Podcasts about sedra

1)      With regard to the custom to leave a bit of the end of the Challah, does it apply only to the Lechem Mishneh, or to other bread too?[1]2)      We use plastic tablecloths from a roll. If we didn't manage to prepare before Shabbos, may we tear off the roll on Shabbos?[2]3)      I wish to begin Shmoine Esrei and there's someonebehind me who's already begun. May I take the three steps before my Shmoine Esrei?[3]4)      May one make ‘no-bake cheesecake' on Shabbos?[4]5)      Can I mix psyllium husk with water on Shabbos?[5] 6)      I lent someone some money and he is not in a position to repay the loan. May I deduct the owed from my Maaser fund?[6]7)      Is there an obligation to check Cashew-nuts for infestation? It is now years that I have not come across bugs in these nuts.[7]8)      In order to fulfil the Mitzvah, the Esrog has toedible. Yet there is leeway – in Chutz lo'Oretz – with an Esrog that is Orloh:[8]9)      Does Orloh apply to replanted saplings? [9]10)   How should we pronounce the word ושדה  in thisweek's Sedra?[10][1]  של"ה,הובא במגן אברהם סי' קסז ס"ק מ"ב ובשוע"ר שם סכ"ב. מה שנוהגיםרבים שלא לאכול הקצה – בס' שמירת הגוף והנפש (סי' לא הע' ה) מביא מהיערות דבש(ח"ג) איך שהחיצונים נאחזים בראשית הדבר במיוחד. ומבואר בזה מה שמנשה הוכיחאת רב אשי בזה שאינו יודע על איזה חלק מהפת לומר ברכת המוציא (סנהדרין קב ב).[2] בס'שבת כהלכה ח"ד פכ"ח ספ"ב מתיר באינו מקפיד על המדה.[3] בפסקי תשובות סי' צה:ב אסרהדבר, כי הפסיעות אינן 'מצוה'. וכעין זה שם סי' קב:ד לענין הפסיעות שבגמרהתפלה.[4] אסור משום גיבול – ראהשוע"ר סי' שכא סט"ז.[5]  בס' שמירתשבת כהלכתה (פ"ח אות ל) ובפסקי תשובות (סי' שכא אות כו) החמיר גם בבלילה רכה.[6] ברמ"איו"ד סי' רנז ס"ה מתיר הדבר. בש"ך שם מצריך להקנות הכסף לעניע"י שלישי. אבל הנודע ביהודה מקיל בנדו"ד, דמעשר-כספים הוי דרבנן.[7] ראהיו"ד סי' פד ס"ח שחיובהבדיקה הוא לדבר שדרכו להתליע.[8] שוע"ר סי' תרמטסט"ו, וכ"פ המשנ"ב שם ס"ק מה.[9] בשו"ע סי' רצדסט"ו מחמיר בעקר כל האילן, אבל שם סי"ט מקיל ביכול לחיות בעפר הנתלשאתו. וע"ש בפתחי תשובה ס"ק יג.[10]  בתיקון סופריםברדיטשוב מבאר ביטויים שונים לשבא-נע.

The famous second Mishna of Pirkeh Abot teaches that the world stands on three "pillars": Torah, Aboda (service of G-d), and Gemilut Hasadim (dispensing kindness). These three "pillars" are embodied by our three patriarchs – Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. Abraham was the paragon of kindness, devoting his life to helping others. Even after undergoing Berit Mila at an advanced age, he sat outside in the scorching heat looking for people who needed hospitality. He spared no efforts in seeking to help any person who required assistance. Yishak, who was placed on an altar and nearly sacrificed, represents the highest standards of "Aboda," serving Hashem, living one's life in complete subservience to the Almighty and being prepared to make whatever sacrifices He demands. Finally, Yaakob Abinu embodies the quality of diligent Torah study, having spent the first decades of his life fully immersed in Torah learning. In light of this parallel, it seems that the Mishna's list of three "pillars" is presented out of order. We would have perhaps expected the Mishna to list the "pillars" in the order of the three Abot (patriarchs) – beginning with Hesed, followed by Aboda, and culminating with Torah, corresponding to the order of the Abot – Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. The answer, perhaps, is that the Mishna wanted to emphasize that we need to learn Torah in order to achieve the other two pillars. Without Torah knowledge, we will not have the information we need to serve Hashem. A person who does not learn Torah will decide on his own how to pray, and how to perform Misvot. He will just make up his service of Hashem. We need to learn Torah in order to know how to perform "Aboda," how to serve Hashem in the right way. This is true also of Hesed. We might think that Hesed is instinctive and intuitive, that we can figure out on our own when and how to help other people. But this, too, is mistaken. The Torah guides us not only with regard to our service of Hashem, but also with regard to Hesed, explaining to us the right way to help people. We need to learn what our responsibilities and obligations are, when we are supposed to help, and what kind of help we are to offer. We find an example in the beginning of Parashat Emor, where the Torah presents a series of laws relevant to the Kohanim. A Kohen is not permitted to come in contact with a dead body, except in the case of the death of an immediate family member. Of course, we know that tending to the burial of the deceased is a precious Misva. But without learning Torah, we would not have known that for a Kohen, this is actually a sin, unless he is dealing with the remains of a family member. Moreover, a Kohen Gadol is not permitted to come in contact with a dead body even in the case of a deceased family member – but he is allowed, and even required, to tend to the burial of a Met Misva, a body that has nobody else to bury it. This is just one example of how we need the Torah to give us the guidelines of when and how to perform kindness. Torah knowledge is indispensable for living a life of Aboda and of Hesed. The "pillar" of Torah is therefore mentioned by the Mishna first – because without it, we can never reach the other two "pillars."

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

We find in Parashat Kedoshim (19:17) the command "Hochi'ah Tochi'ah Et Amitecha" – to reprimand one's fellow who acts improperly, so that he will improve his behavior. King Shlomo, in the Book of Mishleh (9:8), offers advice regarding the proper approach to the delicate topic of Tocheha – reprimanding and rebuking. He teaches, "Al Tochah Letz Pen Yisna'eka, Hochah Le'hacham Ve'ye'ehaveka" – "Do not reprimand the scoffer, lest he despise you; reprimand the wise, and he will love you." The simple meaning of this verse is that King Shlomo is telling us whom to criticize and whom not to criticize. The "Letz," the "scoffer," should not be expected to accept criticism, and so it is best not to criticize him. Many people are simply not receptive to criticism, as they assume they are always correct, and have little interest in hearing what others have to say. Their instinctive reaction to criticism is something to the effect of, "Who are you to talk?" "What do you know?" "Don't tell me what to do." The wise person, by contrast, understands that he has something to learn from all people, even those who are not necessarily as smart as he is. With wisdom comes the humility to recognize that all people, even the brightest and most successful, make mistakes and have more to learn. And so the wise person is open to constructive criticism, and willing to accept rebuke. Therefore, Shlomo tells us not to bother reprimanding the "Letz," the arrogant cynic, but to offer criticism to the wise person who is open to being corrected and advised. Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky (1891-1986) offered an additional explanation of this verse – suggesting that King Shlomo here teaches us not whom to reprimand, but how to reprimand. He is telling us that when we offer criticism, we should do so in a manner that makes the person feel like a wise person, and not like an evil "scoffer." Unfortunately, our instinct when giving criticism is to emphasize the severity of the misdeed, and how ashamed the person should feel for having committed such an act. This approach, while instinctive, is not only ineffective, but counterproductive. If we emphasize to the person the gravity of his wrongdoing, he is likely to either reject the criticism altogether, or simply despair. He will either not want to own up to the fact that he did something terrible, and thus dismiss the criticism, or he will acknowledge the severity of his bad behavior and decide that he's just bad and so there is no reason for him to try to improve. King Shlomo thus advises us, "Do not reprimand the scoffer" – do not criticize in a way that makes the person feel lowly. Instead, "…reprimand the wise" – make him feel important, wise and capable. The right way to criticize is by emphasizing to the individual his greatness, his vast potential, how much Hashem loves him and wants him to do the right thing, how much he is capable of achieving. If we criticize in a manner that makes the person feel "wise" and capable of greatness, then he will embrace the criticism, rather than reject it. This perhaps sheds new light on the continuation of the verse here in Parashat Kedoshim. After commanding, "Hochi'ah Tochi'ah Et Amitecha," the Torah adds, "Ve'lo Tisa Alav Het." This is commonly understood to mean, "and do not bear sin on his account," that is to say, if we fail to criticize, then we are held partially accountable for the person's continued misconduct. Alternatively, however, this could be read to mean, "Do not elevate the sin." When we reprimand, we should not emphasize the severity of the act, which will cause the person to despair. Rather than "elevate" the sin, we should instead elevate the person. We should emphasize not how bad the person behaved, but rather how good he is capable of behaving, how great he can become. This is a critical lesson relevant to education. When raising children or teaching students, the focus must be on building the child's self-esteem, making the child feel capable and helping him realize his potential. Rather than "elevate" the child's inevitable mistakes and failings, we must instead "elevate" his sense of self-worth, so he recognizes how great he can be and sets out to achieve that greatness.

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

Andor's second season is a different beast—and an absolute feast of real-world parallels.In “Sagrona Teema,” (Andor S2, E2), the differences between Andor's seasons become clear: Season 2 is faster, more mysterious, and altogether more oblique. But the parallels to life in 2025 have become even more clear. In our recap this week, we draw the lines connecting Andor to ICE deportations, leftist infighting, and issues of consent. On a happier note, we're giving a Chandrilan toast to the return of Syril and the hard launch of Sedra (is that their couple name??). New to Growing Up Skywalker? Come join us for non-toxic Star Wars recaps from a veteran and a new fan. New episodes every Tuesday.Want more Growing Up Skywalker? This is a great time to sign up for our Patreon for bonus audio content! Timestamps:00:00:00 Who Are We?00:04:10 Plot Summary00:14:36 Season 1 and Season 2 Distinctions00:20:58 Real-World Parallels: Deportation, Exploitation, Leftist Infighting00:43:15 Syril and Dedra 4ever00:56:23 Bae Watch01:08:14 Closing Thoughts

Most of Parashiyot Tazria and Mesora deals with the intricate laws of Sara'at – a kind of infection which would surface on people's skin, garments, or homes. The Torah outlines specific requirements that must be obeyed by a person who sees a suspicious discoloration that might signify the presence of Sara'at, as well as the procedures to be followed should a discoloration be confirmed as Sara'at. A person confirmed to be stricken with bodily Sara'at would be banished from his city until he is cured. A garment with Sara'at, in certain situations, needed to be burned, and a home stricken with Sara'at would, in some instances, be dismantled. The Rabbis explained that Sara'at would befall a person as a punishment for certain sins. Even Sara'at on the body was not a medical condition, some sort of dermatological disorder. It was rather a punishment that G-d would bring upon a person on account of his misdeeds. In light of this, Rav Moshe Alshich (Sefat, 1508-1593) raised the question of why the Torah begins its discussion of Sara'at by addressing the situation of "Adam Ki Yiheyeh Be'or Besaro Se'et O Sapahat…" – where an "Adam" has a discoloration on his skin. "Adam" is one of several different words used by the Torah in reference to the human being, and the Alshich writes that this word refers specifically to "Shelomeh Emuneh Yisrael" – the faithfully observant among the Jewish people. It signifies a high level of obedience to Hashem, and is thus reserved for those who are religiously committed. The question naturally arises, then, as to why it is used here, in Parashat Tazria, in reference to a person stricken by Sara'at. If Sara'at would befall somebody who was guilty of grave misdeeds, then why is he called "Adam" – a title of distinction reserved for the spiritually devoted? The Alshich answers that to the contrary, it is only those who are generally righteous and pure whose bodies are impacted by the impurity of sin. If a person is entirely impure, then the sins he commits do not affect him to such an extent that he would be stricken by Sara'at because of them. It is only if a person is otherwise pure that an occasional misdeed would result in a Sara'at infection. A stain is noticeable only on an otherwise clean garment; if a garment is already covered with mud, a drop of food that falls on it will not be discernible. Likewise, it is only in a generally "clean" soul that the "stain" of sin causes a Sara'at infection. For this reason, the Alshich writes, Sara'at does not occur nowadays – because we are not on a high enough level of purity that the contamination of an occasional sin would leave an impression in the form of Sara'at. The Alshich explains on this basis a word used by the Torah later in this introductory verse: "VE'HAYA Be'or Besaro Le'nega Sara'at" ("And it shall be in the skin of his flesh a Sara'at affliction"). Ironically, the word "Ve'haya" is understood by our Sages as an allusion to joy. When this word is used, the Gemara (Megilla 10) teaches, it indicates an element of celebration. Seemingly, then, the word "Ve'haya" has no place here in the context of Sara'at infections. The Alshich explains that while the manifestation of Sara'at is, of course, very unfortunate, a harsh punishment brought upon a sinner, at the same time, it is a cause for joy, as it shows the person's overall stature of greatness. The fact that his "stain" is discernible proves that his soul is otherwise "clean." The onset of Sara'at thus brings the joy of knowing that one is generally pure and can retain his state of pristine purity through the process of Teshuba, by correcting the misdeeds for which he was punished with Sara'at.

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

The Torah in Parashat Shemini introduces the subject of "Ma'achalot Asurot" – the forbidden foods, outlining the general principles that govern which foods are permissible for consumption and which are not. In its conclusion of this topic, the Torah connects these laws to the concept of Kedusha, the sanctity of Beneh Yisrael: "Ve'hitkadishtem Vi'hyitem Kedoshim Ki Kadosh Ani" – "You shall sanctify yourselves and be sacred, for I am sacred…" (11:44). This association between "Ma'achalot Asurot" and the concept of Kedusha is underscored by the Rambam, who includes these laws in the "Kedusha" section of his halachic code. To explain this connection, Rav Eliyahu Bakshi-Doron (1941-2020), former Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, draws our attention to an important passage in the Midrash Tanhuma (Shemini, 6), which offers an analogy to a doctor who visited two ailing patients. He noticed that the first patient was gravely ill with little chance of surviving, whereas the second was likely to recover. The doctor told the first patient's family member to feed him whichever foods he wanted, whereas the family of the second patient were given very strict instructions regarding the patient's diet. Since the first patient in any event was not likely to live, the doctor explained, he could be allowed to enjoy whichever foods he wished. The second, however, had the potential to live, and so he needed to care for his health so that he could recover. The Midrash explains that the same is true of Am Yisrael and the other nations of the world. While there is no physical difference between us, and our bodies are no different than the bodies of other peoples, we are destined to "live," as the verse says in the Book of Debarim (4:4), "Ve'atem Ha'debekim B'Hashem Elokechem Haim Kulechem" – "And you, who are attached to Hashem your G-d, are living." Rav Bakshi-Doron explains that we are destined to receive a portion in the next world, in the eternal afterlife, where our souls will exist together with Hashem, and this is the "life" to which we are uniquely destined. We are "sacred" in the sense that we are given the potential to build a special connection with the Almighty. Therefore, we are given a special "diet" that we must follow. We of course do not understand the spiritual effects of kosher food and non-kosher food, but Hashem Himself – the greatest "doctor" – informed us of which foods we must abstain from in order to preserve our spiritual health so we can build a unique connection with Him and become the holy people that we are meant to become. Rav Bakshi-Doron adds that this explains why the laws of "Ma'achalot Asurot" appear here in Parashat Shemini, which also tells of the events that took place when the Mishkan was inaugurated. The purpose of the Mishkan, as Hashem famously told Moshe back in Parashat Teruma (Shemot 25:8), is "Ve'shachanti Be'tocham" – that Hashem would reside among His people. Through the Mishkan, Hashem came to live intimately with us, to dwell within each and every member of our nation. The Mishkan, then, signifies the special relationship that we are to build with our Creator, the unique spiritual potential that we have been given. This is the connection between the Mishkan – the most powerful symbol of our unique spiritual potential – and "Ma'achalot Asurot," the laws we must observe in order to bring that potential into fruition. Hashem chose us to become a special nation – and to that end, He equipped us with special potential and abilities. This does not mean we are naturally better than others – rather, it means that we are given the responsibility and the challenge to rise to greater heights, and we are guaranteed the ability to meet this challenge if we truly strive to. Once we recognize our unique spiritual mission, and the unique potential we have to complete this mission, we will feel more confident and more driven to pursue spiritual greatness, to maximize our potential, and become the great people that we are expected to become.

