the prophet must have previously established his credentials and been recognized as an authentic prophet of G-d. Secondly, this requirement applies only if the prophet calls for a temporary suspension of a Torah command. If, the Rambam writes, a prophet announces the permanent abolition of a Torah law, then not only should he be disobeyed – he is determined to be a false prophet, and must be put to death. The final condition is that the prophet calls for suspending a Torah law other than the prohibition against idol-worship. A prophet who calls upon the people to worship a foreign deity, even as a temporary measure, must not be obeyed. The Rambam draws our attention to a classic example of a prophet who called for a temporary suspension of a Torah command – the story of Eliyahu's confrontation with the prophets of the idol Ba'al. As we read in the Book of Melachim I (chapter 18), Eliyahu assembled the people at Mount Carmel for a "showdown" with the pagan prophets. He invited the prophets of Ba'al to offer a sacrifice to Ba'al, after which he would offer a sacrifice to Hashem, so that the sacrifice which received a response would prove who the true Deity is. The prophets of Ba'al offered their sacrifice, which of course elicited no response, whereupon Eliyahu offered a sacrifice which was miraculously consumed by a fire that descended from the heavens. The people then realized the fallacy of paganism, and the truth of Hashem's existence. Now offering a sacrifice outside the Bet Ha'mikdash constitutes a grave Torah violation, punishable by "Karet." Nevertheless, the people were required to accept Eliyahu's decision to offer a sacrifice on Mount Carmel as a temporary measure necessary for the purpose of opposing the pagan prophets. Rav Meir Simha Ha'kohen of Dvinsk (1843-1926), in his Meshech Hochma (Parashat Re'eh), offers an insight into why the Rambam pointed to this specific incident as an example of a prophet calling for the suspension of a Torah law. He notes that when the Torah introduces the prohibition against offering sacrifices outside the Bet Ha'mikdash, it explains the reason for this command – so that people will not sacrifice to foreign deities ("Ve'lo Yizbehu Od Et Zivhehem La'se'iriim Asher Hem Zonim Aharehem" – Vayikra 17:7). By requiring that all sacrifices must be brought to the Bet Ha'mikdash, the Torah helps ensure that people will not offer sacrifices to false gods. It thus emerges that this prohibition – which Eliyahu temporarily suspended at Mount Carmel – is associated with the prohibition against idolatry, as it is intended as a safeguard against foreign worship. Hence, the Meshech Hochma writes, a prophet does not actually have the authority to suspend this command. As we saw earlier, a prophet must be disobeyed if he orders the people to worship foreign deities – and presumably, this should extend also to commands intended to distance the people from idol worship, such as the prohibition against sacrificing outside the Bet Ha'mikdash. Nevertheless, the Meshech Hochma explains, Eliyahu was allowed to suspend this prohibition, because he did so for the specific purpose of leading the people away from idolatry. Seeing how the worship of Ba'al had become rampant among the nation, Eliyahu realized he needed to resort to drastic measures to convince the people to worship G-d, instead – and this necessitated offering a sacrifice outside the Bet Ha'mikdash. Therefore, although a prophet may not suspend a prohibition associated with the prohibition of idolatry, this is allowed when it serves to distance the people from idolatry. The Meshech Hochma explains on this basis why the Rambam chose specifically this example of a prophet temporarily suspending a Torah law – because this is the most extreme case of a prophet's legitimate suspension of a Torah command, a situation that we would have assumed would require the people's disobedience. Specifically this story exemplifies the extent of the prophet's authority, how he must be obeyed even when he calls for the temporary suspension of a law associated with the prohibition of idolatry when he deems this necessary to lead the people away from idolatry.

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

En este audios hablamos de diversos pasajes relacionados la relacion que tienen los gentiles con el mensaje nazareno para los gentiles.

Blessing or curse depends on worshiping HaShem alone and being faithful to His Word. Listen to Rabbi David's Shabbat sermon based out of Parasha Re'eh at Congregation Mayim Chayim.

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O que te impacta mais? Ver ou ouvir algo? O que tem mais certeza para você? Será que as coisas dependem do ponto de vista ou nem sempre? Sabe que o próximo mês de Elul é especial? Descubra por que ouvindo

Jacob Keegstra is Bijbelleraar en spreekt over de Hebreeuwse wortels van het Christelijk geloof. Hij is verbonden met het werk van ICEJ Nederland. https://www.icej.nl/ Wilt u Israël zegenen, dat kan via https://doneren.icej.nl/doneren Volg ons op Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ICEJNederland/ Volg ons op YouTube: Vrijdags 19.00 komen de nieuwe lezingen online. https://www.youtube.com/ICEJNederland Leuk dat u luistert naar de verdiepingspodcast van de Internationale Christelijke Ambassade Jeruzalem (ICEJ). Iedere vrijdagavond rond de klok van 19.00 uur volgt er een nieuwe aflevering waarin wij nadenken hoe de Hebreeuwse wortels een verdieping kunnen geven aan ons christelijk geloof.

The Torah in Parashat Re'eh commands us to give charity. It instructs that when there is a person in need, "you shall surely give to him, and your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him, because on account of this matter G-d shall bless you…" (15:10). The plain meaning of the word "Biglal" ("on account of") in this verse is that Hashem rewards those who generously give charity with great material blessings. The Gemara (Shabbat 151b), however, teaches that this word can be read as an allusion to a "Galgal" – "wheel." The "wheel of fortune," the Gemara states, is always turning. Those who enjoy financial success today can lose their fortunes in an instant, and those who currently struggle can suddenly see great blessing. The Torah therefore urges us to show compassion to the needy and lend them the assistance that they so desperately need, because we never know when the tables might be turned and we will come to them for assistance. The Kabbalists add yet another interpretation of this verse, reading the word "Biglal" as an allusion to "Gilgul" – the reincarnation of souls. As we saw, this verse begins by urging us to not only give charity, but to do so wholeheartedly, with pure intentions – "and your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him." We should give not begrudgingly, because of pressure, or for the sake of our reputations, but rather because we sincerely wish to help our fellow Jew in need. The Torah thus warns that if we give with the wrong intentions, then "Biglal Ha'dabar Ha'zeh" – we will be forced to return to the world in a different "Gilgul." The Kabbalists develop this concept further based on the Mishna's teaching in Pirkeh Abot (4:11) that each Misva that a person performs creates for him a "Praklit" – an angel that advocates for him before the Heavenly Tribunal. The best thing we can do to earn G-d's protection is perform more Misvot. However, just as a human being has both a body and a soul, angels likewise have two components – a physical component and an inner, spiritual component. Kabbalah teaches that the Misva act that we perform creates the angel's physical being, whereas our pure intentions when performing the Misva create its "soul." In order for our Misva to have the effect of creating a "Praklit," it must be complete; the action must be performed properly, and with the right intention. When we perform a Misva for ulterior motives, although we are credited with the fulfillment of a Misva, it does not create a "Praklit" that can advocate on our behalf. The Kabbalists thus teach that if a person gives charity for the wrong reasons, he will return to the world in another life as a pauper. Poor people genuinely wish they had the ability to give charity and help those in need. And thus in this second "Gilgul," the person will have the thought and the desire to give Sedaka. This yearning to give charity will supply the sincere intention that was lacking during his first sojourn in this world, and will combine with the charity he gave to comprise a complete Misva that will create a complete angel who will advocate on his behalf. We now begin the month of Elul, when we prepare for the judgment of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. As we know, charity is one of the most effective means we have to ensure a favorable judgment, and it is therefore customary to increase our charitable contributions during Elul and during the days in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This is among the best things we can do to bring "Praklitim" – "defense lawyers" – with us to the "trial" so they could plead on our behalf. However, in order for this to work, our motives must be sincere. We need to put aside our ego, our preoccupation with fame and prestige, our concern for our reputation, our obsession with the way other people see us – and do the right thing precisely because it is the right thing. When we give Sedaka for impure motives, we fulfill a Misva – but a deficient Misva. For our charity to be whole, we need to give with sincerity, without trying to impress or be noticed. Our Sedaka will then create perfect angels who will stand before G-d and plead our case, so that we will be blessed with a year filled with joy, happiness, peace and good fortune, Amen.

