Rabbi Nachman of Breslov told the following story:

The king’s star gazer saw that the grain harvested that year was tainted. Anyone who would eat from it would became insane. “What can we do?” said the king. “It is not possible to destroy the crop for we do not have enough grain stored to feed the entire population.”

“Perhaps,” said the star gazer, “we should set aside enough grain for ourselves. At least that way we could maintain our sanity.” The king replied, “If we do that, we’ll be considered crazy. If everyone behaves one way and we behave differently, we’ll be considered the not normal ones.

“Rather,” said the king, “I suggest that we too eat from the crop, like everyone else. However, to remind ourselves that we are not normal, we will make a mark on our foreheads. Even if we are insane, whenever we look at each other, we will remember that we are insane!”

The World of Galus

This perspective has, for the past two-thousand years, been the view of our nation in exile. There was once a time when the world was sane, when the Jewish people lived securely in our own land, when we were cultural leaders of the world. There was a time that Yerushalayim was the center of morality, ethics and law for the world - כי מציון תצא תורה - from Tzion came for the wellsprings of wisdom.

But then the Beis HaMikdash was destroyed, our nation was sent into exile and the world became insane. Instead of looking at our people, the people of the book as a source of divine wisdom, moral understanding and compassion in the world, we began to be viewed as vermin, the embodiment of evil, emissaries of the Devil. This insanity became our new reality. The grain of the world became tainted with the poison of exile, with the sickness of anti-semitism.

And we Jews had only one choice. We ate from that same crop. We too became insane. From being princes of the universe, we became scum of the earth. Dirty Jew, they called us, greedy Jew. And slowly but surely we started to look at ourselves in the same light; desperate, lonely and sad. As time went on, we longed for the embrace of the nations of the world. Some of us gave up, some of us gave in. We took solace in the cries for "tolerance", the kindness of our saviors, the compassion of our protectors. All the while wondering how it could be that we became so needy.

But every now and then, we turned to each other, and noticed there was a sign on our forehead, our Yiddishe Kop, that reminded us that this was not the way it was meant to be. And so, in secret, the majesty of the Jewish people continued. It was found in the four amos of Halacha, in the great writings of Mikra, Mishna, Talmud and Agados. As Chazal said: מאן מלכי, רבנן - The place of kingship is with the sages. The sign on our heads reminded us that the we were the sane ones in a world that was growing increasingly more insane.

Every time a Jew was killed for being Jewish, every time a shul was desecrated, a city destroy, a cartload of books set aflame, we drew further inwards, trying desperately to hold onto sanity, remembering that the world is crazy. We looked to the signs on each others foreheads, and dreamed of a time that we could live beyond the insanity of a world where senseless murder is an even an option.

The World of Geulah

But Rebbi Nachman also told a different version of this story (שיח שרפי קודש (ברסלב) א-רעא):

In this version, it was the star gazer who suggested that they would have to eat from the tainted grain, but the king vehemently rejected this, saying that just because the whole world was crazy, they do not, and should not be crazy. And if they would appear to be crazy to the rest of the world, so what. That is no reason to eat the grain that makes people crazy. So they would prepare grain for themselves.

This version of the story has had far fewer adherents throughout our history. But in every generation there have been Jews that never gave up on their own majesty, and have insisted on the majesty of the Jewish people. There have always been those who subsisted on tiny amounts of grain from the ancient fields of Yerushalayim rather than eating from the tainted grain of the world. They reached deep into the store houses of the Beis HaMikdash Shel Maalah, and ate meager meals of Jewish pride.

For these brave souls, every single Jew has always been and will always be a בן/בת מלך - princes and princesses of the King of the Universe. We have never stopped being an אור לגוים - a shining light to the nations of the world.

For those that have never tasted those tainted grains, when faced with the horror, shock and pain of anti-semitism, they did not give up, they did not give in. They rallied around one central cry: We are not OK. This is not normal.

They gathered together and dreamed of, or rather, described and lived, a world where Jews were not simply safe from persecution, but beacons of hope and light for the world.

In their eyes, safety and security were tropes from the world of Galus, from a world where we are ashamed of our nation, our Torah and our God. In the world of majesty, safety and security are not granted by a benevolent host country, they are expected, assumed and obvious.