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

* This week's Derasha is dedicated in memory of Avraham ben Gemilah* Toward the end of Maggid – the main section of the Haggadah, when we discuss Yesiat Misrayim in fulfillment of the obligation to speak about the miraculous Exodus from Egypt on this night – we cite a Halachic ruling of Rabban Gamliel regarding the obligation of the Seder. Rabban Gamliel stated that one must discuss at the Seder the meaning of the Korban Pesach (paschal sacrifice), the Masa, and the Marror, and if one does not, then he does not fulfill his obligation. At my Seder, when we reach this point, I make sure that everyone who had left the table – such as the women arranging the food in the kitchen – returns to the table, and that this passage is read in both in Hebrew and English, so that it will be clearly understood by all. One of the questions that arise regarding this section is its sequence. Rabban Gamliel lists the three Misvot which must be discussed in the order of Pesach, Masa and Marror. Seemingly, this order is incorrect; the Marror should be discussed first. After all, the Marror commemorates the bitterness of slavery, whereas the Korban Pesach commemorates the miraculous plague of the firstborn on the night of Yesiat Misrayim, and the Masa commemorates our ancestors' hasty, frantic departure from Egypt. Quite obviously, Beneh Yisrael first experienced the bitterness of slavery, and then the miracle of the plague of the firstborn. The correct order, therefore, should be Marror, Pesach, Masa. Why did Rabban Gamliel move the Marror to the end of the list? To answer this question, we need to revisit the meaning and significance of the Marror. The Gemara instructs that the best option for Marror is "Hasa," which we call Romaine lettuce. Although this lettuce is not particularly bitter, it is the preferred choice because of its name – "Hasa" which alludes to the fact that "Has Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu Alenu" – Hashem had mercy and compassion upon us. This seems very strange. If the entire purpose of the Marror is to remind us of the "bitterness," the pain and suffering that our ancestors endured, then why would we associate the Marror with compassion? Hashem's compassion was shown at the time of Yesiat Misrayim, not during the years of bitterness. Why, then, do we want the name of the vegetable used for Marror to allude to Hashem's mercy? The answer is that, indeed, the "bitterness" of slavery was an expression of Hashem's mercy and compassion. To understand how, let us consider an analogy to mortgage payments. A person with a mortgage can choose different payment plans. One possibility is to pay small, relatively easy sums each month, for a lengthy period of time. But he could also choose to "tighten his belt,", cutting back on other expenses so he can afford to pay more of his debt each month. This way, he is able to get out of debt faster. For reasons we do not fully understand, Hashem had told Abraham Abinu that his descendants would endure a 400-year period of slavery. However, Hashem saw that Beneh Yisrael would not survive such a lengthy period of exile. Beneh Yisrael were submerged in the impurity of Egypt, and had they remained there for 400 years, they would have plummeted to the lowest depths, from which they could not recover. Hashem therefore decided to increase the "monthly payments," so-to-speak, by intensifying the workload, so they could leave 190 years early – after just 210 years of slavery. The suffering the people endured during those 210 years amounted to the suffering they were to have experienced over the course of 400 years of bondage. It turns out, then, that the "bitterness" was a crucial component of the redemption from Egypt. Beneh Yisrael were able to leave Egypt only because they suffered not only exile, but "bitterness," such that 400 years' worth of exile was condensed into 210 years. Had this not happened, they could never have been redeemed. This easily explains why we eat "Hasa" as our Marror – because the bitterness commemorated by the Marror was indeed a manifestation of Hashem's boundless kindness and compassion for His beloved nation. With this in mind, we can return to Rabban Gamliel's statement. He listed "Pesach, Masa, Marror" in this sequence because it was only after the "Pesach" and the "Masa" that Beneh Yisrael understood the nature of the "Marror." While they were suffering, everything appeared "bitter." But later, in retrospect, after they left Egypt, they understood that the bitterness of those 210 years allowed them to "pay" their "debt" more quickly, which was critical for their survival as a people. We therefore discuss first the Korban Pesach and Masa, the redemption from Egypt, and then we are in a position to properly understand the Marror, the indispensable role played by the "bitterness" of slavery in the process of redemption. This might also be the reason why we dip the Marror in the sweet Haroset – to symbolize the fact that the bitterness of slavery was actually "sweet," as it ensured our ancestors' survival and eventual redemption. This is something we must remember during our own "bitter" periods, when we face challenges and hardship. At the moment, we see nothing "sweet" or beneficial about the difficult situation that we are experiencing. But we must trust that this "Marror," as "bitter" as it feels, is actually to our benefit. As regarding our ancestors' bondage in Egypt, Hashem is acting kindly toward us even when we endure hardship. This belief helps us remain strong and confident even in life's more challenging moments, as we will trust that everything we are going through is, in truth, to our benefit.

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

On the first night of Pesach, we begin the Arbit prayer with the recitation of the 107 th chapter of Tehillim. This chapter opens with the exclamation, "Hodu L'Hashem Ki Tob, Ki Le'olam Hasdo" – "Thank G-d, for He is good, for His kindness is eternal." The selection of this chapter as the introduction to the night of the seder is very significant, because it encapsulates the essence of this night. The seder is what we might call the Jewish "thanksgiving dinner," as it revolves around the theme of gratitude, thanking Hashem for all He has done for us. In fact, this chapter of Tehillim proceeds to describe the four situations which require a person to bring a Korban Toda – a thanksgiving sacrifice in the Bet Ha'mikdash, or, nowadays, to recite Birkat Ha'gomel, thanking Hashem for saving him. These four situations are a sea voyage, a trip through the desert, imprisonment, and serious illness. A person who emerges from any of these four perilous situations is required to bring a Korban Toda to express his gratitude to Hashem. Our ancestors experienced all four situations. They were released from bondage, from their "imprisonment" in Egypt, and the Sages teach that when they departed Egypt, all their physical ailments from which they suffered as a result of slavery were cured. They then crossed the sea and the desert. This is one of the reasons given for the obligation to drink four cups of wine at the seder. We drink one cup to express gratitude for each of these dangerous conditions from which our forefathers were rescued. Appropriately, therefore, we begin the Arbit service on this night with the chapter of Tehillim that speaks of the obligation to express gratitude to Hashem for these four forms of redemption, all of which are celebrated on the night of the seder. The Maharal of Prague (Rav Yehuda Loew, 1512-1609) asserted that this theme of the seder explains why we refer to the text read on this night with the term "Haggadah." The source of this term, the Maharal writes, is a Misva which has a surprising connection to the seder experience – the Misva of Bikkurim, which requires a farmer to bring the first of his orchard's fruits that ripen to the Bet Ha'mikdash and give them to a Kohen. When he arrived in the Bet Ha'mikdash, the farmer was to pronounce a special text dictated in the Torah (Debarim 26), a text commonly referred to as "Mikra Bikkurim." In this proclamation, the farmer would briefly recall his ancestors' period of slavery in Egypt, how they cried to Hashem, and how He miraculously brought them to freedom. The four verses of Mikra Bikkurim comprise the text that we use at the seder as the focal point of our discussion of Yesiat Misrayim (the Exodus from Egypt). Rather than go through the entire narrative of the Egyptian bondage and the Exodus, we go through the brief account of Mikra Bikkurim, carefully analyzing each phrase of this short text. The Maharal notes that the first words the Torah requires the farmer to declare upon arriving in the Bet Ha'mikdash with his fruits are "Higadeti Hayom L'Hashem Elokecha." The Aramaic Targum Yerushalmi translation of the Torah renders this verse as, "I give thanks and praise to Hashem your G-d." It thus turns out that the word "Higadeti," which we would normally translate as "I have told," actually means expressing praise and gratitude. And it is for this reason, the Maharal writes, that we refer to the text of the Pesach seder as the "Haggadah" – because this is the text we use to express our gratitude to Hashem, which is what the seder experience is all about. In the introduction to the Maggid section of the Haggadah, we announce, "Ve'chol Ha'marbeh Hareh Zeh Meshubah" – the more one speaks about Yesiat Misrayim on this night, the more praiseworthy he is. The Maharal writes that when it comes to expressing gratitude, the more the better. Saying "thank you" to someone who did us a favor might be enough to discharge our obligation, but we can and should do better than that. When expressing appreciation, we should be detailed and specific, and not hold back. The more gratitude we show, the better. There is so much negativity and cynicism all around us. There are so many people who criticize and complain about everything, who focus on what's wrong and then constantly talk about it. Let us counter this negativity with positivity, by indulging in gratitude, in appreciation, by regularly praising and being thankful for all the good there is. Of course, we live in an imperfect world, where there is always something to complain about. But we also live in a wonderful world with so much to be grateful for. And this should be our focus. May the upcoming night of gratitude motivate us to always see and direct our attention toward the goodness all around us and all that is right in our world, so we will live with joy and contentment even as we do our small part to address the world's imperfections in an effort to correct them.

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

We read in Parashat Pekudeh (40:2) of G-d's command to Moshe that the completed Mishkan should be erected on Rosh Hodesh Nissan, the first day of the month of Nissan. The Midrash tells that in truth, the artisans built the various parts of the Mishkan very quickly, and the Mishkan was ready to be assembled already earlier, on the 25 th of Kislev, a little over two months after the work began. However, Hashem decided to postpone the assembly of the Mishkan until the month of Nissan, due to the unique significance of this month. The Midrash continues that the 25 th of Kislev "protested," as it were, objecting to its having been denied the privilege of being a special day, the day of the Mishkan's inauguration. Hashem assured this day that it will be compensated – and, sure enough, many centuries later, the 25 th of Kislev became the first day of the joyous holiday of Hanukah, celebrating the Jews' miraculous triumph over the Greeks and the rededication of the Bet Ha'mikdash, which the Greeks had defiled. The day of 25 Kislev was at first denied its holiday – but it was later compensated with "interest." Whereas the first of Nissan, commemorating the inauguration of the temporary Mishkan, is not marked by a great deal of fanfare, the 25 th of Kislev became a day of great festivity observed by Jews around the world for millennia. The Midrash's comments bring to mind a different Midrashic account, regarding the fish in the Yam Suf (Sea of Reeds). When Hashem drowned the 600 Egyptian horsemen who had pursued Beneh Yisrael into the sea, the fish were overjoyed, and prepared to indulge in the robust feast that had just been presented to them. But just as they were set to eat, the bodies of the Egyptian horsemen were sent ashore. Beneh Yisrael feared that the soldiers had not drowned, but rather came ashore, and thus still posed a threat. In order to allay the people's concerns, Hashem had the sea expel the remains of the Egyptian warriors onto the shore where they were standing, so they would see them and know that their pursuers were indeed dead, and they were thus no longer in danger. The fish were, naturally, disappointed over the sudden loss of the large amounts of food that they thought they would soon be enjoying. Hashem repaid the fish years later, during the battle waged by Beneh Yisrael in the times of the prophetess Deborah against the army of Sisera. During this war, Hashem drowned the enemy's 900 chariots in the Kishon River. As compensation for having lost the 600 Egyptian horsemen – the fish were given 900 Canaanite soldiers. This is a reason given for the custom that many have to ensure to eat fish on Shabbat. Many people might have serious misgivings about closing their businesses on Shabbat, or about taking off from work, worrying about the loss of income. The fish reminds them that Hashem always repays in full – and with "interest" – for the sacrifices we make for Misvot. Whatever expense or loss we incur for the sake of a Misva is more than worth it – because we are guaranteed to receive much more than we've lost. The Gemara (Besa 15b) teaches that Hashem tells us: "My children! Borrow on My account to make the day [of Shabbat] sacred, and trust Me that I will repay." Hashem guarantees that all the money we spend for Shabbat and holidays is being charged to His account, and He will repay us in full. And, as we have seen, He not only repays the money we spend, but also gives us much more. Performing Misvot is always the greatest investment we can ever make, one which guarantees to bring us the most profitable returns.

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

In the beginning of Parashat Vayakhel, we read that Moshe assembled Beneh Yisrael and conveyed to them Hashem's command to observe the Shabbat. He singled out in particular the prohibition against kindling a fire on Shabbat: "Lo Teba'aru Esh Be'chol Moshebotechem Be'yom Ha'Shabbat" – "Do not kindle fire in all your residences on the day of Shabbat" (35:3). Different explanations have been given for why Moshe singled out this prohibition, which is but one of numerous restrictions by which we are bound on Shabbat. Rav Moshe Alshich (Sefat, 1508-1593) offers a unique interpretation of this verse, explaining that it speaks of kindling fire as part of the process of building the Mishkan. Moshe reiterated the command of Shabbat observance here as an introduction to the command to build the Mishkan, which appears immediately following this brief section regarding Shabbat. He was telling the people that although Hashem required them to build the Mishkan, the site of His residence among them, a project that was of paramount importance to the nation, nevertheless, this undertaking did not override the Shabbat prohibitions. Meaning, the work to build the Mishkan was to be suspended during Shabbat. Now the people might have wondered why this was the case. After all, once the Mishkan was built, sacrifices were offered there seven days a week, even on Shabbat, despite the fact that this entailed the suspension of several Shabbat prohibitions, such as slaughtering animals, and burning the various parts of the animal on the altar. We would have thus reasoned that if the service in the Mishkan was important enough to override the Shabbat restrictions, then the construction of the Mishkan, too, should warrant suspending these prohibitions, due to the singular importance of the service of Hashem in this site. Moshe responded to this question in this verse, by commanding, "Do not kindle fire in all your residences on the day of Shabbat." He emphasized that burning is forbidden on Shabbat in "your residences," and is allowed on Shabbat only in Hashem's "residence." Once the Mishkan was erected, it was considered the Almighty's residence, where the Shabbat laws were not binding. During the process of the Mishkan's construction, however, the Mishkan was not yet Hashem's residence. Until its completion, it was still considered the people's residence. As such, kindling fire was not allowed, even for the sake of building G-d's residence. It was only in the completed structure, once the Shechina (divine presence) descended and dwelled within it, that burning was permitted in the service of Hashem. Before that point, however, when the building site was still the people's residence, and not G-d's, burning was forbidden.