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

✨ O segredo do sucesso está em equilibrar mente e coração.Existe um ritual diário, que remonta até os tempos do Egito, que nos ajuda a conquistar esse equilíbrio.

En esta procion discutimos la relacion que tiene las enseñanzas en las cartas de Pablo con la porcion de esta semana.

HEBREW CONGREGATION OF HOUSTON1. Awakening2. Identity3. How To Move Forward

When we faithfully walk in covenant obedience, God's blessings sustain us, but if we forget Him and chase self-reliance, destruction follows. Listen to Rabbi David's Shabbat sermon based out of Parasha Eikev at Congregation Mayim Chayim.

 Deut.7:12 – 11:25 Jes. 49:14–51:3Support the show

Você é uma pessoa detalhista? Já perdeu alguma oportunidade por um detalhe pequeno? Qual a origem das coisas que possui? Como conseguiu alcançar esse lugar? Ouça

Parashat Ekeb includes the second paragraph of our daily Shema recitation ("Ve'haya Im Shamo'a"), in which the Torah promises that G-d would reward our observance of the Misvot with material prosperity. Hashem says that if we observe His commands, "I will provide the rain of your land in its time" ("Ve'natati Metar Arsechem Be'ito" – 11:14). Rashi comments: "You did what is incumbent upon you, so I, too, will do what is incumbent upon Me." The question arises as to what prompted Rashi to make this remark, and how this enhances our understanding of the verse. Is it not obvious that Hashem here is promising adequate rainfall as a reward for our compliance with His commands? What does Rashi seek to clarify? A brilliant explanation of Rashi's comment was offered by the late Rebbe of Lubavitch. He suggested that Rashi was addressing a question that arises from a comparison between this verse and an earlier verse which similarly promises rainfall as a reward for Misva observance. In the beginning of Parashat Behukotai (Vayikra 26:4), G-d pronounces that if we obey His commands, "I shall grant your rainfall in its time" ("Ve'natati Gishmechem Be'ito"). There, Hashem promises to provide "Gishmechem" – "your rainfall," whereas here, in Parashat Ekeb, He promises "Metar Arsechem" – "the rain of your land." In other words, Parashat Behukotai speaks of "our rainfall," as though we are given some kind of special rain, while Parashat Ekeb speaks of the land's rain, the rain that the land naturally requires. The clue to understanding this discrepancy, the Rebbe explains, is found in Rashi's opening comments to Parashat Behukotai. There Rashi writes that the blessings described in that section are promised if "Tiheyu Amelim Ba'Torah" – the people "toil" and invest intensive efforts in Torah study. Here in Parashat Ekeb, by contrast, the Torah speaks of a time when Beneh Yisrael simply obey the Torah, but are not necessarily striving for more, applying themselves diligently to Torah learning. In Parashat Behukotai, then, the Torah refers to an exceptionally high spiritual level, in reward for which G-d promises not just rainfall, but "your rain" – a supernatural rain that is especially catered to our needs, that falls at precisely the right time and precisely the right manner that works the best for us. The rainfall promised in Parashat Ekeb, however, is a natural rainfall that will suffice to provide the food we need, but not beyond that. The Rebbe explained that this is Rashi's intent in making the comment, "You did what is incumbent upon you, so I, too, will do what is incumbent upon Me." Rashi anticipates the question of why this verse uses the expression "Metar Arsechem," as opposed to the verse in Parashat Behukotai, which uses the verse "Gishmechem." The answer, Rashi is telling us, is that the Torah speaks here of Beneh Yisrael doing "what is incumbent" upon them – without striving for more. In Parashat Behukotai, the Torah promises the special, supernatural rain that Beneh Yisrael deserve when they not only fulfill their basic obligations, but passionately pursue spiritual greatness by devoting their time and efforts to the intensive study of Torah. In Parashat Ekeb, Beneh Yisrael are described as merely satisfying their requirements, and so although they are of course worthy of significant rewards, they do not earn the special reward of "Gishmechem." In this brief remark, then, Rashi teaches us to always strive for more, to reach beyond the simple fulfillment of our religious obligations, and to pursue excellence in our service of Hashem.

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

Este audio es parte del estudio de Tora en el Centro de Estudios Nazarenos.

We are to worship G-D alone and not fall prey to idolizing things in our lives that He blesses us with. Listen to Rabbi Toby's Shabbat sermon based out of Parasha Vaetchanan at Congregation Mayim Chayim.

We lezen meer met de synagoge: Deut.3:23-7:11, Jes.40:1-26, en Hebr.12:18-2De komende 7 weken staat de vertroosting na Gods oordelen centraal. Mozes en het volk mochten de berg Horeb niet naderen of aanraken voordat zij de stem van de shofar een langgerekte hoorden geven. Maar die Stem en de verschijnselen waren zo ontzagwekkend dat zij enkel vreze en beving waren. Zij zagen dat de HEERE een verterend vuur is. Het volk verzocht de stem uit het vuur niet langer te hoeven horen.Daar ontvingen zij het eerste verbond en de verbondsvoorwaarden, de tien woorden. Gehoorzaamheid zou hen wijsheid en leven geven en het land doen beërven. Volken en hun afgoden zouden erdoor onderworpen en verdreven worden. Wanneer het volk echter zou nalaten om tegen de afgodendienaars te strijden en hun afgoden weg te doen, dan zou hun dat opbreken en doen struikelen. Allen die Baal-Peor achterna liepen hebben dat echter met de dood moeten bekopen. Je kunt de tien geboden niet ongestraft vervangen door geboden van mensen en overheden. In onze maatschappij zie je dat echter op alle fronten wel gebeuren. In Zweden heeft men onlangs zelfs het Satanisme in de wet als religie erkent. In Amerika vernielen ze de monumenten voor de tien geboden en vervangen die voor afgodsbeelden.Paulus waarschuwt in Hebr.12: 25 Ziet dan toe, dat gij Hem, die spreekt, niet afwijst. Want als genen niet ontkomen zijn, toen zij Hem afwezen, die zijn godsspraak op aarde deed horen, hoeveel te minder wij, als wij ons afwenden van Hem, die uit de hemelen (spreekt). Onze God is een verterend vuur. Zij hebben Hem afgewezen. Daardoor zijn zij in ballingschap gegaan. Maar Hij zal hen vertroosten en doen terugkeren tot Tsion Jesaja 51: 4 en tot Torah, tot Hemzelf.  Want wij zijn genaderd tot de berg Tsion, de stad van de grote Koning, tot God, de Rechter over allen. Van Tsion zal zijn scepter, de Torah uitgaan naar alle volken, Jesaja 2:3 en wij zullen naar de Stem van de goede Herder horen en vrede vinden. Hoe zouden we kunnen en durven naderen zonder een volmaakte Middelaar die Zijn levensbloed, Zijn ziel ten borg stelde voor u en voor mij.Presentator,Robert BernsSupport the show