The Seeds of Geulah

For those who are wondering, where we can find some of these ancient grains, the field was planted in this week's parsha, when the Torah describes Yitzchak Avinu going into the field:

וַיֵּצֵ֥א יִצְחָ֛ק לָשׂ֥וּחַ בַּשָּׂדֶ֖ה לִפְנ֣וֹת עָ֑רֶב - Isaac went out to meditate in the field at the evening.

Chazal tell us that at this moment, Yitzchak instituted the Tefillah of Mincha. Indeed, the Gemara details how Avraham instituted Shachris, Yitzchak instituted Mincha, and Yaakov, Arvis.

In his beautiful Olam HaTefillot, Rabbi Eli Munk relates these three Tefillos to the lives of the Avos. Avraham lived during a time of great light; the dawn of Yiddishkeit. He experienced regular engagements with the Ribbono Shel Olam, and enjoyed success in every aspect of his life: וה׳ ברך את אברהם בכל. Yaakov lived a very different life; a life of Galus. Aside from the years of his youth, he admits to Paroah that his life has been shorter and more bitter than the years of his predecessors.

But what of Yitzchak? Yitzchak lives a life that begins in the sunshine, and ends with the clouds of exile swirling around his head. It is in this life, not quite sunshine, not quite darkness that Yitzchak plants the seeds of Mincha. What is Tefillas Mincha?

Mincha is Yitzchak Avinu's insistence that we not eat from tainted grains, that we not accept the darkness of hatred, despair and subjugation. Yitzchak stands alone crying for us to abandon the madness.

The Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas put it succinctly:

Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The Kedushas Levi explains: In times of great light, we praise God. That's called Shachris. In times of tragedy, we cry to Him, that's Maariv. But this tefillah, the cry of holding back the night, is called Mincha, a gift. It's the greatest thing we can give to Hashem.

Our gift to Hashem is our refusal to accept that we are anything less than royalty, despite what the world may say or do to us. Despite how they make us feel.

How Do We Know?

The question then arrises: How do we know if we have eaten from the tainted grains and gone mad, or if we are still sane? In a crazy world, there is only one acid test:

If, in the aftermath of Pittsburgh, are we driven to point fingers, cast blame and spew hatred, then it is clear we have imbibed the same poison as those who wish to destroy us. We have accepted their madness that a Jew is not inherently beautiful, wonderful and amazing. We have chosen to believe that a Jew is only as good as how useful they are to me, my country, my Beis Medrash or my political party and agenda.

But if, instead, we cry: This is not normal, We are not OK!, then perhaps we retain a shred of sanity from the world of truth. If we are now inspired to gather together with Ahavas Yisrael, then we might still have a chance of shaking this malady.

We must ask ourselves: are we willing to see that the differences between right and left are only so stark if they are not hands connected to the same body?

Are we able to understand that the roots of anti-semitism were planted by Jews who sent us into exile because of Sinas Chinam? Do we realize that we are ones who taught our enemies how to hate a Jew?

Are we able to mourn the loss of eleven Jews who were murdered on Shabbos, in shul, not because "it could've been us," but because it is us? Because our world is broken. Because we don't feel like royalty when we keep mitzvos, because we don't treat each other as royalty when we disagree.

Where to Begin?

For those who fear that we too have been tainted by the madness of anti-semitism, we should begin with the advice of Rebbi Nachman - to find sanity by looking at each other. If we would look, really look, into the faces of our family, friends, neighbors, and rivals, would would see the beauty of the Jewish people.

But the challenge of restoring Jewish majesty does not stop at Ahavas Yisrael. We need to see ourselves as privileged to be Avdei Hashem. We need to daven loud and proud. To wear our Yiddishkeit proudly on our sleeves, and abandon the cynicism that often accompanies our shmiras hamitzvos. Most importantly, we need to see each other as partners; to encourage, assist and cheer each other on, as we grow in Torah and mitzvos.