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

**This week's essay is dedicated in memory of Rosa bat Shafia** Parashat Ki-Tisa begins by completing the Torah's discussion of the construction of the Mishkan. In the previous Parashiyot, we read of the building and its furnishings, as well as the special garments worn by the Kohanim and the procedure required for their consecration. The Torah now completes its discussion by presenting a number of additional laws, such as the mandatory annual half-shekel tax ("Mahasit Ha'shekel"), the washing basin at the entrance of the Mishkan (Kiyor), the Ketoret (incense), the anointing oil (Shemen Ha'mish'ha), and the designation of Besalel as the chief artisan who would oversee the project. Having concluded its discussion of the Mishkan, the Torah then speaks of Shabbat, and the strict prohibition against its desecration. Rashi (31:13) explains that the command of Shabbat appears here to indicate that the construction of the Mishkan did not override the Shabbat prohibitions. Hashem was telling the people that as important as it was to build the Mishkan, the place where the Shechina (divine presence) would reside, this project did not supersede the laws of Shabbat, and so the work was to be discontinued on Shabbat. The Klausenberger Rebbe (Rav Yekutiel Yehuda Halberstam, 1905-1994) finds specific significance in the juxtaposition between the command of Shabbat and the immediately preceding verses. Just before the command of Shabbat in our Parasha, Hashem instructs that Besalel should lead the project to construct the Mishkan, and He lists all the various items which Besalel and his team were responsible for making. Near the end this list we find "Bigdeh Ha'kodesh Le'Aharon Ahicha, Ve'et Bigdeh Banav Le'chahen" – the priestly garments (31:10). The juxtaposition between these verses, the Rebbe explained, alludes to the importance of Bigdeh Shabbat – the special garments to be worn on Shabbat. Just as the Kohanim were required to wear special garments when they served in the holiest place – the Mishkan – so must we all wear special garments on the holiest day, Shabbat. Our special Shabbat clothes are our "Bigdeh Kehuna," our "priestly garments," that we are obligated to wear in order to properly respect the sacred day of Shabbat. The Klausenberger Rebbe notes in this context the famous tradition (Talmud Yerushalmi, Ta'anit 1:1) that if the Jewish People would properly observe one Shabbat, we would then be worthy of Mashiah's arrival. The reason, the Rebbe explains, is based on a passage in the Midrash (Bereshit Rabba 65:16) in which Rabban Shimon Ben Gamliel extols the extraordinary lengths that Esav went to for the sake of honoring his father, Yishak Abinu. While Esav was, in general, sinful, he excelled in the area of Kibbud Ab (honoring his father). Rabban Shimon mentions that Esav would prepare food for his father, and would then change into his fine garments before serving him, so he would look respectable. He ensured to wear special clothing when serving his father in order to show honor and respect. By the same token, the Klausenberger Rebbe writes, on Shabbat, Hashem comes into our homes, and we are spending the day with Him. It is only fitting, then, that we wear special, fine clothing in His honor. The merit through which Esav's descendants have been able to succeed and prosper, and keep us in exile, is his outstanding devotion to Kibbud Ab, his showing great honor to his father. The way we end this exile, then, is by showing this same level of honor to Hashem – and we do this through our Bigdeh Shabbat, by dressing in honor of Shabbat the way Esav dressed in honor of his father. "Dressing down" has become the norm in our society. People are no longer encouraged to dress formally for work, or for other events. While this policy may have merit in the context of the workplace, we must ensure not to embrace it with regard to Shabbat. On Shabbat, we become like Kohanim, as we are in the Shechina's presence, like the Kohanim in the Bet Ha'mikdash. Thus, like the Kohanim, we are obliged to wear our "Bigdeh Kehuna," our special garments through which we show our honor and reverence for the Almighty.

In this episode of 'Holy Disruption,' host Heather Schott engages in a deep discussion with Andrew Sedra, a pastor from Sydney, Australia. They discuss the challenges faced by Christianity in contemporary society and the perceived threat of Islam based on historical evidence and current events. Topics include the need for courage and boldness in the church, the importance of repentance, and the prophetic significance of current geopolitical events. Sedra shares personal stories from his childhood in Egypt, highlighting the persecution of Christians in Muslim-majority countries, and calls for the American church to awaken and take action. Both emphasize the necessity of revival, repentance, and reformation within the church to withstand these cultural and spiritual battles.

The Megilla tells us that Ester, the heroine of the Purim story, had another name – Hadasa. What might be the significance of this second name? We should perhaps assume that if the Megilla found it necessary to inform us of Ester's other name, this detail must be important. What does the name "Hadasa" represent, and what does it tell us about Ester's role in the Purim story? The historical backdrop to the Purim story is the destruction of the Bet Ha'mikdash and the Jewish People's banishment to exile. It was during this period, after the Jews had spent over half a century in Babylonia – which was taken over by Persia – that the story told in the Megilla unfolded. We can easily imagine what was going through the Jews' minds at this time. They must have assumed that their special relationship with G-d was over. After all, G-d had sent the Babylonian marauders to set His Bet Ha'mikdash ablaze, and to bring the nation into exile. Decades passed, and they remained far from their homeland. They naturally thought that they were no longer Hashem's special nation, and there was thus no longer any reason to learn Torah, to perform Misvot, or to live a religious lifestyle. Indeed, the Gemara teaches that at Ahashverosh's feast, he came dressed in the special garments of the Kohen Gadol, and used the utensils of the Bet Ha'mikdash. He was celebrating the fact that the Jews' exile was permanent, that they would never be returning to the Land of Israel and would never rebuild the Bet Ha'mikdash. The Jews participated in this feast, showing that they shared this belief. Of course, this was a grave mistake. King Shlomo, the wisest of all men, writes in the Book of Kohelet (4:12), "Ve'ha'hut Ha'meshulash Lo Bi'mhera Yinatek" – "The triple thread will not easily be snapped." A single thread can easily be torn, but if three threads are woven together, this becomes a rope, which is far more difficult to cut. The Jewish Nation is a "triple thread," having been built by three patriarchs – Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. Had our nation been created by just a single founder, or even two founders, this would not have established a strong enough foundation to withstand the many challenges and upheavals that would occur over the course of Jewish history. But our nation was built by three "threads," three outstanding figures, laying for us a foundation that can never be broken. For this reason, the verse in the Book of Debarim (32:9) says, "Yaakob Hebel Nahalato" – Yaakob is the "rope" of G-d's "lot," the Jewish Nation. Yaakob was the third patriarch, and thus he turned the "threads" of his two predecessors into a "Hebel," a rope, that can never be broken. The Jewish Nation is eternal, and its special relationship with Hashem is eternal. A child might anger his parents, and this relationship might at times be strained, even, perhaps, under drastic circumstances, to the point where the parent must send the child out of the home for a period of time, but he will always be their child, and their love for him will always remain. Similarly, even when Hashem punishes Am Yisrael, and even when He drives us into exile, His love for His treasured nation is everlasting. This was Ester's message to the Jewish People when they faced the threat of annihilation. They had despaired, figuring that G-d had abandoned them, but she reminded them that their bond with Hashem is everlasting and unconditional. She therefore decreed a three-day fast – to remind them of the "Hut Ha'meshulash," the "triple thread" that forms the foundation of Am Yisrael, which cannot ever be broken. Ester was therefore called "Hadasa," an allusion to the "Hadas," the myrtle branch, one of the four species we take on Sukkot. The Torah calls the Hadas "Anaf Etz Abot" (Vayikra 23:40) – a branch with a thick covering of leaves – and Rashi explains this to mean "Kelu'im Ke'hebel" – "braided like a rope." The leaves of the Hadas branch grow in groups of three, with every three leaves emerging from the same spot on the stem. The Hadas' thick covering of leaves is thus likened to a rope, three threads woven together, and it symbolizes the concept of "Yaakob Hebel Nahalato," G-d's eternal bond with the Jewish Nation. In fact, the word "Hut" (thread) in Gematria equals 23, such that three threads are represented by the number 69 (23 X 3) – which is the Gematria of "Hadas." Ester was called "Hadasa" because this was precisely the message she conveyed to the Jews in exile – that Hashem's love for them was everlasting, that this bond could never be broken. We all recognize the numerous spiritual problems that plague the Jewish People in our day and age. It is clear to all of us that there is so much to improve, so many difficult problems to address. But we must never feel discouraged or fall into despair. At no point may we ever think, as the Jews in Persia thought, that Hashem no longer loves us or cares about us, that our special relationship with Him has ended. We must remember that our special bond can never be broken, that Hashem loves us under all circumstances, even when we aren't acting as we should. Sometimes this love is more evident, and sometimes less, but we must believe that it is always present. This awareness should give us the encouragement and resolve we need to work toward growth and improvement, to strive to elevate ourselves as well as our fellow Jews, and thereby strengthen the eternal bond between us and our Creator.

This Week's Parasha Essay is dedicated in memory of RACHEL Bat SARAH The Torah in Parashat Teruma presents the laws for the construction of the Mishkan, which is where sacrifices were offered until the building of the Bet Ha'mikdash in Jerusalem. Later, in Parashat Vayakhel, we read of the fulfillment of these commands, how the Mishkan and its furnishings were built. Already the Gemara (Berachot 55a) notes the glaring discrepancy between the sequence of the commands presented here in Parashat Teruma, and the execution of these commands in Parashat Vayakhel. When G-d presented the instructions for building the Mishkan, He began with the furnishings, detailing the instructions regarding the ark, the table, the Menorah, and the altar, before proceeding to the instructions regarding the structure of the Mishkan. In Parashat Vayakhel, however, we read that the artisans first constructed the Mishkan, and only then built the furnishings. The Gemara tells that when Moshe relayed G-d's instructions – in the sequence they were given – to Besalel, the chief artisan, Besalel pointed out that the sequence was backward. He noted that the building must be constructed first, before the furnishings, as otherwise there will be nowhere to store the furnishings in the interim. Moshe confirmed to Besalel that he was correct. The question remains, however, why did Hashem present the commands regarding the furnishings before presenting the requirements for building the structure, if He in fact wanted the building to be constructed first? Rav Yehoshua Heller (1814-1880), in his Dibreh Yehoshua, offers an approach to answer this question (which also explains a number of other discrepancies between the commands in Parashat Teruma and the execution of these instructions in Parashat Vayakhel). He attributes the change in sequence to the event of Het Ha'egel – the sin of the golden calf – which transpired in between. Hashem presented these commands before the sin of the golden calf, and thus the instructions reflect the reality before Beneh Yisrael worshipped the calf, when they were still on the pristine spiritual level that they had attained at the time of Matan Torah. The building of the Mishkan, however, occurred after Het Ha'egel, when the people had fallen from that level. The structure of the Mishkan, Rav Heller explains, represents the human body, our limbs, the actions we perform, whereas the furnishings housed in the Mishkan symbolize our interior, our emotions, our feelings. Ideally, our feelings and our actions should be fully in synch with one another. We should always feel motivated to serve Hashem, to fulfill His will, to perform the Misvot, to live the way we are supposed to live, such that our actions – our Misva observance – are a natural outgrowth of our emotions. Indeed, the great Sadikim live with ongoing, consistent passion, and are constantly driven to perform Misvot. Most of us, however, often do not feel this passion. Sometimes we feel motivated and driven to achieve and excel, but sometimes we don't. And the Ramhal (Rav Moshe Haim Luzzato, Italy, 1707-1746), in his classic work Mesilat Yesharim, writes that when a person feels unmotivated, he should push himself to perform Misvot anyway – and his actions will then awaken his motivation. Once we get started, once we accustom ourselves to doing the right thing even when we don't feel like it, the feelings will come. Hence, Rav Heller explains, before Het Ha'egel, when Beneh Yisrael were on a high spiritual level, the furnishings preceded the structure. The people felt the strong drive and desire to serve Hashem, and this passion led them to action. After the sin of the golden calf, however, this passion was not always present. And so at this point, it was necessary for the structure to precede the interior. We often need to perform the actions even when we lack motivation and enthusiasm, and this will gradually ignite our passion for Misvot. This insight, I am certain, resonates with each and every one of us. We have all had occasions when we feel unmotivated, when we were simply "not in the mood," when we had little or no desire to get out of bed on time for shul, to attend a Shiur, to learn, to donate money to charity, or to do other Misvot. The important thing when this happens is to push ourselves do to it anyway, even without motivation, and trust that our efforts will, with time, arouse our emotion and kindle our enthusiasm for Misvot. Although ideally our passion for Misvot should lead us to perform Misvot, sometimes we need to reverse the sequence, to go "outside-in," by first performing the deeds which will have the effect of arousing our enthusiasm.