Porque cobrimos com as mãos os olhos ao dizermos o Shema Israel? Já entrou na jaula com um tigre feroz? O que você faria se ele avançasse na sua direção. Ouça

The Torah in Parashat Vaet'hanan (4:2) introduces the prohibitions known as "Bal Tosif" and "Bal Tigra" – adding onto the Torah's laws, and detracting from the Torah's laws. Rashi explains that this refers to adding onto or detracting from a particular Misva. He gives the examples of wearing Tefillin with parchment containing more or fewer Parashiyot (sections of text) than the Torah requires. There are four Parashiyot which are to be inserted in the Tefillin, and if a person adds a fifth Parasha, then he transgresses the prohibition of "Bal Tosif," and if he includes only three Parashiyot, then he violates "Bal Tigra." Another example given by Rashi is waving more than four species on Sukkot, or fewer than four. The Ramban comments that the prohibition of "Bal Tosif" includes also introducing a new Misva to the Torah. If a person comes along and makes up a new law, claiming that this should be part of the Torah, he violates the prohibition of "Bal Tosif." Conversely, one who decides that a certain Biblical command is no longer part of the Torah transgresses "Bal Tigra." The Ramban clarifies that this applies only to one who introduces a new law and claims that it is obligatory as a Biblical imperative. The Sages enacted numerous obligations and prohibitions, but they made it very clear that these are not included in Torah, but are rather provisions that they saw fit to legislate to meet a particular need. And, they stipulated that the laws they enacted are treated differently than the laws of the Torah, with greater leniency. Thus, they do not violate the prohibition of "Bal Tosif." The Gaon of Vilna (1720-1797) brilliantly noted that both interpretations are correct, and rooted in the text of the Torah. The prohibition of "Bal Tosif" appears not only here, in Parashat Vaet'hanan, but also later, in Parashat Re'eh (13:1). However, the contexts of these verses reveals that they address two different commands. Here in Parashat Vaet'hanan, the command of "Bal Tosif" appears after Moshe tells the people, "Listen to the statutes and laws which I am teaching you to observe" (4:1). Moshe is telling Beneh Yisrael that he was going to present to them the Misvot, and he then warns them not to add more laws or to reject any of the laws that he was teaching them. In Parashat Re'eh, however, Moshe says, "Each thing that I am commanding you – you shall ensure to observe; do not add onto it, and do not detract from it." It seems clear that in this verse, Moshe speaks of each particular Misva, urging the people to observe every Misva precisely as he commands, without adding onto the Misva or taking anything away from it. The Ha'ketab Ve'ha'kabbala (Rav Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenberg, 1785-1865) follows this general approach of the Vilna Gaon, but he notes a different distinction between the two verses. The command here in Parashat Vaet'hanan is formulated in the plural form – "Lo Tosifu…Ve'lo Tigre'u" – whereas the command in Parashat Re'ei appears in the singular form – "Lo Tosef…Ve'lo Tigra." The Ha'ketab Ve'ha'kabbala thus suggests that here in Parashat Vaet'hanan, the Torah is addressing not an individual, but rather the Sanhedrin, the highest rabbinic body, which represents the entire nation. These scholars, the leading Sages of Israel, are the ones who need the warning not to change the Torah by introducing new laws or doing away with existing laws. In Parashat Re'eh, by contrast, the Torah is addressing the individual, who has no authority and would thus never think to introduce a new Misva, or eliminate a Misva. He needs the warning not to add onto or detract from specific Misvot, such as by adding an additional Parasha to the Tefillin or removing a Parasha. This command reminds us of the timelessness of the Torah, that at no point does it become "outdated" or in need of modification. Already from the outset, when the Torah was given, we are told that it and all its commands are eternal and eternally binding. Today's world is, of course, very different from the world at the time of Matan Torah, and the changing circumstances may affect the practical application of certain Misvot, based on the details of each Misva's requirements as determined by our oral halachic tradition. But never can we say that a Misva is no longer binding simply by virtue of the fact that many centuries have passed since the Torah was given. Each and every Misva is eternally relevant, and we are bound to all the Misvot no less now than our ancestors were millennia ago.