This past shabbos, we in Boca lost a shining light of our community; a teacher of many of the kids in our shul, Mrs. Dannie Grajower. One of my students, a student of Mrs. Grajower wrote about his teacher:

Mrs. Grajower was a smart teacher. She was creative, witty, and hardworking. She always made three different versions of the test we were taking; each appropriate for the right level of the student. Every class was well thought out and prepared to complete detail.... Mrs. Grajower really was a שרה אמנו. She looked out for others and made things happen while going through the impossible. Every day I sat through class for two years and had no idea. No idea that while I sat worried about tests, sports, and the weekend. Mrs. Grajower was teaching full time, raising a family, and receiving radiation treatment after school each day.

If a mother of three, undergoing radiation could take the time to value each and every student, then I believe we too have a job to do. Eleven lights were extinguished last Shabbos in the broken of a world that doesn't understand the value of Jew, of a shul, of Torah and of a life. It is up to us to rekindle the light that was lost, by embodying the opposite: Treating each Jew as royalty, filling our shul with the sounds of davening and learning and abandoning the pettiness that keeps us apart. Perhaps then we will merit to live in a world of sanity.

5778 - Re'eh - Shabbos Rosh Chodesh Elul

Our Avoda This Elul

Every year when the month of Elul arrived, the Rav of Yerushalayim, Rav Tzvi Pesach Frank, used to relate a childhood memory from when he was still living in the city of Kovno. Rav Yisrael Salanter was also a resident of Kovno, and Rav Tzvi Pesach retained a vivid memory about Rav Yisrael one Elul when he was eight years old.

A sign had been posted in the main shul of Kovno that Rav Yisrael Salanter would be giving a drasha in the afternoon of Shabbos Mevarchim Elul.

"I went to shul at the designated time," said Rav Tzvi Pesach, "and I couldn't find a place to sit. With the innocence of a child, I decided to sit on the steps leading up to the aron kodesh. A few minutes later, Rav Yisrael entered the shul and walked past the aron kodesh to speak. He called out, ‘Rabbosai, we have already bentched Chodesh Elul.'"

"At the moment that Rav Yisrael cried out the word "Elul", he fainted from the awesomeness of the month, and as he fell, he landed on top of me. Everybody in the shul stood up in shock, and brought water to revive Rav Yisrael from his faint."

Rav Tzvi Pesach added, "I was only a boy of eight when this happened, but since that day, I have felt the weight of Rav Yisrael Salanter's Elul."

What Not To Do

We might not feel the weight of that Elul, but we do need to feel something. To try something, to begin somewhere.

The Torah instructs us:

אֵלֶּה הַחֻקִּים וְהַמִּשְׁפָּטִים אֲשֶׁר תִּשְׁמְרוּן לַעֲשׂוֹת בָּאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר נָתַן י"י אֱלֹהֵי אֲבֹתֶיךָ לְךָ לְרִשְׁתָּהּ כל הַיָּמִים אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם חַיִּים עַל הָאֲדָמָה. אַבֵּד תְּאַבְּדוּן אֶת כל הַמְּקֹמוֹת אֲשֶׁר עָבְדוּ שָׁם הַגּוֹיִם אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם יֹרְשִׁים אֹתָם אֶת אֱלֹהֵיהֶם עַל הֶהָרִים הָרָמִים וְעַל הַגְּבָעוֹת וְתַחַת כל עֵץ רַעֲנָן. וְנִתַּצְתֶּם אֶת מִזְבְּחֹתָם וְשִׁבַּרְתֶּם אֶת מַצֵּבֹתָם וַאֲשֵׁרֵיהֶם תִּשְׂרְפוּן בָּאֵשׁ וּפְסִילֵי אֱלֹהֵיהֶם תְּגַדֵּעוּן וְאִבַּדְתֶּם אֶת שְׁמָם מִן הַמָּקוֹם הַהוּא. לֹא תַעֲשׂוּן כֵּן לַי"י אֱלֹהֵיכֶם. כִּי אִם אֶל הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר י"י אֱלֹהֵיכֶם מִכל שִׁבְטֵיכֶם לָשׂוּם אֶת שְׁמוֹ שָׁם לְשִׁכְנוֹ תִדְרְשׁוּ וּבָאתָ שָּׁמָּה.

