Insight of the Week

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (6:4) teaches: כך היא דרכה של תורה: פת במלח תאכל ומים במשורה תשתה ועל הארץ תישן וחיי צער תחיה ובתורה אתה עמל . This is the way of Torah: You eat bread with salt, you drink water in rations, you lie on the ground, and you live a life of distress – and you toil in Torah. At first glance, the Mishnah is telling us that the Torah requires us to live in abject poverty. But this is clearly not the case. While it is true that many great Rabbis were very poor, many others were wealthy. And most were somewhere in the middle between very poor and very rich. Certainly, most Torah scholars today sleep in comfortable beds, not on the floor, and eat far more than bread with salt. What, then, does this Mishnah mean? The answer brings us back seven weeks – to the celebration of Pesach. The Alter of Kelm raises the question of why Hashem needed to rush Beneh Yisrael out of Egypt so frantically, such that their dough didn't have time to rise, and they ended up baking matzah. They spent hundreds of years in Egypt – they couldn't stay there an extra half-hour so they could have proper bread? Why did Hashem find it necessary to have them chased out so quickly? The Alter of Kelm answered that this was necessary to teach us a vitally important lesson – that in order to succeed as Hashem's nation, we need to be prepared to eat "matzah," to sacrifice luxuries, to live with just the basics. The Torah demands מסירות נפש – self-sacrifice. In order to excel as a Torah Jew, a person needs to be prepared to forego comforts and luxuries, and to show his commitment even when the circumstances are far less than ideal. This is the meaning of the Mishnah. It is not telling us that we need to suffer in order to live a Torah life. Rather, it is telling us that we must be prepared to sacrifice for Torah, that living a Torah life requires us to do things that are difficult, that are uncomfortable, that are inconvenient, that are unpopular, that are challenging. It is wonderful to attend a Torah class with several hundred other like-minded community members in a comfortable, air-conditioned shul at 8pm when one has a free evening. Every single person who does so should be commended, and I have nothing but praise for all of them. But – this is not how greatness is achieved. One achieves greatness by displaying commitment when it's difficult. When a person maintains his Torah learning schedule even when he's had a very hard day, when he didn't get a good night's sleep, when the material is difficult or the speaker isn't at his best. One achieves greatness when his friends are getting together for an event that he knows is inappropriate, so he does not go. Of course one should learn Torah and perform mitzvot when it's convenient. But in order to fully actualize our potential, we need to be ready to learn Torah and perform mitzvot even when it's not convenient, when it's challenging, when it requires struggle and sacrifice. This is why the Torah was given in a desert – to teach us that we must be committed to Torah even under "desert" conditions, when we don't have our usual comforts and conveniences, when things are difficult. This is how greatness in Torah is achieved. After my father zt"l passed away, we came across one of his books. He owned hundreds upon hundreds of books, but this one was very special. When he was already very sick, he asked for this book, and one of my nephews bought it for him. After he passed away, we saw that the book had been read through – and it had numerous handwritten notes on the margins. On some pages, there were stains of blood, apparently from the times when he learned the book after receiving an injection or IV infusion in his hand. This is what the Mishnah was talking about. This is מסירות נפש for Torah – learning Torah intensely even when this is challenging. Of course there is nothing wrong with learning under comfortable conditions, in a comfortable room, with heat or air conditioning, when we are well fed, after a good night's sleep, feeling healthy, and in good spirits. But in order to truly excel, we must be prepared to devote ourselves to Torah even when we find ourselves in a "desert," in difficult circumstances. As Shavuot approaches, let us all choose one thing we are willing to do for Torah even though it is difficult, one challenge we are willing to take upon ourselves for Torah. We will then be able to truly say that we earned the great privilege of standing on Shavuot morning and receiving the Torah from Hashem anew.