As part of the event of Matan Torah, when G-d revealed Himself to Beneh Yisrael and gave the Torah, Moshe constructed an altar and had sacrifices offered. We read that Moshe placed half the blood in basins, from which he later sprinkled blood on the people, and he poured the other half on the altar (Shemot 24:6). Rashi, surprisingly, comments that the division of the blood into two halves was done by an angel. It would be impossible for a human being to divide the blood in two precisely equal halves, and so an angel was sent from the heavens to do this. We must wonder, why did Hashem find it necessary to dispatch an angel for this purpose? Why was it so critical for the halves to be precisely equal? Would these sacrifices have been in any way deficient if one portion of blood was slightly larger than the other? Rav Yitzchak Hutner (1906-1980) answered this question by exploring the symbolism of the division of the blood at the time of Matan Torah. If we would ask most Jews to define the term "religious Jew," to describe the defining characteristics of people referred to with this term, most would likely mention things like Shabbat observance, modest dress, eating kosher, synagogue attendance and daily Tefilot. People generally tend to define "religious" as ritual observance. In truth, however, these rituals are only half the story. Ethical conduct, integrity, kindness and sensitivity to others are no less a part of Torah than praying three times a day, Shabbat, Kashrut, and Seniut (modesty). In fact, Rashi begins his comments to our Parasha, Parashat Mishpatim, by noting the significance of the first letter of this Parasha: "VE'eleh Ha'mishpatim" – "AND these are the statutes…" Rashi writes that this letter – the conjunction "Ve-" ("And") – indicates a connection between the end of the previous Parasha, which tells of the Revelation and the Ten Commandments, and the civil laws presented in Parashat Mishpatim. Just as the Ten Commandments were proclaimed at Mount Sinai, so were the laws of Parashat Mishpatim given at Mount Sinai. We can never draw a wedge between Torah and ethical interpersonal conduct. The laws of Parashat Mishpatim, which govern the way we treat our fellow, are no less a part of the Torah as any of the other Misvot. So crucial is this message, Rav Hutner explained, that Hashem sent an angel to divide the sacrificial blood at the time of Matan Torah into two precisely equal parts. It was critical to convey the message that neither half of Torah carries even slightly more weight than the other. The two areas of Torah life – our obligations to Hashem, and our obligations to other people – are of exactly the same level of importance, and we must never allow ourselves to prioritize or emphasize one over the other to even the slightest degree. It is likely no coincidence that Parashat Mishpatim, the section in which this point is expressed, is always read around the time of 25 Shevat, the Yahrtzeit of Rav Yisrael Salanter (1809-1883), founder of the Mussar movement. Rav Yisrael placed very strong emphasis on maintaining this balance, on not allowing our pursuit of spiritual excellence to result in compromises in our Middot (character traits). One famous example is the time when his students approached him before they went to bake Masot in preparation for Pesach, to ask which stringencies are proper for them to observe when baking Masot. "Be very careful not to yell at the woman in charge of cleaning the factory," Rav Yisrael replied. "She's a widow. Concern for her feelings is the most important stringency you should observe." Rav Yisrael feared that in the students' concern to maintain the strictest Halachic standards for the Masot, they might neglect the more basic religious obligation to speak to widows with sensitivity and respect. As we approach his Yahrtzeit, let us internalize this vitally important lesson, and ensure to ascribe the same degree importance to both parts of the Torah, because this is what being a complete Jew means.

Parashat Yitro recounts one of the most pivotal events, if not the most pivotal event, in Jewish history—the giving of the Torah at Har Sinai. The Midrash famously teaches that before giving the Torah to Beneh Yisrael, Hashem first offered it to the other nations. He approached the descendants of Esav, who inquired about its contents. When Hashem told them that the Torah includes the command, "Lo Tirsah"—"You shall not murder," they declined, as violence was ingrained in their way of life. Next, Hashem turned to Yishmael's descendants. Upon hearing that the Torah forbids theft—"Lo Tignob"—they, too, rejected it, unable to commit to such a moral standard, refraining from theft. Hashem then went to Amon and Moav. When they asked what the Torah commanded, Hashem told them, "Lo Tinaf"—"You shall not commit adultery." They, too, refused, unwilling to accept such a limitation, as they were accustomed to engaging freely in illicit relationships. Hashem then offered the Torah to Beneh Yisrael, who unlike the other nations, accepted the Torah unconditionally, without asking any questions. The Midrash's account requires explanation. The prohibitions of murder, theft, and adultery are not unique to the Torah. They are already included in the Sheva Misvot Beneh Noach – the seven "Noachide Laws," universal commandments given to all of humanity. Whether or not Esav, Yishmael, Amon, and Moav accepted the Torah, they were still bound by these prohibitions. If so, why does it matter that they rejected the Torah? The answer lies in the profound difference between observing these basic moral prohibitions and fully embracing the Torah's rigorous ethical and spiritual expectations. The command of "Lo Tirsah" does not only prohibit taking a life. It also forbids embarrassing someone in public, which is akin to murder. It means we must not "kill" our time by engaging in wasteful, vain activities. It even extends to preserving objects of value and not destroying them unnecessarily, because destruction is, in a sense, a form of "killing." Similarly, "Lo Tignob" is not just about theft of money or possessions. Wasting another person's time is a form of theft. Depriving someone of sleep by making noise at night is also stealing. Even redistributing wealth unjustly—such as in the story of Robin Hood, or in the style of communism—constitutes a violation of this prohibition in Torah law. Finally, "Lo Tinaf" likewise extends beyond the specific prohibition against forbidden intimate relationships. The Torah demands a higher level of modesty (Seniut), governing the way we dress, the way we speak, and even what we choose to see or expose ourselves to. This is what distinguished Beneh Yisrael from the other nations. Even if the other nations were willing to abide by basic moral codes, they would never commit to the all-encompassing ethical and spiritual framework that the Torah demands. Beneh Yisrael, however, accepted these lofty expectations without hesitation, embracing not just the specific prohibitions, but the especially high standards of sanctity and self-discipline that Torah life requires. As the Jewish people, we are held to a higher standard. Accepting the Torah means committing ourselves to a life of holiness and moral refinement. This is both a privilege and a responsibility. As Hashem's beloved nation, we must always remember that our actions reflect the divine mission entrusted to us. Whether in business, in speech, in dress, or in our treatment of others, we must uphold the elevated standards of Am Yisrael – and feel honored and privileged to conduct ourselves in a special manner befitting Hashem's beloved people.

Standing firm in Biblical truth is more important than ever in today's culture. In this episode, Noleen Sedra shares her powerful testimony, the impact of growing up in a Godly home, and her journey of faith alongside her husband, Pastor Andrew Sedra. From the challenges of leading a church in Australia to confronting modern cultural issues, Noleen speaks with clarity and conviction on faith, family, and Biblical womanhood. Discover how to live with boldness, embrace God's design, and raise the next generation to stand strong in truth. #FaithAndFamily #BiblicalWomanhood #StandForTruth

Parashat Beshalah tells the famous story of Keri'at Yam Suf – the miraculous splitting of the sea. The Egyptians pursued Beneh Yisrael after they left Egypt, trapping them against the sea. G-d had the waters of the sea split, forming two walls on either side of the sea floor, allowing Beneh Yisrael to safely cross. When the Egyptians then ran after them into the sea, the water fell onto them, drowning the Egyptian warriors, their horsemen and their chariots. We find in the Midrash an astounding statement that underscores the centrality of this miracle in Jewish life. The Midrash teaches that the Jewish People are known as "Ibrim" ("Hebrews") to allude to the fact that "Abar Yam" – our nation "crossed the sea." This event is not simply something that our ancestors experienced, an extraordinary chapter in our history, but part of the very definition of our nation. Why? The answer can be understood in light of an insight by the Maharal of Prague (Rav Yehuda Loew, 1512-1609) regarding the name of Moshe Rabbenu. The Rabbis teach that Moshe had seven different names, each of which alludes to a different element of his character or his role as our leader and prophet. The name that we commonly use, of course, is "Moshe" – the name given to him by Pharaoh's daughter, commemorating that "Min Ha'mayim Mishitihu" – she "drew him from the water" (Shemot 2:10). The Maharal raises the question of why this name was chosen as the name with which we refer to Moshe. Of all of Moshe's names, why is this considered the most significant? The Maharal answers by examining the symbolism of water. Unlike solids, he notes, water has no independent shape. It flows naturally, assuming the shape of whichever receptacle is holding it at the present moment. We human beings, the Maharal writes, are expected to be the polar opposite of water. We are not to "go with the flow," blindly and randomly following our natural instincts and impulses. Instead, we are to consciously create a "shape" and "form" to our lives. We are to exercise discipline and self-restraint, molding for ourselves a life of meaning and purposefulness in the service of Hashem. Fittingly, the Mahara explains, Moshe Rabbenu – the greatest human being who ever lived – is named "Moshe," which means "drawn from the water." Moshe embodied the notion of going out of the water, creating a life of spirituality rather than "flowing" naturally like animals, which follow their instincts without exercising any restraint. This is also the symbolism of the miracle of Keri'at Yam Suf. The waters of the sea suddenly went against their natural flow, forming two walls on either side of Beneh Yisrael. This was not just a miracle performed for the purpose of rescuing Beneh Yisrael – it was also a timeless lesson about how we are expected to live our lives. We are to follow the example of the waters of the Yam Suf – creating a proper "shape" of our lives, lives of spiritual meaning, rather than just flowing naturally. This also explains the famous comment of the Midrash that the sea split when it saw Yosef's coffin, which Moshe brought with him out of Egypt. Yosef embodies the value of discipline and self-restraint, having resisted the advances of Potifar's wife as a seventeen-year-old slave in Egypt. He went against his natural instincts and impulses for the sake of spirituality. Rather than "go with the flow," following his instincts and impulses, he created for his life a "shape" of spiritual greatness. We are called "Ibrim" because "Abar Yam" – we have been shown the importance of living with discipline and self-restraint, conscientiously, following our religious principles and values rather than allow ourselves to be led and guided by our natural instincts and drives.

This episode features a message from guest Pastor Andrew Sedra of Echo Church in Australia. He emphasizes the importance of standing firm in biblical truth, even when faced with challenges. Pastor Sedra encourages believers to uphold their faith with courage and conviction, highlighting that living out God's truth is essential regardless of the opposition one might encounter.#andrewsedra #truthatallcosts #biblicaltruth

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Parashat Bo tells of the final three plagues that Hashem brought upon Egypt, culminating with the final plague, the plague of the firstborn, which led Pharaoh to permit Beneh Yisrael to leave Egypt. Already before the eighth plague, the plague of locusts, Pharaoh's servants urged him to yield, to allow Beneh Yisrael to leave and thereby avoid further devastation in the country. Pharaoh summoned Moshe, and expressed his willingness to let the people leave. But when Moshe insisted that the entire nation leave, Pharaoh angrily sent him away, insisting that only the adult males would be permitted to go. Later, after the plague of darkness, Pharaoh summoned Moshe and said he would allow all Beneh Yisrael to leave – but demanded that the animals remain in Egypt. Moshe replied, "Even you will place in our hands sacrifices and offerings for us to prepare for Hashem our G-d, and also our own cattle with come with us, not a single hoof will remain, for we will take from it to serve Hashem our G-d" (10:25-26). In response to Pharaoh's demand that Beneh Yisrael leave behind their cattle, Moshe declared that "not a single hoof" would stay behind, and, moreover, Pharaoh would even give Beneh Yisrael his own animals for them to offer as sacrifices for Hashem. The Malbim (Rav Meir Leibush, 1809-1879) makes an insightful observation regarding the words chosen by Moshe in this response to Pharaoh. Moshe said about Beneh Yisrael's cattle, "Yelech Imenu" – that the animals "will go with us." The implication is that the animals would not need to be taken, but would rather join the people on their own. The Malbim explains this nuance by noting the story told in the Book of Melachim I (chapter 18) of the prophet Eliyahu. Eliyahu challenged the prophets of the pagan god Ba'al to a "contest" on Mount Carmel, whereby they would each offer a bull as a sacrifice – the prophets would sacrifice to Ba'al, and Eliyahu, of course, to G-d. The sacrifice that would receive a response would prove which of them is correct. G-d responded to Eliyahu's sacrifice with a fire that descended from the heavens, thus demonstrating the truth of Hashem and the fallacy of idol-worship. The Midrash teaches that at the beginning of this process, the prophets of Ba'al chose one of the two bulls as their sacrifice, but the bull did not want to go with them. It refused to be used as a sacrifice for idolatry. Eliyahu approached the animal and explained that it would be helping to create a Kiddush Hashem (glorification of Hashem's Name), as this sacrifice would receive no response, whereas Eliyahu's sacrifice would be responded to with a heavenly fire. The bull then agreed, assured that its role was indeed valuable and significant. The other bull, by contrast, needed no convincing, and went happily and enthusiastically to be sacrificed by Eliyahu for the purpose of bringing honor and glory to Hashem. Similarly, the Malbim explains, Moshe told Pharaoh that Beneh Yisrael's animals would go on their own out of Egypt, eager to be offered as sacrifices to Hashem. They would not need to be taken – they would just go, driven by the desire to serve G-d. The Malbim writes that this is indicated by the text for us to learn from the animals' example. Religious observance often demands sacrifices, requiring us to refrain from things which we want to do, and to give of our time, money and energy, for the sake of serving the Almighty. Moshe's description of Beneh Yisrael's cattle is meant to teach us to make these sacrifices enthusiastically, recognizing the great value of serving Hashem. There is no greater privilege than living as Hashem's servants, bringing Hashem honor and glory, and it is with this mindset, with this spirit and enthusiasm, that we are to make the sacrifices – however difficult – that Torah life often requires.

In the opening verses of Parashat Vaera, we find Hashem's pronouncement of the "Arba Leshonot Geula" – "four expressions of redemption." He told Moshe to convey to Beneh Yisrael His promise that He will "take you from the suffering of Egypt" ("Ve'hoseti"), He will "save you from their labor" ("Ve'hisalti"), He will "redeem you with an outstretched arm" ("Ve'ga'alti"), and He will "take you to Me as a nation" ("Ve'lakahti"). The Gemara famously teaches that the four cups of wine we drink at the Seder on the night of Pesach correspond to these four promises. One of the approaches taken to explain the significance of these four expressions was presented by the Shem Mi'Shmuel (Rav Shmuel Borenstein of Sochatchov, 1855-1926), who writes that Hashem here refers to the redemptions from the subsequent exiles. Already then, during the Egyptian exile, Hashem informed Beneh Yisrael that just as He was bringing them out of this exile, and extricating them from persecution and suffering, He would also deliver them from the exiles they would endure in the future. The first of the four expressions, "Ve'hoseti," which speaks of Hashem bringing the nation out of a foreign land, alludes to the Babylonian exile, at the conclusion of which Hashem brought the Jews back from exile to the Land of Israel. The second expression foresees Hashem rescuing Beneh Yisrael from danger – "Ve'histalti," and thus refers to the rule of Persia, when Beneh Yisrael were saved from Haman's decree of annihilation. The third of the subsequent exiles was the period of Greek persecution, when Beneh Yisrael faced a grave spiritual threat, as the Greeks forbade them from practicing their religion. Hashem thus promised, "Ve'ga'alti" – that He would redeem them from this spiritual danger. Finally, Hashem promises to deliver us from our current exile, the fourth and final exile, assuring us that He would take us as His nation for all eternity ("Ve'lakahti"). The question, however, arises, why do we commemorate these four promises through the drinking of four cups on the night of Pesach, as we celebrate the Exodus from Egypt? The answer emerges from a discussion in the work Torat Haim (Rav Abraham Haim Schorr, d. 1632) regarding a different question, relating to the duration of the Egyptian exile. The Torah in Parashat Bo (Shemot 12:40) states that the Egyptian exile lasted a total of 430 years. In truth, Beneh Yisrael spent just 210 years in Egypt. Many commentators explain that the 430-year period began from the time Abraham was informed that his descendants would be enslaved. The Torat Haim, however, advances a different theory. He claims that indeed, Hashem decreed a lengthy period of suffering, but He mercifully ended the exile earlier. Tradition teaches that the period of harsh labor began at the time of the birth of Miriam, Moshe Rabbenu's sister, who was 86 at the time of the Exodus. Thus, Beneh Yisrael endured only 86 years of slave labor – one-fifth of the 430 years of slavery that were decreed upon them. The remaining four-fifths were delayed to the future. The four subsequent exiles, the Torat Haim explains, took the place of the missing years of the Egyptian exile. The amount of suffering that would have been experienced in 86 years of grueling slavery and degradation in Egypt were transferred to each of these four periods, and this is how the period of 430 years was completed. The Torat Haim explains that this is why we drink four cups of wine on Pesach night. The word "Kos" in Gematria equals 86, and thus the four cups of wine signify the redemptions from the four subsequent exiles – consistent with the Shem Mi'Shmuel's understanding of the four promises made by Hashem in our Parasha. As we celebrate the redemption from Egypt, we reflect on the fact that Hashem shortened the period of bondage in Egypt, delaying them to the future. He then delivered us from the first three of those four exiles, and we eagerly anticipate the imminent redemption from our fourth and current exile, may it unfold speedily and in our times, Amen.