(1) These are the statutes and the ordinances, which ye shall observe to do in the land which the Lord, the God of thy fathers, hath given thee to possess it, all the days that ye live upon the earth. (2) Ye shall surely destroy all the places, wherein the nations that ye are to dispossess served their gods, upon the high mountains, and upon the hills, and under every leafy tree. (3) And ye shall break down their altars, and dash in pieces their pillars, and burn their Asherim with fire; and ye shall hew down the graven images of their gods; and ye shall destroy their name out of that place. (4) Ye shall not do so unto the Lord your God.

The meforshim grapple with this command: לֹא תַעֲשׂוּן כֵּן לַי"י אֱלֹהֵיכֶם - Don't do this to Hashem your God. What is it that we should not do?

The Baalei HaPeshat (Ibn Ezra, Rashbam, Seforno) explain: We should not emulate the ways of the idol worshipers. They have varied locations and avenues for their service, we have a central location. Our relationships with Hashem, (whilst unique to each person), coalesces into a larger national relationship: הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר י"י אֱלֹהֵיכֶם מִכל שִׁבְטֵיכֶם.

Rabbeinu Bachya (כד הקמח בית הכנסת) writes that today we find this reality in shul:

גדול כח בית הכנסת שהוא דוגמת בית המקדש, ועל כן נקרא מקדש מעט, וכן דרשו רז"ל בפרק בני העיר: ואהי להם למקדש מעט - אלו בתי כנסיות ובתי מדרשות, והתפלה נשמעת שם יותר, לפי שהכל מתקבצין שם, ואין הקב"ה מואס בתפלתן של רבים

The power of Shul is immense for it is likened to the Beis HaMikdash... Since it is a place of coalescence, Tefillah is heard there, for Hashem will never turn away from the Tefillah of the many.

Rashi, however, quotes Chazal, that this pasuk is one of the 613 mitzvos:

אזהרה למוחק את השם, ולנותץ אבן מן המזבח, או מן העזרה.

It is a prohibition to erase the name of Hashem, or to pull out a stone from the altar or from the courtyard.

In the world of Halacha, their is a prohibition of treating the name of Hashem, and the Places dedicated to Him with disrespect.

Letters of the Scroll

This should be a good point of departure to talk about the respect that we should have for our shul, and our davening. But before we do so, there is an deeper level of understanding of this pasuk that unifies the pshat and the Halacha.

The Gemara (מ״ק כה א) tells us:

העומד על המת בשעת יציאת נשמה חייב לקרוע למה זה דומה לספר תורה שנשרף

Someone that witnesses death, is obligated to tear kriyah (even if they are not a relative). To what is it likened? To a Torah scroll that has been burned.

The Ritva (שם) questions : How can we compare every person to a Torah scroll? Of course, people that uphold the values of Torah contain within them parts of Torah, but what about people that are not engaged with Torah and mitzvos, are they also likened to a Sefer Torah?

He quotes from the Ramban (שער הגמול) that the Neshama of a person - every person - is likened to the names of Hashem that are inscribed in the Sefer Torah. That is to say, inside of each and every Jew is a Neshama. That Neshama is quite literally a "piece" of Hashem - a חלק אלוה ממעל. It's a name of Hashem.

The Imrei Emes (אמרי אמת ראה תרס"ח) thus explains: When the Pasuk tells us לֹא תַעֲשׂוּן כֵּן לַי"י אֱלֹהֵיכֶם - Don't do this to Hashem your God, and when Rashi tells us "Don't erase the name of Hashem" the Torah is telling us not to erase the part of Hashem that is inside of each of us. But beyond that, the part of ourselves that we cannot ignore, erase or forget - that's the part that unites us in Avodas Hashem; in the Mikdash, and in the Mikdash Me'at.

You're the Tzadik

The Chiddushei Harim once noticed that a certain Chassid was staring through his window. He asked him "What are you doing?"

The chassid explained: Moshe begins his speech this shabbos with:

רְאֵ֗ה אָנֹכִ֛י נֹתֵ֥ן לִפְנֵיכֶ֖ם הַיּ֑וֹם בְּרָכָ֖ה וּקְלָלָֽה - Behold, I set before you this day a blessing and a curse.

The Ohr Hachaim Hakodosh explains that by looking at Moshe, the face of a tzadik - they would receive Bracha.

The Chassid continues: I too would like to look at a tzadik!

