Insight of the Week

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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