Today, we sit down with Pastor Andrew Sedra, founder and lead pastor of Echo Church in Australia, to discuss how the church in America and the West has been weakened by leftist ideology and why so many Christians are leaving what he calls the "feminized" church that appeals so much more to woke women than to men. Andrew tells us about what it was like growing up Christian in the Middle East and how Christianity in the Middle East is being completely eradicated. We also talk about what Andrew says is an "unholy alliance" between Islam and leftist ideology and how it is colonizing and taking over the West. And Andrew tells us more about Australia's COVID tyranny and why America is truly exceptional with its values and laws surrounding freedom of speech and religious expression. Buy Allie's new book, "Toxic Empathy: How Progressives Exploit Christian Compassion": https://a.co/d/4COtBxy --- Timecodes: (01:07) Pastor Andrew Sedra introduction (02:38) Feminization of the church (11:37) Growing up in the middle east (15:45) Leftists being pro-Islam (19:52) Why communism hates Israel (23:40) Anti-Israel shift on the right  (27:58) Misplaced mothering and COVID tyranny (36:40) American exceptionalism (39:30) Reaction to LGBT progressivism ---   Today's Sponsors: Seven Weeks - Experience the best coffee while supporting the pro-life movement with Seven Weeks Coffee; use code ALLIE at https://www.sevenweekscoffee.com to save up to 25% and help save lives. Good Ranchers — Go to GoodRanchers.com and use code ALLIE at checkout to claim $25 off, free express shipping, and your choice of FREE ground beef, chicken, or salmon in every order for an entire year. A'del — Try A'del's hand-crafted, artisan, small-batch cosmetics and use promo code ALLIE 25% off your first time purchase at AdelNaturalCosmetics.com Hillsdale College — Hillsdale College is offering more than 40 free online courses they offer on History, Economics, Politics, Philosophy, and more, including their free course, "Introduction to Aristotle's Ethics: How to Lead a Good Life," all available for FREE. Go to https://hillsdale.edu/relatable to enroll. --- Related Episodes: Ep 1124 | Is the Church to Blame for Andrew Tate? https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/ep-1124-is-the-church-to-blame-for-andrew-tate/id1359249098?i=1000684295317 Ep 1115 | Islam Taught Her to Hate Christians — Then She Became One | Guest: Lily Meschi https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/ep-1115-islam-taught-her-to-hate-christians-then-she/id1359249098?i=1000680609640 Ep 475 | The Police State Down Under https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/ep-475-the-police-state-down-under/id1359249098?i=1000532846172 ---   Buy Allie's book, You're Not Enough (& That's Okay): Escaping the Toxic Culture of Self-Love: https://alliebethstuckey.com/book Relatable merchandise – use promo code 'ALLIE10' for a discount: https://shop.blazemedia.com/collections/allie-stuckey Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Parashat Shemot tells of the Egyptians' enslavement of Beneh Yisrael. We read that as Beneh Yisrael rapidly reproduced, and their population grew, Pharaoh feared that they would turn against the empire, and join with Egypt's enemies. He thus decided to enslave them, so they would not endanger the country. Pharaoh later decreed that all newborn boys among Beneh Yisrael should be murdered. The Gemara in Masechet Sota (11a) tells that Pharaoh actually consulted with his three advisors, all of whom are known to us from other contexts: Bilam, Yitro and Iyob. Bilam, the Gemara relates, made the suggestion to oppress Beneh Yisrael, and so he was killed in battle by Beneh Yisrael many years later. Iyob remained silent, without agreeing or objecting, and he was punished for his inaction by enduring harsh afflictions. Yitro fled, unwilling to take part in the inhumane treatment of Beneh Yisrael, and he was thus rewarded. If we think about it, the reactions of all three men are nothing short of baffling. Bilam, as the Mishna in Pirkeh Avot (5:19) describes, was exceedingly arrogant. He felt overly confident and secure. We would have expected him to dismiss Pharaoh's fears, to remind Pharaoh that Egypt was powerful enough not to feel threatened by Beneh Yisrael's rapid growth. Iyob, as we know, was an exceptionally righteous man. He is the last person we would expect to sit by idly as the panel of which he was part devised an evil plan to persecute an innocent sector of the population. And Yitro is described by the Rabbis as a profound thinker and philosopher, who studied and pondered all the different faiths in the world until arriving at the truth of monotheism. Surely a man with such brilliance could have shown Pharaoh the absurdity of his fears, that there was no reason to suspect that Beneh Yisrael, who had shown no signs of disloyalty, would turn against the country. Yet, Yitro did not speak up, and instead ran away. This shows us quite clearly how the Egyptian bondage unfolded in a way that nobody could have ever predicted. Beneh Yisrael lived peacefully in Egypt, without causing any trouble or inviting enmity, and yet, through a series of circumstances which they would never have foreseen, they found themselves brutally enslaved, and their infants put to death. However, this Parasha tells us also how the redemption from Egypt unfolded in no less an unpredictable fashion. A woman named Yochebed decided to hide her child from the Egyptian authorities, and placed him in a basket on the Nile River. The baby was discovered by none other than the princess – the daughter of the evil king who decreed that all infants among Beneh Yisrael should be put to death. We would have expected the princess – who immediately identified the child as a Jew – to comply with her father's edict, and kill the baby, or at least leave him to die on his own. But she not only saved the baby, in direct defiance of her father's decree – she brought him to the palace and raised him there, giving him the name "Moshe" which alluded to his having been drawn from the water ("Meshitihu") – loudly broadcasting the fact that she acted against her father! Remarkably, Pharaoh's own palace became the home in which the redeemer was raised. The Rabbis teach that Pharaoh decreed the murder of the infants because his astrologers warned that the one who would redeem Beneh Yisrael was about to be born. And yet, it turned out that Pharaoh himself raised this baby who would lead Beneh Yisrael to freedom. Just as the exile began as a result of a sequence of events that nobody could have possibly predicted, the redemption, too, unfolded in a likewise unpredictable manner. The Egyptian exile is viewed by our tradition as the prototype of all subsequent exiles, and the redemption from Egyptian bondage is viewed as the prototype for all subsequent redemptions. Just as the Egyptian exile began and ended in ways which nobody could have predicted – so will all our nation's exiles began and end in unpredictable ways. The current war being waged in Eretz Yisrael began in a way that no one could have possibly foreseen. No one could have imagined that a barbaric, primitive terror group could succeed in breaching Israel's state-of-the-art barrier, using the most advanced technology on earth, secured by what is likely the world's greatest intelligence apparatus. Hamas' success in attacking Israel on October 7, 2023 was something none of us could have predicted, and even now, it still boggles the mind how such a thing could have happened. It is clear beyond a doubt that this was Hashem's doing, that, just as Hashem brought about Beneh Yisrael's enslavement through a peculiar, mysterious sequence of events, He brought upon us the current crisis, as well. But we find comfort and encouragement in the knowledge that the resolution of this crisis, and our nation's redemption, will likewise occur in ways that we cannot possibly imagine. It is futile to try predicting what will happen and how this will end. And G-d certainly does not need our ideas. The only thing about the outcome that we know for certain is that it will be something which nobody can foresee right now. We must maintain our faith and fervently pray on behalf of our brothers and sisters in Israel, recognizing that the outcome will be determined solely by Hashem.

1)     In Tehilim #37 there are verses beginning with each of the א-ב in sequence, with the exception of the letter ע. Why was that letter omitted?[1] 2)    Our Beis Chabad has a set time for Friday-night Maariv. Due to the fast this Friday, may I make Kiddush and break my fast before Maariv?[2] 3)    Purim this year is on a Friday. Would we be allowed to start our communal Purim meal close before Shabbos, pause for candle-lighting, and then continue with Kiddush & Lechem Mishne and the Shabbos meal?[3] 4)    Lechatchila the Purim feast should be earlier in the day. Is that before noon or before the 10th hour?[4] 5)    May a gold pendant with Hashem's name be melted and recycled?[5] 6)    I immersed utensils in a body of water that's only there following rainfall. Is that valid?[6] 7)    May I hold on to my Maaser-money long-term, or must I distribute it sooner than later?[7] 8)    What is the source of the custom not to visit the same grave twice in the same day?[8] 9)    At the opening of this week's Sedra there is no gap in the Sefer Torah[9]. What if the Sofer did leave a space of two letters?[10] 10)  Feedback on the Eggrolls: If deep-fried, they are Mezonos. [1] על פי קידושין ל, א. [2] ראה פסקי תשובות סי' רעא הע' 53. [איהו מיירי מבעוד יום, ולכך מצריך קבלת שבת תחלה. אבל בנדו"ד כבר קידש היום]. אכן לפמ"ש בשו"ע סי' רלה ס"ב ובמשנ"ב שם סקט"ז, לא יאכל 'מזונות' יותר מכביצה. [3] דיני פורס מפה ומקדש – בשוע"ר סי' רעא סעיפים י-יא. וראה נתיבים בשדה השליחות ח"ב ע' 151. עצה לבעל נפש: לקיים סעודתו בשחר, ולא יתחיל הסעודה עם האורחים, ובהגיע הזמן אז יברך על היין ולחם-משנה כרגיל. [4] ב'נתיבים' שם כתבתי להתיר להתחיל הסעודה לכתחילה עד שעה עשירית – ע"פ שוע"ר סי' רמט ס"ז. אבל ברמ"א כתב לערוך הסעודה בשחרית, והוא ע"פ מנהגי ר' אייזיק טירנא. וכתב בקצות השלחן (סי' סט הע' ח) שי"ל דשאני סעודת פורים דשכיחא בה שכרות. וראה העו"ב גל' תתיד. אכן בשו"ת מהרי"ל סי' נו:ח מתיר עד שעה י'. [5] דין מחיקת השם – יו"ד סי' רעו ס"ט. [6] קצור שו"ע סי' לז ס"ב. [7] ראה שו"ע יו"ד סי' רנז ס"ג. ההיתר לתת לגבאים לצרף אותה לזהב – פירש בערוך השלחן, כי לולא כן אסור לגבאי לפרוט לעצמו כו'. ולולא דבריו הו"א שהכוונה שהם רשאים לשמור הממון לזמן ממושך. ציטוט מס' דרך אמונה הל' מתנות עניים פ"ח. [8] צוואת ר' יהודה החסיד אות יב. [9] ראה רש"י על הפסוק. ובתורה שלימה מביא מכמה מדרשים ומזח"א רטז ע"ב. בלשון אדה"ז (שו"ת סי' א): "סתומה גמורה". וא"ת שחלוקת הפרשיות אינה מן התורה? י"ל מזה שעזרא תיקן להתחיל הקריאה השבועית מפסוק זה, משמע שזה ענין חדש. וא"כ למה לא הוצבה כאן הפסקת פרשה - ראה תורה שלימה כאן. [10] בש"ך יו"ד סי' ערה סק"א מביא בשם הב"ח להקל בעשה ריוח במקום שאין פרשה, ומסיק "ואין דבריו מוכרחים". גם הט"ז שם סק"א פוסל. אכן בנדו"ד, ראה שו"ת חיים שאל סי' עד:ה שהקיל בזה.

he Torah in Parashat Vayechi tells us of the special blessings that Yaakob Abinu pronounced to each of his sons just before his passing. In his blessing to Yosef, Yaakob declared, "Me'Kel Avicha Ve'yazreka" – literally, "From the G-d of your father, and He shall help you" (49:25). Rav Moshe Alshich (Safed, 1508-1593) noted two difficulties in the text of this phrase. First, instead of blessing Yosef simply that "the G-d of your father" should assist him, Yaakob said, "Me'Kel Avicha" – "FROM" the G-d of Yosef's father should help him. Secondly, Yaakob added the letter "Vav," which means "and," before the word "Yazreka," such that he said, "and He should help you," rather than just wishing that G-d should help Yosef. To explain Yaakob's intent, Rav Moshe Alshich cites the Gemara's teaching in Masechet Sukka (52) that a person's Yeser Ha'ra (evil inclination) rises against him each and every day, in an attempt to cause him to sin, as indicated by the verse (Tehillim 37:32), "Sofeh Rasha La'sadik U'mebakesh La'hamito" – "The evil one eyes the righteous person and seeks to have him killed." The "evil one" is the Yeser Ha'ra, that endeavors to bring about the righteous person's spiritual demise by luring him to sin. The Gemara then says that if not for Hashem's help, we would be unable to withstand the challenges posed by our evil inclination. This is inferred from the next verse, which states, "Hashem Lo Ya'azbenu Be'yado, Ve'lo Yarshi'enu Be'hushafeto" – "G-d does not leave him in its hands, and He will not convict him when he is judged." Rav Moshe Alshich raises the question as to the meaning of the end of this second verse – "He will not convict him when he is judged." Why does this need to be said? If the individual refrains from sin, and does not succumb to the lures of his evil inclination, then why would we have thought that he would be "convicted"? The answer, the Alshich explains, is that since the person abstains from wrongdoing only through G-d's help, we would think that he should be held responsible as though he committed the forbidden act. As it was G-d who gave him the strength and wherewithal to resist temptation, logic seems to dictate that he should receive no credit for abstaining. The verse therefore teaches that Hashem, in His infinite love and compassion, gives us all the credit for our spiritual successes, even though they were made possible only because of His gracious assistance. Despite the fact that we depend on His help to withstand our Yeser Ha'ra, Hashem rewards us as though we did it all ourselves. Rav Moshe Alshich explains Yaakob's blessing to Yosef on this basis. He writes that Yaakob was referring to the test that Yosef withstood – the test posed by Potifar's wife, who tried luring him to have an inappropriate relationship. The Gemara (Sota 36b) tells that Yosef nearly succumbed to her advances, but then his father, Yaakob, appeared to him and implored him to abstain. It thus emerges that Yosef refrained from sin only thanks to Yaakob's assistance. Rav Moshe Alshich explains that this is the meaning of the phrase, "Me'Kel Avicha" – that Yosef's success in resisting temptation came "from" Yaakob, who intervened to rescue him. Yaakob then added, "Ve'yazreka" – that G-d would nevertheless continue granting Yosef assistance. Yosef would not be punished, and would not be denied Hashem's love and grace, despite the fact that he needed his father's help to refrain from wrongdoing. Whenever we confront any sort of spiritual challenge, we must remember that religious life is fraught with such challenges, that we are supposed to confront these tests, and that Hashem is always helping us. Moreover, we must remember that Hashem values and cherishes the efforts we make to overcome these challenges and do the right thing. He is there to help us – but this does not in any way diminish from the greatness of the work we put in to stay on course and refrain from improper behavior.