The Chiddushei Harim replied: In that case, you should know that the pasuk tells us ועמך כולם צדיקים - we are all tzadikim. Perhaps you should find the tzadik within yourself and stare at him instead.

Conversations with the Tzadik

I would like, thus, to have a conversation with the tzadikim in our shul, which each one of us; the Neshamos of every person here. Our conversation today is between the deepest, most connected parts of ourselves. Because to have this conversation with only bodies and minds, could, Chalila, result in frustration or even insult.

Rav Kook (Olat Re'iyah I, p. 11) explains:

אין התפלה באה כתקונה כי אם מתוך המחשבה שבאמת הנשמה היא תמיד מתפללת. הלא היא עפה, מתרפקת על דודה בלא שום הפסק כלל, אלא שבשעת התפלה המעשית התפלה הנשמתית התדירית הרי היא מתגלה.

We can only pray the way prayer is supposed to be when we recognize that in fact the soul is always praying. Without stop, the soul soars and yearns for its Beloved. It is at the time of outward prayer, that the perpetual prayer of the soul reveals itself in the realm of action.

That is to say, at our core, everyone here wants to daven in the most real way.

If we address our need to daven purely as a bodily function, (which, of course it is as well,) to ensure that our physical needs are met, then davening is little more than a shopping list. "Hashem, I need health and wealth and lactose free milk and gluten free, sugar free cookies, and avocados..." Such requests are necessary, important, even, but that is not what our Neshamos crave.

If we address Tefillah from the perspective of our intellect, our obligations and Halacha, there too, we have a religious requirement to discharge the duties of Tefillah. So we can rattle off some words and be "Yotzei" - we can fulfill the technical obligation.

But ultimately, as everyone knows, what we really want and need is to have a moment of connection - d'veikus with Hashem. Moments to disconnect from the insanity of the world and login to the world of Avinu Av HaRachaman; to deepen our connection with the Ribono Shel Olam. To get to know Him, and ourselves.

With this understanding, talking to the deepest needs of our Neshamos, I want to address the concerns of a number of people in the past few months regarding our talking in shul.

I am always hesitant to bring this up, because I truly believe that talking in shul is reflective of our Ahavas Yisrael, the desire to connect to our friends. Of course, there are perfectly legitimate reasons to talk in shul, good reasons even. And I don't like to give mussar to the incredible chevra in our Kehillah.

But if we're honest, we all know that the reasons we have to talk in shul might good and acceptable for the body, perhaps we can rationalize them our minds. But our Neshamos are deeply in pain.

So I have some suggestions to make, but before that, the first thing we should all know, is that Hashem does not put us in boxes. For anyone who thinks "I'm a habitual talker, this is not for me,", I have good news! You're wrong. Elul is the time for Teshuva; if we want to be different, there is no reason not to.

The Torah tells us ועתה ישראל - and now, Jewish People... Reb Baruch of Mezhbizh would explain, that regardless of what we've done in the past, ועתה and now, ישראל, you can be a good Jew.

Making a Commitment

These are my suggestions:

1. I, personally, will be Mekabel (בלי נדר) on myself to have no conversations in shul. Please don't be insulted! I'm happy to offer smiles, fist pumps, and handshakes. If you need to speak to me, we can go outside shul. To the best of my ability, this will include conversations with my kids as well. As much as possible, I ask for you all to join me.
2. Regardless of whether or not this is an avoda that you feel ready for right now, we are all going to be mekabel to not, Chas V'shalom, make people feel bad for not talking.
3. For those that are joining me in this essential challenge, I wish to refer to the words to Rabbineu Yonah (Sefer HaYirah): ואם ישבו אצלו בני אדם המדברים, יניע שפתיו וידמה עצמו כמתפלל, ואל יתפאר לומר, איני מדבר, כי כל המתפאר כמעט הוא נוטל את שכרו - If people are sitting by you talking, move your lips and show that you're davening. And never attempt to raise yourself up by saying "I dont talk" for one who makes themselves look good by making others look bad loses all the reward...
4. Finally, as a tzibur, if there is a noise in davening, myself or the Gabbaim will indicate to the chazzan to stop. This a simply a reminder of these values which we hold so dear.