In the beginning of the second chapter of Megilat Echa (2:1), the prophet Yirmiyahu bemoans, "Hishlich Mi'shamayim Eretz Tiferet Yisrael" – "He cast the glory of Israel down from the heavens to the ground." The plain meaning of this verse is that the Hurban (destruction) had the effect of lowering the Jewish People from glory to ruin. They had been in the "heavens"; they were favored, cherished and blessed by the Almighty, who resided among them in the Bet Ha'mikdash. With the Hurban, this lofty stature came crashing down to the ground, and they were now lowly and shattered. Perhaps, however, this verse could be read differently, as describing not what G-d did, but what the Jews did. The "Tiferet Yisrael," the Jews' source of glory and pride, was lowered from the "heavens" to the "ground." Our source of glory is supposed to be the Torah, the Misvot, spirituality, our service of Hashem. This is what we are to regard as our "Tiferet," our greatest source of pride, and our highest priority. But the Jews of the time lowered their "Tiferet" to the "ground" – to the realm of materialism and vanity. The "Tiferet Yisrael" – our source of pride – had been our intensive Torah learning, our devotion to Misvot, our faith and our religious commitment. But it was lowered to the "ground." People no longer took pride in spiritual commitment, and instead glorified wealth, material assets, beautiful homes, fancy clothes, luxury vacations, and their portfolios. Indeed, the Gemara (Nedarim 81a) teaches that the Bet Ha'mikdash was destroyed "She'lo Berchu Ba'Torah Tehila" – because the people of that time did not recite Birkat Ha'Torah, the Beracha before Torah learning. This means that they did not regard their Torah learning as sufficiently important to warrant a Beracha. They learned Torah, but they did not prioritize it, they didn't value it, they didn't accord it the importance it deserves. They directed their focus and the bulk of their attention toward their pursuit of wealth and material luxuries, rather than toward the service of Hashem. We find an allusion to this concept in the Torah, as well. Twice in the Torah we read harsh warnings of "Kelalot" – devastating curses that would befall Am Yisrael because of their misdeeds – once at the end of the Book of Vayikra, in Parashat Behukotai, and once toward the very end of the Torah, in Parashat Ki-Tabo. The Ramban (Rav Moshe Nahmanides, Spain, 1194-1270) posited that the first of these sections – the one in Parashat Behukotai – predicts the destruction of the first Bet Ha'mikdash, whereas the second section – in Parashat Ki-Tabo – predicts the fall of the Second Commonwealth. In Parashat Ki-Tabo, the Torah tells us the reason why G-d would bring these tragedies: "Because you did not serve Hashem your G-d with joy and with a good heart, out of an abundance of everything" (28:47). The final two words of this verse – "Me'rob Kol" ("out of an abundance of everything") – indicates that the people of the Second Temple period were plagued by excessive indulgence, by the pursuit of "an abundance of everything." This was their passion and their primary ambition, and this had the effect of compromising their service of Hashem. As we know, the Gemara (Yoma 9b) attributes the destruction of the second Bet Ha'mikdash to the sin of Sin'at Hinam – baseless hatred among the people. When we prioritize Torah and Misvot, when our attention is directed primarily at serving Hashem properly, we are less prone to jealousy, competition, and pettiness. If our priority is serving Hashem to the best of our ability, then we have relatively few reasons to fight with other people. But when our focus is on the pursuit of wealth, we are far more vulnerable to envy and hostility. We are more triggered by what other people say to us and about us, and we are more embittered by even trivial things. One of the root causes of Sin'at Hinam is "Me'rob Kol," the frantic and obsessive pursuit of wealth. Of course, the Torah does not frown upon making money and enjoying one's money. There is nothing wrong with the desire to live comfortably, or with working hard so one can afford to live comfortably. The Torah does not encourage poverty. The problem is when we turn this pursuit into "Tiferet Yisrael," our source of pride and glory, our highest priority, our primary goal in life, our ultimate objective. We must live every day with the goal of serving Hashem. Even if we devote the majority of our day to our careers or enterprises – which, as mentioned, is perfectly legitimate – our primary ambition must be Abodat Hashem, the devoted service of the Almighty. If we ensure to make this our priority, we will find ourselves living with far less jealousy, far less hostility and resentment toward other people, and far less negativity. And we will then, please G-d, become worthy of the arrival of our final redemption and the rebuilding of the Bet Ha'mikdash, speedily and in our times, Amen.

Bringing Am Yisrael Together We read in Parashat Matot of the request made by the tribes of Reuven and Gad to permanently settle in the region east of the Jordan River. Beneh Yisrael had captured this territory from the kingdoms of Sihon and Og, and Reuven and Gad – who owned lots of livestock – saw that this land had vast amounts of pasture which was well-suited for their herds. They thus approached Moshe and asked permission to make this area their permanent home instead of crossing into the Eretz Yisrael. Moshe granted their request after receiving their promise that they would participate in the battles waged by the other tribes to conquer the Land of Israel. Surprisingly, the Torah tells that when Moshe distributed this territory, he apportioned shares not only to the tribes of Reuben and Gad, but also to part of the tribe of Menashe. This tribe is not mentioned at all previously in this story. From what we can tell, the people of Menashe did not come with Reuben and Gad to Moshe to ask for this land. Why, then, did part of the tribe of Menashe receive a portion in Eber Ha'Yarden (the region to the east of the Jordan River) together with Reuben and Gad? One answer can be suggested based on a mysterious comment by the Midrash, teaching us about the background to the division of the tribe of Menashe. Back in the Book of Bereshit, we read of how Yosef's brothers sold him as a slave to merchants who brought him to Egypt, where he ultimately rose to the position of vizier. When famine struck the Land of Israel, Yosef's brothers came to purchase grain from Yosef – not realizing that this was his brother. Before they made their way back to Eretz Yisrael, Yosef ordered his advisor – whom the Midrash identifies as his son, Menashe – to plant his goblet in the bag of the youngest brother, Binyamin, to frame him as a thief. Later, after the brothers left Egypt, Yosef told Menashe to run after them and charge them with theft. When the goblet was discovered in Binyamin's bag, the brothers tore their garments, as tragedy had now befallen the family. The Midrash comments that since Menashe had caused the brothers to tear their garments into two halves, the tribe that descended from him would similarly be "torn" into two pieces, with part of the tribe residing in Eretz Yisrael, and the other part residing east of the Jordan River. At first glance, the Midrash seems to be saying that Menashe was punished for causing his uncles anguish. But if we probe deeper, we will see that to the contrary, Menashe was actually given a great privilege to split into two halves. A number of commentators explain that Yosef's intention in framing Binyamin was to determine whether his brothers had fully repented for their sin of selling him as a slave – by putting them in a situation where another younger brother would be in trouble. Yosef framed Binyamin to see if the brothers would do everything they could to save him and bring him home – just the opposite of how they treated him, driving him out of the family. As we know, Yehuda stepped forward to offer himself as a slave in Binyamin's stead, showing that the brothers had indeed fully repented and changed. At that point, Yosef revealed himself to his brothers, and the family was reunited. Menashe made the brothers rend their garments – but in so doing, he brought the family back together. This process, unfortunately, entailed the pain of "tearing," but it had the effect of mending the rupture that had plagued the family for many years. With this in mind, we can return to the story of Reuben and Gad. Moshe feared that Reuben and Gad's settlement across the river would cause a rupture in the nation. The Jordan River was a natural border that could have divided the nation into two, resulting in Reuben and Gad's dissociation from the rest of the nation. Moshe therefore devised a plan – he would have half of one of the other tribes live together with Reuben and Gad across the river. Having half of a tribe on one side, and the second half on the other side, would help ensure that the river would not become a border separating between the two regions, that there would be ongoing contact and communication between the tribes in Eretz Yisrael and the tribes in Eber Ha'Yarden. For this crucial purpose, Moshe selected the tribe of Menashe – the tribe whose ancestor is credited with bringing the family together. Menashe had bequeathed this quality to his descendants, and so they were the best choice to ensure that Am Yisrael remains united despite the geographic separation between them. Just as Menashe had united the family by planting the goblet in Binyamin's bag, so would his descendants assure the unity of the Jewish Nation by living on both sides of the Jordan River and connecting all the tribes with each other.