When Yaakob's sons returned to Egypt and informed him that his beloved son, Yosef, was still alive, he at first didn't believe them (45:26). But Yaakob then saw the wagons that Yosef had sent with his brothers to use for carrying Yaakob to Egypt. At that point, Yaakob's "spirit was revived," and he realized that Yosef was, indeed, alive. The Midrash famously explains that the "wagons" contained a "coded message" of sorts to Yaakob. The Hebrew word "Agalot" ("wagons") reminded Yaakob of the last subject which he taught to Yosef, the law of "Egla Arufa." This law applies in a situation where a murder occurred near a city, and the killer was not found. The city's leaders must perform a special ceremony, killing a young calf – "Egla" – in an area which cannot be cultivated, and this atoned for the crime which was committed. Yosef wanted to show Yaakob that he still remembered the Torah which Yaakob had taught him. And so when Yaakob saw the wagons, which alluded to the Torah which he taught Yosef, and which Yosef remembered, Yaakob knew that his son was indeed alive. Why did Yaakob not initially believe his sons? And what changed once he saw the wagons? Some commentators answered these questions by taking a closer look at what Yaakob's sons told him. They said, "Yosef is still alive – and he is in fact ruler over the land of Egypt." True "life," for a Jew, is a life of Torah commitment. The brothers were telling Yaakob that Yosef was spiritually "alive," dedicated to Hashem, even as he served as leader over Egypt. This is what Yaakob could not believe. He found it inconceivable that Yosef retained his spirituality, his religious commitment, while serving in a powerful position in a pagan country. Once Yaakob saw Yosef's hidden message, that he still remembered and felt connected to the Torah that Yaakob had taught him, he realized that it was true, that against all odds, Yosef was still "alive" in the truest sense of the word, full of spiritual life. The same can be said of all of us, the entire Jewish People. Like Yosef, we were driven from our homeland, and were forced to live among foreign cultures. And, like Yosef, we endured a great number of hardships and difficulties. It would seem almost impossible for the Jewish Nation to remain "alive" through the centuries of exile and persecution, for us to retain our firm commitment to Torah and Misvot. And yet, to our nation's credit, we have remained spiritually "alive," we have persisted in our devotion to our faith and our traditions. There is no doubt that each day, our Father, Hashem, looks down from the heavens and jubilantly exclaims, as Yaakob Abinu did, "Od… Beni Hai" – "My child is still alive!" Hashem takes great pride in the fact that despite all we've been through, even with all the spiritual challenges we have faced and continue to face, with all the lures and temptations that we confront, we nevertheless remain fervently committed to Him. We, Hashem's children, are still "alive," and we must continue to steadfastly adhere to our sacred traditions until this exile finally ends and we are prepared for the final redemption, may it come speedily and in our time, Amen.

What is it about Yosef that made such an impression on Pharaoh? Yosef was brought to Egypt from a foreign country as a slave. He was then falsely accused of a heinous crime – assaulting his master's wife – for which he was cast into a dungeon, where he languished for years together with other convicted offenders. Suddenly, a former inmate in the prison recommended him as an interpreter to explain Pharaoh's dreams, and Yosef was then rushed to Pharaoh. His interpretation dazzled Pharaoh to such an extent that Pharaoh on the spot decided to not only free Yosef from the dungeon – but to appoint him as viceroy, the second-in-command over the kingdom. Just because Yosef gave a satisfactory interpretation of Pharaoh's dream, Pharaoh decided to entrust the country in Yosef's hands, and to put him in charge over the entire economy. Why? The answer lies in one word which Yosef spoke to Pharaoh. When Yosef was brought before the king, Pharaoh explained that he had heard of Yosef's abilities to interpret dreams. Yosef replied, "Bil'adai" – "It is not me" (41:16). Yosef emphatically denied any credit for his skills. He attributed this wisdom to Hashem. Several decades ago, a religious Jewish couple delivered Siamese twins, and the doctors determined that unless they were separated, both would die, but one would have to die for the other to live. The doctor who would perform the surgery, and who would later become the Surgeon General of the United States, consulted with Rav Moshe Feinstein (1895-1986), the leading Halachic authority in the United States at that time, to determine whether this procedure was permissible, as it necessitated taking a life to save another life. Leaving aside Rav Moshe's ruling and the halachic reasoning behind it, what is important for our purposes is the doctor's reaction after spending several hours with Rav Moshe Feinstein. He said that he had never before seen such a combination of brilliance and humility. Throughout his years of schooling and working in the field, anyone he encountered who had a brilliant mind had at least a tinge of arrogance. Rav Moshe, however, was unique both in the scope and depth of his scholarship, and in his humble character. This is what impressed Pharaoh, as well. He described Yosef as a "Nabon Ve'hacham" (41:39) – uniquely wise, but this was not all. Pharaoh marveled at the fact that as smart as Yosef was, his intellectual prowess did not go to his head, he did not let it inflate his ego. He humbly recognized that all his abilities were a gift from Hashem. Because of this humility, Pharaoh felt confident in Yosef. He realized that he could trust him, because he wasn't looking out for his own egotistical interests. Another example of this rare combination is King Shlomo. As we read in the Book of Melachim I (chapter 3), G-d appeared to Shlomo in a dream and told him that He was granting him unmatched wisdom. When Shlomo awoke in the morning, he was the wisest man who had ever lived and ever would live. And yet, the first thing he did was to go to the Bet Ha'mikdash to offer sacrifices to Hashem, and to host a lavish feast for his servants (Melachim I 3:15). He immediately acknowledged Hashem as the source of his great stature, that his talents were granted to him as a precious gift, such that he had no reason to gloat or to pride himself. G-d has granted every person different sets of talents and capabilities – and also different sets of limitations and struggles. If a person feels that he is brighter or more skilled than his fellow, even if his estimation is correct, it is entirely illogical for him to feel superior to that other individual. If he truly possesses special skills and abilities, this is only because Hashem has equipped him with these talents so he could use them constructively, for the service of G-d and for the benefit of the world. None of us should ever feel that we are better just because Hashem gave us certain capabilities that others lack. We are to use our skills for the right purposes, and respect other people who use the skills that Hashem granted them, regardless of how they compare with our skills. If we all live with this kind of humility, crediting Hashem – rather than ourselves – for our talents, we will find it mush easier to respect all people, and to thus build strong, stable relationships with the people around us.

The Gemara in Masechet Shabbat (21b) tells the story of the Hanukah miracle, and then adds that "Le'shana Aheret" – the next year – the Rabbis established Hanukah as an annual celebration. The clear implication is that the Rabbis did not institute the holiday of Hanukah immediately after the miraculous triumph over the Greeks and the miracle of the oil of the Menorah. The decision to establish this holiday was made only the next year. Why? Rav Moshe Yechiel Epstein of Ozorov (1889-1971), in his Be'er Moshe, explains that the Rabbis waited to see if the spiritual powers that existed during the time of the miracles returned the following year. Hashem has performed and continues to perform many miracles for Am Yisrael, but special holidays are instituted to commemorate only a small number of these miracles. A holiday is instituted only if the Rabbis sensed that each year, on the date when the miracle occurred, the spiritual forces that facilitated the miracle return, empowering us to achieve what our ancestors achieved at the time of the original story. During the Hanukah story, the Be'er Moshe writes, the Jews were blessed with a special element of divine compassion and grace. The vast majority of the nation had assimilated, succumbing to the immense pressure placed on them by the Greeks to abandon their faith and embrace Greek culture. Only a very small group of Jews retained their commitment to Torah. Hashem showered the people with exceptional mercy and grace, providing them with miraculous assistance that they did not deserve. Despite having assimilated almost completely, Hashem enabled them to defeat the Greeks and then sustained the lamps of the Menorah in miraculous fashion. The following year, the Rabbis sensed that this unique grace and compassion returned, that Hashem brought us this special gift, the opportunity to receive undeserved kindness and assistance, once again. At that point, the Rabbis instituted the annual celebration of Hanukah. Indeed, the Arizal (Rav Yishak Luria, 1534-1572) taught that the thirteen words that comprise the first Beracha recited over the Hanukah candle lighting (according to Sephardic custom) correspond to Hashem's thirteen Middot Rahamim – attributes of mercy. Each word of the Beracha is associated with a different Midda. On each of the first seven days of Hanukah, we receive an especially large measure of one of the thirteen attributes, and on the eighth and final day of Hanukah, we are showered with an abundance of all the remaining attributes, from the eighth through the thirteenth. (This is why the eighth day of Hanukah is an especially significant and sacred day in Kabbalistic tradition.) The days of Hanukah are not just a time to commemorate and express gratitude for the miracles that Hashem performed for our ancestors. This is, of course, the basic purpose of Hanukah, but in addition, this is a time of great compassion, when Hashem bestows upon us undeserved grace and kindness. This is a precious time to beseech G-d for all that we need, for the assistance that we require. Just as Hashem graced our ancestors with undeserved kindness, granting them a miraculous victory, so is He prepared to shower us with this same element of kindness. Let us take advantage of this special opportunity by turning to Hashem in sincere, heartfelt prayer, and humbly beseeching Him for undeserved kindness and compassion, that we be blessed with all that we need, even if we are unworthy of it.

In "Speak Truth To Power," special guest speaker Pastor Andrew Sedra shares a powerful message from the book of Jeremiah, reflecting on his experiences with the COVID lockdowns in Australia under a socialist government. He recounts the challenges faced by himself, his family, and his church, urging Americans to utilize their freedom of speech to reignite the flames of liberty and religious freedom that are foundational to the country. Pastor Sedra calls on believers to follow the example of biblical prophets who confronted their leaders, emphasizing that the truth found in Scripture is the only force capable of transforming the world.Make sure you subscribe to this channel and follow us on all our platforms to always stay up to date with our latest content!And you can always head over to our website for any general information!https://godspeak.comPrayer/NeedsIf you have any needs, or have a willingness to be used to meet various need in the body, please email info@godspeak.com. Also, let us know if you need prayer for anything.Giving is part of our worship time, and in this season, the easiest way to do that is online. If you go to our website, godspeak.com, you will see the "Give" tab in the top right corner. Or you can simply click this link https://pushpay.com/g/godspeakAny questions?Please feel free to email us, comment here, or DM us on Instagram any questions that you may have.Please Subscribe to this channel and turn on your notifications to be notified when our Livestreams start so you don't miss out! We hope you are blessed by the service!-The Godspeak Team

The Torah in Parashat Vayishlah tells the famous story of the mysterious man who attacked Yaakob Abinu as he was making his way back to Eretz Yisrael from Haran. Yaakob and his assailant wrestled throughout the night, with Yaakob ultimately emerging victorious, though with an injury to his thigh which made him limp. The Rabbis teach us that this assailant was actually not a man, but an angel. Specifically, it was Satan, who came to attempt to block Yaakob Abinu, to prevent him from continuing his journey and the process of building Am Yisrael. The question arises, though, why did Satan attack only Yaakob? Why did he not try to obstruct the path of Abraham or Yishak? These three patriarchs built the foundations of Am Yisrael – and yet, for some reason, Satan waited until the emergence of the third patriarch, Yaakob, to launch his assault and try to prevent the rise of Hashem's special nation. Why? Rav Elhanan Wasserman (1874-1941) answered this question by taking a closer look at the unique characteristics embodied by Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. Abraham, of course, embodied the attribute of Hesed, kindness, extending himself generously and selflessly for the sake of others. Even after undergoing the painful procedure of Berit Mila at an advanced age, he sat outside hoping to find weary travelers in need of hospitality whom he could invite and help. Yishak is associated with the quality of "Aboda," serving G-d through sacrifice and prayer. This quality is best exemplified by his having been placed on an altar as a sacrifice to Hashem. He embodied the devoted service of Hashem, which nowadays, in the absence of the Bet Ha'mikdash, is done primarily through prayer. Finally, Yaakob represents the value of intensive Torah study. He is described as a "dweller of tents" (Bereshit 25:27), referring to the halls of Torah learning. And even when he was forced to leave because of Esav's threat to kill him, he first went to the yeshiva of Eber, where he spent fourteen years diligently learning, without even taking time to sleep (Rashi, Bereshit 28:11). Rav Elhanan explained that whereas all three qualities are vitally important components of Jewish life, it is the third of these qualities that guarantees our survival as a nation. A Jew must, of course, act with kindness, but this attribute is not unique to our nation. Other nations also recognize the great value of Hesed, and many non-Jews are wonderfully kind and generous. In fact, we are privileged to live in a country that guarantees the rights of all its citizens, and even has welfare systems in place to help the underprivileged. Clearly, Hesed is not a strictly Jewish value. The same is true of "Aboda." Followers of all religions pray, and perform rituals in the service of their deity. And there are, unfortunately, many Jews who pray to Hashem, but without accepting the core beliefs of Judaism, or living a Torah lifestyle. The value that sets us apart from everyone else, and which thus ensures our continuity and survival as a distinct nation, is Torah. Immersing ourselves in our sacred texts, absorbing our ancient wisdom, is what enables us to resist the lures and pressures that abound, to withstand the powerful cultural influences that are all around us, and to preserve our faith. This is why the Satan felt threatened specifically by Yaakob, and not by Abraham or Yishak. He was not worried about the Jewish People's extraordinary devotion to Hesed, or about our filled-to-capacity houses of worship. Neither of these guarantee our eternity, because other nations are also kind and also have houses of prayer. Satan sprang into action only when he saw Yaakob Abinu, the bastion of Torah learning, because it is the devotion to intensive Torah study that ensures Am Yisrael's survival throughout the generations. As mentioned, although the Satan was unable to eliminate Yaakob, he did succeed in crippling Yaakob, by dealing a blow to his thigh. The Zohar comments that the thigh symbolizes the supporters of Torah. Just as the legs hold up the body, the generous donors who fund Torah education are the ones who maintain the Jewish People. When the Satan realized that it was unable to destroy Yaakob, it dealt a debilitating blow to the thigh, to the support of Torah. Indeed, there has never been a shortage of Jews interested in learning Torah, but there is often difficulty in funding Torah learning. Parents are reluctant to incur the significant costs of providing their children with a Torah education, and yeshivot and kollelim struggle to raise enough money for their institutions to operate. We must remember that Torah learning is the best "insurance policy" we have for Jewish survival. In a time when we face unprecedented spiritual challenges, when we are, sadly, witnessing assimilation on a mass scale, the best way to ensure our continuity is intensive, rigorous Torah learning. Hesed and prayer are critically important, but not sufficient. In order for us to withstand the relentless attacks of today's "Satan," the challenges it has put in our way, we must make time for our own Torah learning and also allocate the resources needed to support our Torah institutions.