The Tosfos Yom Tov instituted a מי שברך - A special tefillah for people who don't talk in shul, and we will be adding that Tefillah to our davening during Elul. Beginning now:

מי שברך אבותינו, אברהם יצחק ויעקב, משה ואהרן, דוד ושלמה, הוא יברך את כל מי ששומר פיו ולשונו שלא לדבר בעת התפילה, הקב"ה ישמרהו מכל צרה וצוקה ומכל נגע ומחלה, ויחולו עליו כל הברכות הכתובות בספר תורת משה רבינו ובכל ספרי הנביאים והכתובים, ויזכה לראות בנים חיים וקימים ויגדלם לתורה לחופה ולמעשים טובים, ויעבוד את ה' אלוהינו תמיד באמת ובתמים ונאמר אמן. ‏<

He who blessed our forefathers Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, Moshe and Aaron, David and Shlomo, he will bless those who guard their mouth and tongue from speaking during prayers. HaKadosh Baruch He shall guard them from every trouble and distress and from every plague and illness, and they shall be subject to all the blessings written in the Torah of Moshe and all the Prophets and Scriptures, and they will merit strong and healthy children whom they shall educate to [become] Torah [scholars], marry them off and instruct them to do good deeds, and they shall serve Hashem truthfully forever. Amen.

I wish to challenge each of us, this Elul, to treat our shul as a real Makom HaShechina. To ensure that this space enables that real and deeper connection with Hashem to shine. To know that we are truly amongst those who fulfill לשכנו תדרשו - we seek out space for Hashem in our lives, in our shul.

May we be zocheh to the words of the Medrash, as quoted in the אגרת הגר״א:

וכל רגע ורגע שאדם חוסם פיו זוכה בשבילו לאור הגנוז שאין מלאך ובריה יכולים לשער

For every moment that a person hold back their speech, they merit a hidden light that no angel or creation can imagine.

This past Thursday night, I stood in the middle of a crowd of over ten-thousand people; giving support, paying respects and sharing the pain of loosing 17 innocent people to a senseless act of murder and violence.

And as the sun set and the stars appeared, it dawned upon me that it was Chodesh Adar. The first night of the month of Adar, about which Halacha commands, we should increase our simcha. I thought about that line in Shulchan Aruch as I heard a father question whether he had said "I love you" to his daughter on Wednesday morning, the last time he saw her.

Ten thousand people held their breath as the senior class president of Stoneman Douglas high school read the names of the 17 people murdered.

I looked around me, as I was standing amongst the friends, classmates and students of the victims. With each name she read, more and more of the people around me, students, parents, and community members melted in tears, as the sound of sobbing overwhelmed the crowd.

This Thursday, February 15th, was also our daughter, Ayelet's 6th birthday.

Living in a world of contradictions

There's a feeling of sadness that is only matched by the feeling of helplessness. For me, this is compounded with the confusion of wanting to mourn on the hand, and wanting to celebrate on the other. Am I supposed to be happy today? It's Adar, it's Shabbos, my daughter turned six. And yet the horror of Wednesday seems to permeate the air.

One of my friends and colleagues related that saying Hallel this Rosh Chodesh Adar was more challenging than they could manage.

The Strength to Build a Mishkan, and a World

There is a famous machlokes, an argument, with regards to the building of the Mishkan. Rashi is of the opinion that the Torah portions are intentioned recorded out of their historical sequence. Meaning, that after the Torah was given, the Jewish people sinned by worshipping the Egel HaZahav. Only afterwards did Hashem command the building of the Mishkan.

The Ramban disagrees. He argues that the command to build the Mishkan came before the Golden Calf.

Both agree that the Mishkan was build after the Egel. They disagree on when the command was issued. But one wonders, what is this argument really about? What's the nekudas hamachlokes?

To understand this, we must understand, that the Mishkan was, of course, not an ordinary building. And thus the command to build it was asking a tremendous amount from Jewish people.

The Pasuk describes what the Mishkan was to be:

וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם׃ - And let them make Me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them.

The Mishkan was a place, a space, in which Hashem's presence could be felt in the world. And through that experience, a person could bring Hashem into their lives, into their world. The Mishkan, and the Mikdash after it, epitomized the tefillah of לתקן עולם במלכות ש׳די - To fix the world with the Kingship of Hashem.