Parashat Pinhas tells the story of Benot Selofhad – the five daughters of a man named Selofhad, who died in the wilderness leaving behind only these five daughters, without any sons. As Beneh Yisrael were preparing to enter the Land of Israel, these women approached Moshe and asked that they inherit the portion in the land that had been earmarked for Selofhad. Moshe consulted with Hashem, who informed him that indeed, when there are no sons, a person's daughters inherit his estate. The Torah introduces this story by identifying Selofhad as "Selofhad, the son of Hefer, the son of Gilad, the son of Machir, the son of Menashe, from among the families of Menashe, the son of Yosef" (27:1). Rashi raises the question of why the Torah found it necessary to mention Yosef in this context. We are, quite obviously, already well-aware of the fact that Menashe was one of the two sons of Yosef. Why are we reminded about Yosef in the introduction to the story of Benot Selofhad? Rashi answers that the Torah wanted to draw an association between these five women and their righteous ancestor, Yosef, whose legacy their carried through their love for the Land of Israel. Yosef made his brothers promise before his passing that they would bring his remains to Eretz Yisrael for burial, out of his deep love for Eretz Yisrael. And his descendants – Benot Selofhad – similarly displayed their commitment to Eretz Yisrael by approaching Moshe and imploring him to give them their father's portion of the land. Later commentators questioned how Rashi saw in Benot Selofhad's request an expression of love for the Land of Israel. Seemingly, they just wanted property; they give no indication that they longed specifically for a portion of Eretz Yisrael. Imagine a youngster is participating in a program and the people running the program are serving pizza and nothing else. If the youngster comes forward and asks for a slice of pizza, does this necessarily show his love for pizza? Of course not. He's hungry and wants food, and pizza is the food that's being served. By the same token, it seems, Benot Selofhad simply wanted property. How did Rashi know that Selofhad's daughters felt special love for Eretz Yisrael? One answer given is that Rashi inferred this from the timing of the request. Selofhad died many years earlier, yet his daughters came forward to claim their inheritance rights only now, as the nation prepared to cross into the Land of Israel. They did not ask for any of Selofhad's possessions throughout all the years after his passing. He undoubtedly had valuable assets, but this did not concern them. The fact that they approached Moshe only now, on the cusp of Beneh Yisrael's arrival in the land, shows that they felt a special connection to Eretz Yisrael, following the legacy of their illustrious ancestor, Yosef. The Netziv (Rav Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin of Volozhin, 1816-1893) offers a different explanation. As mentioned earlier, Selofhad was a grandson of Gilad, the son of Machir. Later (Bamidbar 32:40), we read that the family of Machir was given a portion in Eber Ha'Yarden – the territory east of the Jordan River – as their permanent area of residence. Selofhad, as a member of this family, should thus have had rights to a piece of land in this region, and not in Eretz Yisrael. His daughters, however, asked that they be given a share not in Eber Ha'Yarden, but in the Land of Israel. They would not have been satisfied with territory in the region settled by the Machir family. Due to their great love for the Land of Israel, they insisted on receiving land in Eretz Yisrael instead of the region settled by their father's family – and Rashi thus understood that they, as loyal heirs of Yosef, shared his special love and commitment to the sacred land that Hashem has given us.

Parasha Chughat 2 by Rabbi Benjamin Lavian

Parasha Chughat 1 by Rabbi Benjamin Lavian

Num. 22:2 – 25:9 , Micha 5:6(7)–6:8Support the show

We are Different Parashat Balak tells of how Balak, the king of Moab, summoned Bilam and hired him to place a curse on Beneh Yisrael so they would be annihilated. The plan backfired, as G-d repeatedly forced Balak to bless Beneh Yisrael, instead. Bilam began his first blessing by noting that Balak brought him from his homeland, Aram, for the purpose of cursing Beneh Yisrael (23:7). We must ask, why is this detail important? Of what significance is it that Bilam was brought to Moab specifically from the region of Aram? A deep answer to this question was suggested by Rav David Tevel of Minsk (1794-1861), in his work Nahalat David. He explains that Balak's scheme was not at all rash or haphazard; it was very carefully devised and crafted. Balak explored the origins of this nation – Beneh Yisrael – by whom he felt so threatened, and he discovered that they originated from Aram Naharayim. It was there where Abraham Abinu was raised, and from where the family later journeyed toward the Land of Israel. Balak figured that his best chance to destroy Am Yisrael would be by finding someone with the same origins, another person from Aram. As we know, the greatest pain that can inflicted upon someone is from somebody close to him. (Thus, for example, an insult from an immediate family member hurts far more than an insult from somebody who is not part of the family. And an insult from a community member hurts far more than an insult from a total stranger.) Balak thought that if he could bring somebody from Aram to oppose and inflict harm upon Beneh Yisrael, this would be their undoing. His strategy was to bring someone from Aram, an "insider," who could bring Beneh Yisrael down. However, the Nahalat David explains, Balak made a grave mistake. He did not realize that although Abraham indeed grew up in Aram, he had since been completely detached from his background. When G-d first spoke to Abraham, He commanded him to leave his country, his birthplace, and his father's home (Bereshit 12:1) – referring to not simply geographical relocation, but to complete dissociation from his past. Abraham's move to Eretz Yisrael constituted a clean break from his family background, the start of something completely new. The Nahalat David explains that this is why Abraham and Sara were naturally unable to beget children, and they produced a child through a miracle. The establishment of Am Yisrael marked the creation of an entirely new line, with no biological connection to Abraham and Sara's family background. This is also why Abraham and Sara's names were changed – from Abram to Abraham, and from Sarai to Sara – to indicate that they underwent a fundamental transformation and rebirths. Indeed, Bilam pronounces in his first blessing, "For from the top of rocks I see them, and I look upon them from the hills" (23:9). Rashi writes that this refers to the Abot (patriarchs) and Imahot (matriarchs). Bilam was saying that Beneh Yisrael are rooted in greatness, stemming from their sacred, righteous ancestors, and thus cannot be cursed. The Nahalat David explains that Bilam was observing that Beneh Yisrael's roots extend no further than the Abot and Imahot. They do not trace their lineage back to Abraham's parents and forebears – because they are a fundamentally new and distinct entity, bearing no connection at all to Abraham's origins in Aram. As the verse continues, "Hen Am Le'badad Yishkon U'ba'goyim Lo Yit'hashab" – "Behold, they are a nation that dwells alone, and is not reckoned among the other nations." The "genes" of Aram, so-to-speak, never made it to Avraham Avinu's descendants. They have no attachment to any other people, and so Balak's plan was doomed to fail already from the outset. The Jewish People are different, and we are meant to be different. Beliefs, values and lifestyles that are accepted and popular among other nations are not necessarily acceptable to us. The things that the surrounding society prioritizes and celebrates are not necessarily for us to prioritize or celebrate. We must always live with a sense of "Am Le'badad Yishkon" – that we dwell alone, with our own traditions, our own beliefs, and our own way of life.

Sefer Bamidbar | Chukat | 5785 | Taking Initiative, by Rav Ezra Bick What's the difference between the first generation in the midbar and the second? Three short incidents in the middle of the Parasha define the change in the Jewish people after thirty years.