Parashat Vayeseh begins: "Yaakob left from Be'er Sheba, and he went to Haran." Many commentators addressed the question of why the Torah needs to tell us here that Yaakob left from Be'er Sheba, his hometown. The ensuing verses tell of his experiences along the road as he journeyed to Haran, and upon arriving in Haran. The important point here is where Yaakob was going, not where he was leaving from. Moreover, this entire verse seems unnecessary, as we are already told at the end of the previous Parasha, Parashat Toldot (28:7), that Yaakob, obeying his parents' instructions, left home and made his way to Haran to live with his uncle. Why, then, did the Torah need to repeat now that he left his hometown and headed to Haran? An especially fascinating answer to this question is offered by Rav Azariah Figo (Italy, d. 1647), in his Bina Le'ittim, where he closely analyzes the events that unfolded after Yaakob's departure. As Yaakob traveled to Haran, he slept along the roadside, and beheld his famous vision of a ladder that extended to the heavens. During this vision, G-d spoke to Yaakob, and promised to care for him and to bring him safely back to Eretz Yisrael. Yet, when Yaakob arose, he made a pledge, promising to give one-tenth of his possessions to G-d if G-d would protect him, care for him, and bring him back to his homeland. Surprisingly, Yaakob was uncertain whether Hashem would care for him and return him safely home – despite having just received an explicit promise to this effect. Why? Furthermore, we read in next week's Parasha, Parashat Vayishlah, that when Yaakob was making his way back to Eretz Yisrael, he received a report that Esav was approaching with an army, and he was overcome by fear (32:8). Once again, we must wonder why Yaakob did not trust the explicit guarantee Hashem gave him that he would be protected and would return safely to his homeland. Rav Figo answers all these questions by positing that Yaakob questioned whether the dream he dreamt truly constituted a prophecy. For several reasons, he had reason to suspect that this was simply a dream, and not a prophetic message from the Almighty. For one thing, the Rambam writes that one of the prerequisites for prophecy is a joyful spirit, and Yaakob's current condition – fleeing penniless from his brother who wanted to kill him – did not lend itself to the necessary feelings of joy. Secondly, when a prophet receives prophecy, Hashem normally brings sleep upon him, and he then awakens immediately after the vision. Yaakob, however, did not wake up immediately after his dream. Rav Figo explains on this basis why the Torah tells that in the morning, Yaakob arose "Mi'shenato" – "from his sleep" (28:16). At first glance, this seems unnecessary; when somebody wakes up, he obviously wakes up "from his sleep." Rav Figo writes that the Torah here is telling us that Yaakob did not wake up immediately after beholding his vision, but rather continued sleeping until he woke up in the morning – and this led to his uncertainty as to whether what he saw was just a dream, or in fact a prophetic vision. Rav Figo applies this same approach to explain the first verse of the Parasha. Normally, with rare exceptions, prophecy is given only in Eretz Yisrael, and not outside the land. As Yaakob had left his home in Be'er Sheba, and was heading outside the land, to Haran, he was, in a sense, considered to have already left the Holy Land. This, too, contributed to his doubts regarding the nocturnal vision that he beheld. The Torah told us that Yaakob was making his way to Haran, leaving the Land of Israel, as an introduction to the story of Yaakob's dream, explaining why Yaakob was unsure whether this was a prophecy or an ordinary dream. In the end, of course, it became clear that Yaakob's dream was, in fact, a full-fledged prophecy, and Hashem fulfilled all the promises He had made during that prophetic vision. This understanding of the verses shows how Yaakob serves for us as an inspiring example of humility. Although he beheld a clear vision, during which G-d promised to protect him, and named him as heir to the covenant with Abraham and Yishak, Yaakob remained uncertain about his standing. He did not jump to conclusions, or rush to assume that he had earned G-d's blessings. We have much to learn from Yaakob Abinu's example about avoiding overconfidence. While we must of course take pride in our accomplishments and in all the good that we do, we must also ensure not to take this pride too far, to remain ever cognizant of our deficiencies. We should never feel too spiritually confident, certain that we do everything correctly, that we know better, that we always get it right. We are to live with the humility to acknowledge our imperfections, so that we are always working to correct them and continuing to grow and improve.

Parashat Toldot tells the story of the blessings that Yishak Abinu decided to give to Esav, but ended up conferring upon Yaakob, who, at his mother's behest, disguised as Esav and came before Yishak to receive the blessing. The Torah relates that when Esav came, and Yishak then told him that his brother had deceived him and received the blessings in his place, Esav cried bitterly ("Va'yiz'ak Ze'aka Gedola U'mara Ad Me'od" – 27:34). The Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni 115) comments that Esav actually shed only three tears. One fell from his right eye, another from his left eye, and a third remained stuck inside his eye. This third tear, the Midrash concludes, is what has caused the Jewish Nation to shed rivers of tears throughout the ages. Rav Solomon Breuer (Germany, 1850-1926), son-in-law of Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888), offered a meaningful explanation of the Midrash's description. The two tears that fell from Esav's eyes correspond to the two "wrongs" that Yaakob committed against him. The first was Yaakob's purchasing the birthright from Esav in exchange for food when Esav came into the home weary and famished. And the second, of course, was Yaakob's seizing the blessings which Yishak had intended to grant to Esav. These two tears, Rav Breuer explained, were what we would call today "crocodile tears." Esav was not really upset over losing the birthright and Yishak's blessings. The birthright entailed performing the special service in the Bet Ha'mikdash, which Esav surely had no desire at all to participate in. And as for the blessings, the Midrash elsewhere (Bereshit Rabba 66:3) comments that in these blessings there are allusions to all the different areas of Torah – the Tanach, Mishna, Gemara, etc. These blessings of success, prosperity and dominance were not given "for free"; they were promised only on condition, in exchange for serious commitment to Torah learning and observance. This is certainly not something that Esav had any interest in. Esav's only real tear, Rav Breuer explained, was the tear that remained in his eye, and could not be seen. Meaning, what really troubled Esav, what really pained him, was not the birthright or the blessings, but rather the knowledge that Yaakob was the worthier brother, that he truly earned the right to bear the legacy of Abraham and Yishak, to be a patriarch of Hashem's special nation. And it is this hidden pain that has caused Am Yisrael so much pain and so many tears throughout the ages. The enemies of the Jewish Nation outwardly shed different kinds of fake "tears," they give different reasons for why their hostility toward us is justified, why they feel they have the right to cause us harm and to seek our destruction. But the real reason is the hidden "tear," the resentment over Am Yisrael's status as G-d's special nation. When Yaakob first came before Yishak disguised as Esav, Yishak heard what sounded like Yaakob's voice, but when he felt Yaakob's arms, they felt hairy, like Esav, because Ribka had wrapped goatskins around his arms. Yishak then proclaimed, "Ha'kol Kol Ya'akob, Ve'ha'yadayim Yedeh Esav" – "The voice is the voice of Yaakob, but the hands are the hands of Esav" (27:22). The Midrash uncovers for us the deeper message of Yishak's pronouncement, explaining that he was saying, "When the voice of Yaakov is heard in the synagogues, the hands are not the hands of Esav; otherwise, the hands are the hands of Esav." The way we protect ourselves against the threat of Esav, from the hostility and animosity of the enemy nations, is through heartfelt prayer. And so in our times, when there are so many who are trying to inflict harm upon Am Yisrael, both in Israel and around the world, let us commit ourselves to increasing the "voice of Yaakob," to pray and beseech G-d for His protection and assistance. We must raise our voices and pour our hearts before Hashem, and ask that He shield us from those who seek our destruction, and grant our nation the peace and serenity that we long for.

The Torah in Parashat Hayeh-Sara tells the story of Eliezer, the trusted servant of Abraham Abinu, who was sent to find a suitable wife for Abraham's son, Yishak. Abraham told Eliezer to go to his homeland, Aram Naharayim, and choose a girl from there. Upon arriving at the well outside the town, Eliezer prayed to G-d for assistance, asking Him to arrange that the chosen girl would be the one whom he would ask for water, and who would then respond by offering water to him and also to his camels. Sure enough, Ribka – the daughter of Abraham's cousin, Betuel – came to the well, and after Eliezer approached her to ask for water, she drew water also for his camels. Ribka brought Eliezer home, and he explained to her family why he had come. He related to them his experiences at the well, and they had no choice but to conclude that this was Hashem's doing, and Ribka was destined to marry Yishak. Rav Meir Simcha Ha'kohen of Dvinsk (843-1926), in his Meshech Hochma, notes a subtle discrepancy between the Torah's account of Abraham's charge to Eliezer, and the way Eliezer reported it to Ribka's family. Abraham told Eliezer not to bring a girl from the peoples in Canaan, and to instead go bring a girl from Abraham's homeland (24:3-4). Apparently, Abraham sensed that the girls in Aram were worthier than the girls in Canaan. In speaking with Ribka's family, however, Eliezer said that Abraham told him to go to "my father's home" and "my family" (24:38). Rav Meir Simcha explains that Abraham did not actually care whether or not the girl was from his family; he cared only that she came from Aram, as the people of Aram were of a better character than the people of Canaan. Eliezer therefore decided to choose the girl who showed that she was kind and generous, worthy of marrying Abraham's daughter. His concern was only the girl's character, and not whether or not she belonged to Abraham's family. But when he arrived at Ribka's home and spoke with her family, he feared they might feel offended if they realized that Abraham was not looking specifically to choose someone from their family for Yishak. Eliezer therefore said that Abraham instructed him to go to "my father's home" and "my family," so they would feel honored by Abraham's wish to have someone from their family marry his son, and would not take offense. The Meshech Hochma notes that this explanation answers a number of other questions, as well, including the question of how to reconcile Eliezer's actions with the prohibition of "Kishuf" – sorcery. It seems that Eliezer made a random test to find the right girl, which is prohibited, as the Torah does not allow making decisions in this manner, saying "If X happens then I'll do Y." The Meshech Hochma explains that this prohibition applies only if there is no logical connection between "X" and "Y," in which case this constitutes a form of witchcraft. In Eliezer's case, however, a clear, logical system was arranged, as he wanted to find a girl who excelled in the area of kindness and generosity, and who was thus worthy of marrying into the family of Abraham Abinu. When we study this story, and we see the thought and effort that Eliezer invested in order to ensure to find the right match for Yishak, we come away awed and inspired. The Sages teach that Eliezer had a daughter whom he very much wished would marry Yishak. As such, he had vested interest in the failure of his mission. If he would not find the right girl, or if the girl's family would not allow her to go to Canaan to marry Yishak, this would leave open the possibility of his daughter marrying Yishak. And yet, Eliezer did everything he could to ensure the success of his mission, to find the right girl and see to it that her family would agree to the match. We learn from here that under all circumstances, we are to do the right thing, even when this seems to entail considerable sacrifice, and trust in Hashem to make everything work out. When Torah observance appears to not be in our best interests, we must learn from Eliezer's example, and have the faith and conviction to do the right thing anyway. Fulfilling Hashem's commands is always the most beneficial thing we can do, even when it seems detrimental, and so we must be prepared to obey despite the sacrifices entailed, trusting that Hashem will bring the most favorable outcome.

The Torah in Parashat Vayera tells the story of Hashem's destruction of the wicked city of Sedom and its neighboring towns. Before annihilating the region, Hashem informed Abraham Abinu of what He was planning to do. Abraham, the paragon of loving kindness and compassion, pleaded on Sedom's behalf, asking G-d to spare the city if He would find fifty righteous residents. G-d agreed, whereupon Abraham went further, pleading that the city be spared if there were even just forty-five worthy inhabitants. Hashem again consented, and Abraham then continued, begging for the city to be saved in the merit of even just thirty righteous people – and then twenty, and then ten. In the end, not even ten righteous people were found in Sedom, and so it and four other cities in the region were destroyed. The question arises as to why Hashem allowed Abraham to continue praying after presenting his initial request that the city should be spared in the merit of fifty righteous residents. Quite obviously, Hashem knew from the outset that there were not even ten people in Sedom worthy of being saved, not to mention twenty, thirty, forty, or forty-five. And yet, He allowed Abraham to continue pleading on the city's behalf, lowering the number all the way down to ten. Knowing that there were not enough righteous people in Sedom to spare the city, shouldn't Hashem have told Abraham to stop at the very beginning? Didn't He know that Abraham was wasting his time by continuing to pray for Sedom? The answer is that this question is predicated on a woefully mistaken assumption about the value and significance of prayer. It presumes that the value of prayer lies solely in its effectiveness in bringing the desired result. If the person will not attain that which he prays for, according to this logic, the prayer is a waste of time. But this is a grave mistake. When we pray for somebody else, we exercise our sensitivity muscle, so-to-speak. We become kinder, more compassionate, more caring, and more empathetic. By beseeching G-d on our fellow's behalf, we build our characters, as we develop within ourselves greater sensitivity for the needs of other people. Hashem therefore allowed Abraham to continue praying – not for Sedom's benefit, as the city was going to be destroyed anyway, but for Abraham's benefit, as the experience of praying made him even greater than he already was. So often we are called upon to pray for an ill patient, for those struggling to find a marriage partner or to have children, for the IDF soldiers, for the Israeli hostages, or for other beloved Jews in need. Painfully, our prayers do not always yield the results we wish for. We have all had the agonizing experience of praying regularly and passionately for an ill patient, and then finding out that the patient did not make it, Heaven forbid. Naturally, we feel very disappointed. And, some people become discouraged by these experiences, and begin questioning the value of their Tefilot. We must remember that prayer is always precious and significant, even if our request was not granted – not only because of how it builds our connection to Hashem, but also because how it builds our character, helping us develop into kinder and more compassionate people, who are sensitive to the needs and concern of others.