To accomplish such a feat, the Jewish nation would need nothing less than a Herculean devotion to realize this dream. Indeed, when Hashem instructs Moshe on the building, the Torah relates:

דַּבֵּר֙ אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְיִקְחוּ־לִ֖י תְּרוּמָ֑ה מֵאֵ֤ת כָל־אִישׁ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר יִדְּבֶ֣נּוּ לִבּ֔וֹ תִּקְח֖וּ אֶת־תְּרוּמָתִֽי׃ - Speak to the children of Israel, that they take for Me an offering; of every man whose heart makes him willing you shall take My offering.

Rashi explains that this נדיבות לב - this selfless generosity is defined as רצון טוב - a will to do good. Such a powerful will for good that it has the capacity to bring Hashem into the world.

From Where is this Power Derived?

The Shem Mishmuel, Rav Shmuel Borenstein of Socatchov, explains (Terumah 5672) that there are two places from whence such a powerful will can be derived.

Either it comes from the great heights of Sinai, or the great tragedy of the Egel Hazahav.

One can draw immense strength from Matan Torah, from Chodesh Adar, from the milestones of our children's lives. We can build a Mishkan from the great moments of our history, as individuals and as a nation.

But there is another source of strength. One that is drawn from staring at the abyss of pain, and loneliness and failure, and terror. There's a Mishkan that we build from that place as well; when standing amongst thousands of people, and committing to building a better and safer world.

The Sfas Emes notes that the Mitzvah of happiness in Adar is conveyed in the strangest of ways in Shulchan Aruch:

כשם שמשנכנס אב ממעטין בשמחה,כך משנכנס אדר מרבין בשמחה. - Just like when Av enters, we decrease our happiness, when Adar enters, we increase our happiness.

He explains that real growth, connection to Hashem and living a fulfilled life, can be achieved through both simcha and pain. In Adar, we find Hashem in Simcha - we make the choice to live passionately, with gratitude and grace. But sometimes, we find Hashem in the pain of loss; in the recognition that the world is not perfect; that people are suffering and that we still have a long way to go.

Ultimately, we are building the same Mishkan. Just like we are obligated to find Hashem in joy, we find Him in tears.

Regardless of the Place

These two notions are so beautifully describes by David HaMelech in two of our best known Tehillim, 121 and 130:

שִׁ֗יר לַֽמַּ֫עֲל֥וֹת אֶשָּׂ֣א עֵ֭ינַי אֶל־הֶהָרִ֑ים מֵ֝אַ֗יִן יָבֹ֥א עֶזְרִֽי׃ - A Song of Ascents. I will lift up my eyes to the mountains: From where will my help come?

And, of course:

שִׁ֥יר הַֽמַּעֲל֑וֹת מִמַּעֲמַקִּ֖ים קְרָאתִ֣יךָ י״יֽ׃ - A Song of Ascents. Out of the depths call to You, Hashem.

Both of these, looking to the great mountains, and calling from the depths, are called שִׁ֥יר הַֽמַּעֲל֑וֹת - a song of Ascents.

Rav Hirsch (תהילים קכ א) explains that, of course, this refers to the singing of the Levi'im on steps of the Beis HaMikdash, but beyond that, these songs raise us to higher and higher heights.

מדרגות עליית בני ישראל אל הקדושה, ישראל מגלים את האמת האלקית בדבריהם ועוד יותר בקיומם ובחייו

These are the steps of the ascent of the Jewish nation to holiness. The Jewish people reveals the truth of God in the world through these words, but moreover by the way that we live our lives.

May Hashem give us the strength to combine and channel the love, compassion and concern for the victims, with the simcha, passion and zeal that we have for Yiddishkeit. Perhaps, by drawing strength from both high and low, we will merit to rebuild the Mikdash, and see the fulfillment of the words of Yeshayahu (Perek 2):

וְהָיָה בְּאַחֲרִית הַיָּמִים נָכוֹן יִהְיֶה הַר בֵּית י"י בְּרֹאשׁ הֶהָרִים וְנִשָּׂא מִגְּבָעוֹת וְנָהֲרוּ אֵלָיו כָּל הַגּוֹיִם... וְכִתְּתוּ חַרְבוֹתָם לְאִתִּים וַחֲנִיתוֹתֵיהֶם לְמַזְמֵרוֹת לֹא יִשָּׂא גוֹי אֶל גּוֹי חֶרֶב וְלֹא יִלְמְדוּ עוֹד מִלְחָמָה.