Parashat Hukat tells the famous story of Meh Meriba – Moshe Rabbenu's sin of striking the rock to produce water after G-d had instructed him to speak to the rock. Hashem punished Moshe, decreeing that he would not have the privilege of entering the Land of Israel along with the rest of the nation. Numerous different approaches have been taken to explain the nature of Moshe Rabbenu's mistake, and to answer the question of how Moshe, the greatest prophet who ever lived, a man of such towering spiritual stature, could have disobeyed G-d's explicit command to speak to the rock. A particularly fascinating explanation is offered by the Hatam Sofer (Rav Moshe Sofer of Pressburg, 1762-1839), who notes a mysterious nuance in G-d's command to produce water by speaking to the rock. Hashem said to Moshe, "You shall speak to the rock and it shall give forth its water, and you shall bring water for them out of the rock…" (20:8). Surprisingly, Hashem here twice mentions the production of water: 1) "and it shall give forth its water"; 2) "and you shall bring water for them out of the rock." It seems that Moshe was to extract water from the rock in two different stages through his speech. The Hatam Sofer solves this mystery based on the conclusion of this verse: "Ve'hishkita Et Ha'eda U'be'iram" – "you shall give water to drink for the congregation and their animals." The rock was to produce two streams of water – one for the people, and one of their animals. The Hatam Sofer explains that throughout the forty years which Beneh Yisrael spent in the wilderness, they ate heavenly food – the manna – but drank ordinary water. This water was provided through supernatural means – a well which miraculously traveled with them, in the merit of Miriam, Moshe's righteous sister – but the water was ordinary water. The manna originated from the heavens, and was spiritual food, whereas the water itself was no different from regular water that the people were accustomed to drinking. But now, as Beneh Yisrael were entering the final stage of their sojourn through the wilderness, they were ready to be brought to an especially high spiritual level. To this end, Moshe was to speak special words of Torah and prayers to the rock so it would produce a special kind of water – spiritual water, the liquid equivalent of the manna, that would uplift the people to great heights. This explains why the Torah speaks of two kinds of water. Moshe's words were to cause the rock to pour forth a stream of spiritual water for the people, and a second stream of regular water for their animals. Moshe, however, was afraid of producing this special spiritual water for the people. He feared that if they would then sin after having ingested this water, this would be unforgivable. Once they would reach such lofty spiritual heights, any failure would be deemed an especially grave transgression, and they might, Heaven forbid, be severely punished. It was thus out of compassion that Moshe struck the rock instead of speaking to it. He exclaimed, "Listen, O rebellious ones – shall I bring water for you out of this rock?!" (20:10). He was, in essence, telling the people, "I know you will in the future be rebellious – I therefore cannot produce the spiritual water for you." He instead struck the rock and produced regular water, which both the people and their animals drank, as implied by the verse, "Va'tesht Ha'eda U'be'iram" ("The congregation and their animals drank" – 20:11). When the Torah tells of Hashem informing Moshe and Aharon of their punishment for disobeying, it refers to Hashem with the Name of "Havaya," which is associated with G-d's attribute of compassion. This indicates that G-d's anger was tempered by compassion – because Moshe acted as he did out of genuine love and concern for Beneh Yisrael. He did not, Heaven forbid, intend to disrespect G-d's authority by disregarding His command. Rather, he was overcome by sincere love for the people, and wanted to protect them. For a towering Sadik of Moshe Rabbenu's stature, this was considered a sin. For us, though, the story of Meh Meriba provides us with an example of unbridled Ahabat Yisrael – love for our fellow Jews. In this specific instance, Moshe's love for His people resulted in his doing something which G-d disapproved of. But we can only wish to have the same level of Ahabat Yisrael as Moshe Rabbenu. We are to follow this example of genuine, heartfelt concern for each and every one of our fellow Jews, to the point where we are willing to do whatever we can to help them.

The Torah begins the story of Korah's brazen uprising against Moshe Rabbenu by introducing him as "Korah, son of Yitzhar, son of Kehat, son of Levi." Rashi notes that the Torah traces Korah's genealogy back to Levi, but it stopped there, without going one generation further, mentioning "the son of Yaakob." This was done, Rashi explains, in fulfillment of Yaakob Abinu's request before his passing. In Yaakob's parting words to his sons, when he addressed Shimon and Levi, he proclaimed, "Bi'khalam Al Tehad Kebodi" – that his honor should not be associated with their "congregation" (Bereshit 49:6). This refers to the "congregation" assembled by Korah for the purpose of challenging the authority of Moshe Rabbenu. Yaakob did not want his name mentioned in the context of this sinful uprising, and so the Torah identified Korah only as "son of Yitzhar, son of Kehat, son of Levi," without adding, "son of Yaakob." Several later scholars addressed the obvious problem with Rashi's comments – his assumption that the Torah should have traced Korah's lineage all the way back to Yaakob. Rashi says that the Torah would have mentioned also "son of Yaakob" if not for Yaakob's request that his name be omitted – but why would Yaakob's name have needed to be mentioned? For that matter, why did the Torah bother tracing Korah's lineage even back to Levi? The Torah already presented the genealogy of the tribe of Levi, back in the Book of Shemot (6), and Korah's family background is included there. Why did the Torah go through the trouble of telling us that Korah was the "son of Yitzhar, the son of Kehat, the son of Levi," and why would it have added also "son of Yaakob" if Yaakob hadn't asked not to be mentioned? A fascinating answer is given by the Maharal of Prague (Rav Yehuda Loew, 1512-1609), in his Gur Aryeh. He explains that the Torah wanted to emphasize the extent of Korah's evil in launching this uprising against Moshe, by noting his distinguished lineage. Korah himself was a prominent member of the nation, among those who carried the ark during travel, but also descended from outstanding Sadikim – Yitzhar, Kehat, Levi, and the patriarchs. Of course, Korah's revolt would have been a grievous sin no matter who he was, but his prominent family background made it particularly severe. This is why the Torah made a point of mentioning his distinguished, righteous predecessors – and would have gone as far as mentioning also Yaakob Abinu, except that Yaakob asked that his name be omitted from this context. The Maharal's explanation brings to mind an insight of the Maggid of Dubna (1741-1804) regarding a verse in Parashat Behukotai (26:42). This verse appears in the section known as the "Tocheha," where G-d warns of the dreadful calamities that He would bring upon Beneh Yisrael as punishment for their misdeeds. G-d in this verse proclaims that He would remember the covenant He made with the patriarchs. It seems that He is now offering consolation, emphasizing that despite His anger, and although He would be punishing the people, He would nevertheless have compassion due to His covenant with the Abot. However, the next verse then continues the description of the exile that the Jewish People would suffer on account of their sins – indicating that the comforting conclusion of the Tocheha has not yet begun. The Maggid of Dubna thus explains that in this verse, G-d warns the people that their wrongdoing is exceptionally severe because of whom they descend from – the sacred patriarchs, with whom Hashem made a special covenant. As heirs of this covenant, and members of this special nation, their misdeeds are considered graver. The Maggid draws an analogy to two people who committed the same minor misdemeanor – a prince, and a poor peasant. The peasant is sentenced to several weeks of prison, whereas the prince is handed a ten-year jail sentence. The reason is that the prince's offense is far more grievous due to his family background, because he is the king's son, a member of the royal family. We, Am Yisrael, must live with this awareness, that we are royalty, that we are "princes," the children of Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. As members of the "royal family," who have received and studied the Torah, which instructs us how to live a "regal" lifestyle, more is expected of us than of other people. We are bidden to maintain the high standards demanded of Hashem's special nation who represent Him to the rest of the world, and always strive to be worthy of this unique privilege.