We read in Parashat Lech-Lecha of Hagar, an Egyptian woman who become the maidservant of Sara Imenu. The Midrash teaches that Sara was actually a princess, Pharaoh's daughter, and Pharaoh gave her as a maidservant to Sara upon seeing Avraham and Sara's greatness, and realizing what a privilege it would be for his daughter to work in their home. Later, after Avraham and Sara lived together for many years without children, Sara had Avraham marry Hagar. Hagar immediately conceived, resulting in tensions between her and Sara. Sara mistreated Hagar, and Hagar fled. She ended up meeting an angel, who urged her to return to Avraham and Sara's home, despite the hardships she would face there. Hagar complied. Hagar's return to Sara conveys a powerful lesson to each and every one of us. She understood the immense value and benefit of joining Avraham and Sara, even when this entailed a degree of hardship. It was difficult for Hagar to live in the home, given the tensions that arose between her and Sara, but she nevertheless accepted the angel's advice, coming to realize that it is worth enduring this unpleasantness for the sake of the great privilege of living with Avraham and Sara. The Gemara in Masechet Shabbat (31a) tells the famous story of a non-Jew who came before Shammai and said that he would convert to Judaism if Shammai could teach him the entire Torah in just a few moments, within the amount of time he could stand on one foot. Shammai sent the man away, figuring that he could not possibly be serious about embracing Judaism if he demanded to learn the entire Torah in just a few seconds. The gentile then came to Hillel, and said the same thing – that he would convert if Hillel could teach him the entire Torah while he stood on one foot. Hillel warmly embraced him, and said, "That which you dislike – do not do to your fellow." He explained that this concept encapsulates the entire Torah. This story is often understood as contrasting the approaches of Hillel and Shammai, showing how Shammai followed a stricter policy, whereas Hillel was more patient and tolerant. However, I would like to suggest an additional angle to this story. Perhaps, the gentile's experience with Shammai is told not as a point of contrast with his experience with Hillel, but rather as the background to his experience to Hillel. Meaning, Hillel quite possibly accepted this prospective convert as sincere and well-meaning precisely because he continued in his quest even after being rejected by Shammai. The fact that the man did not relent, and persisted in his attempt to join the Jewish Nation, even after a rejection, demonstrated how highly he regarded the privilege of being a Jew. His perseverance testified to his sincerity, showing that he was prepared to go through a lengthy process for the priceless opportunity to join Am Yisrael. He in fact was not just looking for an easy route; like Hagar, he was prepared to do whatever it took to become part of the Jewish People. We declare each morning during the Shaharit service, "Ashrenu Ma Tob Helkenu, U'ma Na'im Goralenu, U'ma Yafa Me'od Yerushatenu" – "We are fortunate, how good is our portion, and how pleasant is our lot, and how exceedingly beautiful is our inheritance!" At the beginning of every day, we are to remind ourselves of how privileged we are to belong to Hashem's special nation, to be able to devote our lives to His service. We remind ourselves that no matter what we will have to do deal with over the course of the day, we've won the lottery of life, we have received a precious gift. Yes, throughout any given day, a Jew is going to confront challenges. He might struggle with a challenge to his faith, a challenge posed by his sinful inclinations, the hardships that arise when seeking to meticulously observe the Misvot, or the hostility so often shown to us by other peoples. Belonging to Am Yisrael is not always going to be easy. But we can and must look to Hagar for inspiration, to be reminded that we are truly fortunate, that any difficulties that we endure are a small price to pay for the great privilege that we have been given to serve the Almighty.

Why did Noah have to build an ark? Clearly, this was a very difficult and complicated way for Hashem to save Noah and his family from the flood. Not only did Noah have the go through the trouble of building this enormous edifice – a project which, according to tradition, took over 100 years to complete! – but it also subjected Noah and his family to grueling hardship. They lived together with all the animals, enduring great suffering. For one thing, we cannot even imagine the stench in the ark from all the waste produced by the animals. And, Noah was responsible for feeding every animal – such that he could never rest, as he needed to ensure that every animal was fed on time, and the different species all have different feeding schedules. This was an unfathomably challenging experience for Noah and his family. So why did Hashem save them this way? Hashem had an infinite number of ways to rescue Noah and his family. Why did He choose to have them live on an ark? The Meshech Hochma (Rav Meir Simcha Ha'kohen of Dvinsk, 1843-1926) answers that the ark was necessary in order for Noah and his family to experience what we might call "detox." As the Torah describes, the people of Noah's time were sinful, corrupt and degenerate. The society was overrun by greed, immorality and violence. People were concerned exclusively with the pursuit of self-gratification, completely disregarding the needs of others. And although Noah and his family were righteous, they were undoubtedly affected by their surroundings. Living in a society makes it all but impossible to avoid the influences of that society's value system, beliefs and culture. To some small extent, Noah and his family were influenced by their society's culture of selfishness, wanton indulgence, and cruelty. In order for this culture to be completely eliminated, Noah and his family – who would rebuild the world after the flood – needed to be purged of this influence. And for this reason, the Meshech Hochma explains, Hashem commanded them to spend a year in the ark. During this year, they were compelled to act precisely opposite of their contemporaries. They had no possibility of indulging in food, as their food supply was limited without ever being replenished. They could not live in comfort. And, they spent the entire year caring for animals, extending themselves on behalf of other creatures. For an entire year, Noah and his family were completely immersed in selflessness – thereby purging themselves of all traces of influence from the immoral society in which they had lived. Sadly, we, too, are living in a degenerate society. Our generation has embraced corrupt ideas, and inverts right and wrong. Throughout the last year, Israel has consistently been depicted as the villain, while the Hamas terrorists are seen as the helpless victims. Good is turned into bad and bad is turned into good. Basic morality is ridiculed and shunned, as are the values of self-discipline, self-restraint, and dignity. Wanton pleasure-seeking is encouraged as an ideal, and any limitations are frowned upon. Like Noah, we need to build an "ark" for ourselves – and, far more importantly, we need to make the most of this "ark." Our modern-day "ark" is our community institutions – our yeshivot, Bateh Midrash, synagogues, and communal learning programs. In this "ark," we immerse ourselves in Torah values, in morality, in spirituality. We "detox," reminding ourselves of what's right and what's wrong, of which lifestyles are appropriate and which are inappropriate, of which relationships are proper and which are improper, of how a family should look like, and of how we are to live our lives. Of course, we cannot spend our lives in the "ark." Just as Noah and his family were eventually told to exit the ark, we, too, need to spend time outside our "ark" and interact and engage with the world around us. Therefore, we need to make the most of the time spent in the "ark." Youngsters in our community's educational institutions need to be encouraged to maximize their learning and their participation in educational programming. Adults need to be fully engaged when they come to synagogue and Torah classes, recognizing the great importance of this "detox" process, of inoculating themselves against the pervasive influences of our society. Only this way can we hope to protect ourselves and our families, to retain our loyalty and devotion to Torah values, and successfully maintain our precious Torah tradition and transmit it to the next generation.

The Midrash (Midrash Tehillim, 92) relates that Adam and Hava committed their sin of partaking from the forbidden tree late on Ereb Shabbat, and then, when Shabbat began, G-d was going to punish them. He had warned Adam when He first placed him in Gan Eden that eating the forbidden fruit would be punishable by death (Bereshit 2:17), and so now that Adam violated this command, G-d was prepared to kill him. But then Shabbat came before Hashem to advocate on Adam's behalf. Shabbat pleaded, "Master of the world! During the six days of the week, no person in the world was punished. And You're going to begin [punishing] with me? This is my sanctity?! This is my rest?!" Hashem accepted Shabbat's plea, and let Adam and Hava live. The Midrash concludes that once Adam realized that his life was saved because of Shabbat, he composed a special song for Shabbat. This song is known to us as "Mizmor Shir Le'yom Ha'Shabbat," the 92 nd chapter of Tehillim, which we – and many communities – have the custom of reciting at the onset of Shabbat. Just as Shabbat served as Adam's advocate, saving his life, it serves as our greatest advocate, as well. The Maggid of Duvna (Rav Yaakov Kranz, 1741-1804) drew an analogy to a king who had a brilliant, beautiful daughter whom he loved and cherished more than anything in the world. He held her in very high esteem, and would occasionally consult with her on important matters. He treated her like a queen. One day, she got married and moved away. Sometime later, the king went to visit his daughter. He was stunned to see her face bruised and scarred. He realized that her husband had been beating her. The king turned to her husband and reminded him of his criminal past. He explained that he had decided to pardon him for his past misdeeds because he trusted that he would care for the king's beloved daughter. But now that he was mistreating the princess, he lost the king's favor. Shabbat, the Maggid of Duvna explained, is Hashem's beloved "princess." As long as we properly treat the princess, and observe Shabbat the way it is meant to be observed, we earn Hashem's favor and grace. Although we might occasionally err and stumble, Shabbat will advocate on our behalf before G-d, and save us from punishment. How does this work? Why does Shabbat serve as our advocate? One explanation emerges from a fascinating teaching in the Gemara (Shabbat 119b) about the recitation of the verses of "Va'yechulu" on Friday night. These verses tell of the conclusion of the world's creation after six days, and the designation of Shabbat as a special, sacred day (Bereshit 2:1-3). The Gemara states that one who recites these verses as part of his prayers on Friday "becomes G-d's partner in the creation of the world." Through the proper observance of Shabbat, we become Hashem's "partners." We might suggest a comparison to a fellow who opens and runs a store, but needs a partner to promote the store and bring in customers. A store won't be profitable without customers, and so both partners are indispensable to the success of the enterprise. Likewise, Hashem created and runs the world, but nobody knows about it. We become His partners by observing Shabbat, through which we announce that He created the world, we publicize Hashem's "enterprise," so-to-speak. And once we've become Hashem's partners, we become indispensable. Shabbat advocates on our behalf because through our commitment to Shabbat, we show that we are needed in order to disseminate the faith in Hashem throughout the world. Just as Shabbat protected Adam and Hava, it can protect us, as well. By reaffirming our devotion to proper Shabbat observance, by treating it with the respect and reverence that it deserves, we become worthy of Hashem's special care and grace, and elevate ourselves to the status of His partners.

The Gemara in Masechet Sukka (11b) brings two views as to whether the Misva of Sukka commemorates "Sukkot Mamash" – the actual huts in which our ancestors dwelled during the years of travel in the wilderness, or the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" – the miraculous "clouds of glory" which encircled them and granted them protection during this period. The Shulhan Aruch (Orah Haim 625) follows the second opinion, that our Sukkot commemorate the "Ananeh Ha'kabod." The Gaon of Vilna (1720-1797) famously clarified that the Misva of Sukka commemorates not the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" themselves, but rather the return of the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" after they had been taken away. Following the sin of the golden calf, Hashem decreed that Beneh Yisrael would be annihilated, but then rescinded the decree in response to Moshe's heartfelt pleas on the nation's behalf. However, the Gaon writes, even though Hashem rescinded this decree, He removed the "Ananeh Ha'kabod," the special clouds which expressed His special affection for the people and close relationship with them. But Beneh Yisrael then repented, and Moshe persisted in his prayers. Ultimately, on Yom Kippur, G-d announced His complete forgiveness, and the following day, Moshe relayed to the people G-d's instruction to donate materials for the construction of the Mishkan. The people generously donated over the course of the next several days, and then, on the 15 th of Tishri, when the artisans began constructing the Mishkan, G-d restored the "Ananeh Ha'kabod." It is this restoration of the clouds, the Gaon writes, that we celebrate on Sukkot. We celebrate the fact that even after the sin of the golden calf, G-d mercifully forgave us and even fully restored His relationship with us, to the extent that He returned to us the special clouds of glory. The Gaon answers on this basis the question of why Sukkot is celebrated specifically at this time of year. The "Ananeh Ha'kabod" encircled Beneh Yisrael and protected them throughout the year, and they were first given these clouds immediately after the Exodus from Egypt. Seemingly, then, there is no particular significance to the middle of Tishri as far as these clouds are concerned. Why, then, do we celebrate this Yom Tob at this time? The answer, the Gaon explains, is that on Sukkot we celebrate the return of the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" on the 15 th of Tishri. Rav Eliezer Waldenberg (Jerusalem, 1915-2006), in his Sitz Eliezer (vol. 15), raises the question of how to reconcile the Gaon's theory with a verse in the Book of Nehemya (9:19) which clearly states that the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" never left: "And You, in Your abundant compassion, never abandoned them in the desert; the pillar of cloud was never removed from them during the day to guide them along the path…" How can the Gaon claim that Hashem took away the clouds of glory following the sin of the golden calf, if the verse in Nehemya says explicitly that the clouds were never removed? Rav Waldenberg answered by noting that the verse in Nehemya speaks specifically of one particular function of the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" – to guide the people through the desert. The clouds served numerous other purposes, as well, protecting the people from the harsh elements, from wild animals and from enemies, and also making the ground comfortable and the terrain easily traversable. Accordingly, Rav Waldenberg writes, we may distinguish between the different clouds. As the verse in Nehemya says, the clouds that guided Beneh Yisrael through the desert never left, and it was only the other clouds which were taken from them and then returned once they began building the Mishkan. This insight shows us that Hashem will never forsake His beloved nation. Even after the sin of the golden calf, He did not leave them alone in the desert; He continued showing them the path forward, and allowed them to return to Him. We can never permanently sever our relationship with G-d, just as a child can never permanently sever His relationship with His parents. G-d is our father, and He will always remain with us, no matter what mistakes we have made. None of us have ever done anything as bad as the worship of the golden calf several weeks after beholding Hashem's revelation. If G-d did not forsake the people after that sin, we can rest assured that He will never forsake us, no matter what we have done, no matter how far we have strayed. Hashem will never reject any one of His precious children; He instead patiently waits for that Jew to return. This concept should inform the way we look at ourselves, and also the way we look at our fellow Jews. When we see someone who does not properly observe the Misvot, we must not reject him, or look upon him with disdain – because Hashem does not reject that person or look upon him with disdain. Hashem loves that individual and trusts in his capacity to improve – and so we should, as well. Just as G-d's love for us is unconditional, so must our love for all our fellow Jews be unconditional. Rather than focus on their faults and shortcomings, we should focus instead on their inner spark, on their potential for greatness, and shower them with love and compassion – just as Hashem does.

In this episode, Pastor Stephen sits down with Pastor Andrew Edra from Australia to discuss the intersection of faith, politics, and culture. They explore the challenges Christians face when living under ideologies that oppose biblical values, such as Islam and secular liberalism. Pastor Andrew shares his unique perspective on the rise of these ideologies globally and the importance of standing firm in biblical truth. Tune in to hear how Christians can prepare for the cultural battles ahead and actively engage in defending their faith in today's world.

In Australia, radical Muslims are chanting to exterminate the country's Jews — while police focus on the threat of "Christian nationalists," harass churches, and impose nationwide censorship. Pastor Andrew Sedra describes how his once-Christian nation has gone astray, and how Islam will be God's judgment on nations that reject His teachings.Support the show: http://www.charliekirk.com/supportSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In Andrew Sedra's home country of Egypt, publicly preaching the Gospel can get you imprisoned or killed. That persecution caused Andrew Sedra to flee to Australia, but now he's finding those same anti-Christian attitudes are triumphant. Andrew and Charlie talk about the revival of ancient paganism in opposition to Christian truth, and the drive to crush Christian belief an exert total control in the name of "tolerance" and "freedom."Support the show: http://www.charliekirk.com/supportSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.