Parashat Shelah tells the famous story of the Meragelim – the twelve spies sent by Moshe to see the Land of Israel and report back to the nation. Unfortunately, ten of the twelve spies betrayed their mission, frightening the people and convincing them not to proceed into the land. In telling this story, the Torah makes a point of mentioning that during the spies' excursion through the land, they cut a vine with a cluster of grapes, and they brought it back to the people to show them a sample of the land's fruit (13:23). This appears to have been a very significant act – for in the next verse, the Torah tells that the spies named that location "Nahal Eshkol" – "the Valley of the Cluster," commemorating this cluster of grapes. We must wonder, why was this particular act worthy of such commemoration? Why did the spies consider this such a significant event that they found it necessary to memorialize it by changing the location's name? A closer examination of the text reveals yet another difficulty. The Torah tells that this area was renamed to commemorate "the cluster that Beneh Yisrael cut from there." Curiously, the Torah speaks of "Beneh Yisrael" taking this cluster grapes, when in truth only twelve members of the nation – the twelve spies – performed this act. Why? The answer emerges from the comments of the Seforno (Rav Ovadia Seforno, Italy, 1475-1550) in explaining Moshe's instruction that the spies should bring fruit from Eretz Yisrael (13:20). The Seforno writes that this act functioned as a Halachic "Hazaka" – display of ownership. When a person purchases land, the property Halachically enters his possession in one of three ways – the transfer of money to the seller, receiving from the seller a deed of sale, or performing an act of "Hazaka" whereby he demonstratively establishes ownership over the property. A "Hazaka" can take on several different forms, such as erecting a fence around the property, and performing agricultural work in the land. According to Seforno, this was the purpose of the spies' seizing fruit from Eretz Yisrael. This was intended not simply to bring the people a sample of the land's exceptional, high-quality produce, but also to formally take possession of the Land of Israel. Hashem was giving this land to Beneh Yisrael – but they needed to perform an act of acquisition to establish their ownership. This is the significance of the severing of a vine. Quite understandably, then, this was a very significant act that was worth commemorating, as it marked the point when we formally took possession of our homeland. And, this explains why the Torah speaks of "Beneh Yisrael" cutting the vine – because the spies performed this act as representatives of the entire nation, who thereby collectively became owners over the Land of Israel. This was the moment when the Jewish People established their eternal ownership over our beloved land.

Behaalotekha | Re'uel, Yitro, Chovav, by Rav Yitzchak Etshalom Who was Moshe's father-in-law? In our Parasha, there is a curious conversation between Moshe and Chovav; does Chovav end up accepting Moshe's invitation to join Am Yisrael? Who is Chovav to Moshe and is he also known by other names? Was Yitro the Kohen Midian or was Reuel - and who was Tzippora's father? All of these are addressed in this shiur. Source sheet >>

We read in Parashat Behaalotecha of the formal consecration of the Leviyim as G-d's special servants who would work in the Mishkan. This process included the offering of sacrifices – specifically, one bull as an Ola (burnt-offering), and a second bull as a Hatat (sin-offering). Rav Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev (1740-1809), in his work Kedushat Levi, notes that pair of sacrifices are listed in two different sequences in this section. When the Torah first mentions the requirement to bring two bulls, it mentions first the Ola, followed by the Hatat (8:8). Later, however, in describing the procedure to be followed for the process of consecration, G-d commands Moshe to offer the Hatat and then the Ola (8:2). Rav Levi Yitzhak explains this discrepancy by citing an insight he heard from his father about the general topic of the sequence required when both an Ola and Hatat are offered. In general, the Hatat offering – which is brought for the purpose of earning atonement – is sacrificed before the Ola, which is sacrificed as a gift to earn Hashem's favor. Quite naturally, as the Gemara (Zebahim 7b) explains, the sinner must first achieve a pardon for his wrongdoing before he can then proceed to win the King's favor and affection. Therefore, the Hatat must be offered before the Ola. However, Rav Levi Yitzchak's father noted, we know that the Ola sacrifice does, in fact, achieve atonement – for sins of Mahashaba (improper thoughts). Although a person who is guilty of having bad intentions is not required to bring a sacrifice, he has the opportunity to achieve atonement through the offering of the optional Ola sacrifice. Seemingly, then, the Ola resembles the Hatat, in that it, too, serves to attain forgiveness, and we must therefore ask why the Hatat is offered before the Ola. Rav Yitzchak Levi's father answered based on the general rule that Hashem does not hold us accountable for our wrongful intentions unless they lead to action. One who harbored wrong intentions does not really need an Ola sacrifice for atonement, since he is not liable to punishment for his sinful thoughts. The exception to this rule is idol-worship. One who harbors thoughts of pagan beliefs is liable to punishment regardless of whether or not he acted upon those thoughts. And therefore, Rav Levi Yitzchak's father asserts, when a sin involving idolatry has been committed, the Ola sacrifice indeed precedes the Hatat, because one must first atone for the thoughts which led to the worship, and then for the worship itself. Returning to the sacrifices of the Leviyim, Rav Levi Yitzhak explains that these offerings were brought on behalf of the entire nation to atone for the grave sin of the golden calf. Fundamentally, as this sin was one of idol-worship, the Ola should have been offered first, before the Hatat, and for this reason, in the initial command, the Ola is mentioned first. However, Rav Levi Yitzhak writes, the truth is that Beneh Yisrael did not truly intend to betray G-d and worship the golden calf. They created a graven image not to replace Hashem, but rather as a means through which they mistakenly thought they could draw close to Hashem. While this was, indeed, a grievous sin, and one which resembled idol-worship, the people did not actually worship a foreign deity. Therefore, when these two sacrifices were actually offered, the Hatat was brought before the Ola, as is done in the case of sins other than idol worship.

The Torah in Parashat Naso tells of the special gifts and sacrifices brought by the Nesi'im – the leaders of the tribes – in honor of the inauguration of the Mishkan. To celebrate this event, the Nesi'im donated wagons to be used by the Leviyim to transport the Mishkan during travel, and then each tribal leader offered a series of sacrifices one day. Each day for twelve days, a different Nasi brought these sacrifices. The Torah introduces this account with the words, "Va'yehi Be'yom Moshe Kalot Moshe Le'hakim Et Ha'Mishkan" – "It was on the day when Moshe finished erecting the Mishkan…" (7:1). Rashi observes that the word "Kalot" resembles the word "Kalla" – "bride." This allusion, Rashi explains, indicates to us that on this day, the day when the Mishkan was completed and began functioning, Beneh Yisrael were like a bride entering under the wedding canopy with her groom. This was the day of Beneh Yisrael's "wedding" with G-d. Rashi's comments must be reconciled with the well-established tradition viewing Ma'amad Har Sinai – G-d's revelation to our ancestors at Mount Sinai – as our nation's "wedding" with the Almighty. Indeed, several customs we observe at weddings commemorate aspects of Ma'amad Har Sinai. For example, we adorn the Hupa with flowers, just as Mount Sinai grew beautiful flowers at the time of the Revelation. And it is customary for the groom to leave the Hupa and walk toward the bride to greet her as she makes her way to the Hupa, as G-d is described as coming from Mount Sinai to greet the people as they made their way from the camp to the foot of the mountain ("Hashem Mi'Sinai Ba" – Debarim 33:2). If our "wedding" with the Almighty occurred on Shabuot, the day of Matan Torah, then how can Rashi speak of the day of the Mishkan's inauguration – which happened nearly ten months later – as the "wedding day"? The answer lies in the tragic event that transpired in between Matan Torah and the inauguration of the Mishkan – the sin of the golden calf. We might say that the day of Matan Torah marked the first stage of the wedding process – what we call "Kiddushin" (betrothal). This is the stage when the groom gives the bride a ring and designates her as his wife. The marriage is completed with the stage of "Nisu'in," when the bride and groom go into private for the first time. The "Nisu'in" between Beneh Yisrael and Hashem was to occur forty days after Ma'amad Har Sinai, on the 17 th of Tammuz, when Moshe came down the mountain with the two tablets. This day was to have marked the completion of the "wedding," whereby our nation was fully "married" to the Almighty. In the interim, however, Beneh Yisrael had betrayed G-d – like a bride who was unfaithful to her groom – by worshipping a foreign deity. Under such circumstances, of course, the "wedding" could not continue. Beneh Yisrael needed to repair the relationship through repentance and through the building of the Mishkan. Once the Mishkan was completed, the "wedding" could now be resumed. Therefore, Rashi writes that on the day of the Mishkan's inauguration, Beneh Yisrael resembled a bride going into the Hupa – because this day marked the renewed "wedding" which had been discontinued as a result of the sin of the golden calf. Not coincidentally, Parashat Naso is almost always read shortly after the celebration of Shabuot, the day which celebrates the beginning of our "marriage" with G-d. Parashat Naso tells of the completion of the "wedding," how our nation succeeded in recovering from the tragic failure of the golden calf, in rebuilding our trust and faithfulness, so we could again be worthy of "marrying" Hashem, of entering into a unique, intimate bond with Him. The story of the Mishkan's completion teaches us that we need to earn this special relationship through loyalty and devotion. If we prioritize other interests and concerns over the Torah, if we choose to place our trust in people and forces other than Hashem, then we are betraying Him and thus become unworthy of His special protection and blessings. If we want to benefit from our relationship with G-d, we need to earn it through unbridled fealty to His commands, and by remaining uncompromisingly and unflinchingly committed to the Torah, without being misled by the alluring "golden calves" that threaten to pull us away from our loyalty to Hashem.

Shavuot- Being G-d's Servants The Mechilta famously tells that before G-d gave the Torah to Beneh Yisrael, He offered it to other nations. He first asked the descendants of Esav if they wanted the Torah, and they replied by questioning what the Torah demanded. G-d said that the Torah forbids murder – whereupon the people of Esav said they could not possibly abide by such a command. G-d then offered the Torah to the nation of Moab, and they, too, asked what it entailed. He said that it forbids immorality, illicit intimate relationships – and the people of Moab refused. G-d then offered the Torah to the nation of Yishmael. When they heard that the Torah forbids stealing, they declined. One of the commentators to the Mishna – the Mirkebet Ha'mishneh (Rav David Moshe Abraham Ashkenazi, 1680-1745) – explains the meaning and significance of this story. The Mechilta here is teaching us that accepting the Torah requires accepting the parts of the Torah that we find difficult, that force us to go against our natural instincts and inclinations. Hashem first told the people of Esav about the prohibition of murder – because they were violent by nature, and in order to accept the Torah, they needed to commit to restraining their violent impulse. This is something they were not prepared to do. And the same is true of Moab and immorality, and Yishmael and theft. The first thing G-d told each of them was the command which they would find most difficult – because this is precisely what accepting the Torah requires: that we be prepared to break our nature, to act in opposition to our instinctive tendencies. Rav Yisrael Salanter, in one of his more famous letters ( Or Yisrael , 17), elaborates on this concept, on the need to observe the Torah even when this is difficult, when this requires struggle. He writes that even if a person observes many Misvot, and generally follows a religious lifestyle, he might still not earn the title "Ebed Hashem" – a servant of Hashem. An "Ebed," a servant, is somebody who works ("Obed"). If a person fulfills Misvot only when he finds it convenient, what it does not entail hardship or difficulty, then he is not working, and so he is not actually serving Hashem. We become Hashem's servants only when we commit to observe even those Misvot which we find challenging, to abide by Hashem's rules even when this demands a great deal of struggle. There is a famous Yiddish expression among Ashkenazi Jews, "Shver tsu zayn a Yid" – "It is difficult to be a Jew." This expression is commonly viewed with disdain, as something one should never say, as it reflects a cynical, negative attitude toward Judaism. We are to be proud of Jewish life and always emphasize – to ourselves, to our children, and to others – the unparalleled joy and beauty of Torah life. I would suggest, however, a different perspective on this expression, that it makes an important and powerful comment about what Judaism is all about. Being a Jew means remaining committed even when this is difficult. Of course, Jewish life is, generally, beautiful. But often, it requires struggling to overcome difficult challenges. And accepting the Torah means committing ourselves to follow the Torah even when this requires struggle. Thus, indeed, "it is difficult to be a Jew" – being a Jew means accepting that it will sometimes be difficult. When Hashem came to Beneh Yisrael to offer them the Torah, they immediately responded with the resounding declaration, "Na'aseh Ve'nishma" – "We will perform and we will hear" (Shemot 24:7). Curiously, however, the Gemara (Shabbat 88a) tells that Hashem suspended the mountain over Beneh Yisrael and threatened to drop it on them if they did not accept the Torah. Many commentators raised the question of why Hashem needed to threaten Beneh Yisrael after they had enthusiastically expressed their commitment by declaring "Na'aseh Ve'nishma." One answer is that Hashem sought to impress upon them the obligation to observe the Torah under all circumstances, even when it is difficult and inconvenient. It was easy to announce "Na'aseh Ve'nishma" – but there would be many times in the future when they would be far less enthusiastic, when Torah observance would be a challenge, when they would need to struggle. G-d therefore held the mountain over them – to make it clear that they were becoming His servants, and this means serving Him even when this requires hard work. We must serve Hashem not only when we are "in the mood," when we feel like it, but even when we don't. Every person has his own set of struggles in Torah observance. What comes easy for one person is a struggle for somebody else. We need to each find our own weaknesses, our own areas of struggle, the parts of Torah observance which pose a special challenge for us. We must then make the commitment to accept this struggle, to work hard, to put in the effort, to do the best we can, to serve Hashem to the very best of our ability even when we find it difficult.