And it shall come to pass in the end of days, That the mountain of the Hashem's house shall be established as the top of the mountains, And shall be praised above the hills; And all nations shall flow unto it... And they shall beat their swords into plowshares, And their spears into pruninghooks; Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, Neither shall they learn war any more.

The Elul Challenge


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September 05, 2016 at 04:58PM
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5776 - Devarim - Shabbos Chazon

A number of months ago, I was learning Mesheches Megillah with my students at Yeshiva High School. We were discussing the halacha of when to read the Megillah if you’re traveling between Yerushalaim - a walled city - and anywhere else - unwalled cities. We explored various scenarios, iterations of cases and I tasked my students with extrapolating the law in each case.

At one point, a student raised their hand and asked: “What happens if you don’t read the Megillah?” “I don’t know,” I responded. “I guess you didn’t do a mitzvah. I don’t know how Hashem deals with that.” They replied, “No, that’s not what I meant. I want to know, if I miss the Megillah - I didn’t hear it all of Purim - is there a make up date? Is there anyway to fix it?”

The answer of course is no. Amongst the harshest realities of our existence, in almost every aspect of our lives, we don’t get do-overs. The Baal Hatanya in his Igeres HaTeshuva (פרק א׳) writes that one can never fully atone for not performing a positive mitzvah, much like one can never catch a bus that they missed. You can always get another bus, but that first opportunity is lost forever.

As the American author Kurt Vonnegut once said:

“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, “It might have been.”

Missed Opportunities in Jewish History:

The tragedy of missed opportunities is intensified and compounded when their is so much greatness latent in the moment that is missed. These days are commemorated in our calendar, at this time of year.

The day we call the 17th of Tammuz was the day that the Roman legion breached the walls of Yerushalayim, signaling the beginning of the end for the Jewish Capital. Yet our sages tell us that the tragedy of the day began many centuries earlier:

When the Jewish people were getting ready to build the golden calf, Aharon HaKohen tried to delay them. As the calf was completed, he stalled the people saying “חג לה׳ מחר” - Tomorrow will be a festival for Hashem. Seemingly, his hope was to delay so that Moshe would return in time, and the festival for the calf would be cancelled.

The Ari HaKadosh, the great 16th century Kabbalist, writes (ליקוטי תורה כי תשא ד״ה ויאמר חג) that:

Aharon HaKohen meant exactly what he said. The next day should have been a Chag for Hashem. On that day, Moshe was to descend with the luchos - the symbol of the eternal relationship with God and His people. That was the power and uniqueness of the day. It was a moment that should have been commemorated as one of the greatest in the Jewish calendar.

The same, of course is true of Tisha Be’av. Chazal tell us (תענית כ״ו ב) that the first calamity that befell the Jewish nation on Tisha Be’av was also wrought by our own hands. It was not the destruction of the Second Temple, or even the First, but rather that Tisha Be’av was the day the spies returned.

On that day a the Jewish people decided not to enter the land. It was supposed to be the day of national Aliyah. Nefesh b’Nefesh Day. People should have been packing their bags, with Moshe Rabbeinu at the helm; ready to inherit the land that Hashem had promised to Avraham. But we missed that opportunity to make the day great.

Indeed, Eicha refers to Tisha Be’av as a Moed - a festival. In context of the passuk, it means a time appointed for the destruction of Yerushalayim, and yet our sages use this verse as a source not to say Tachanun on Tisha Be’av. It sounds almost humorous, but the depths of this truth are astounding. Tisha Be’av should have been a Moed - a Yom Tov.

Missed Opportunities in our lives:

All too often we live our lives procrastinating important activities and decisions. Wasting hours, failing to harness great moments, not taking advantage of that which is in front of our eyes. This is the real Churban. The Gemara (סנהדרין צו עמוד ב) teaches us that when the Babylonians set fire to the First Temple, a voice rang out from heaven: “You’re burning a burnt house!” A Beis HaMikdash that no one cared for is burned already. A squandered opportunity.

There’s a peculiar halacha in Hilchos Tisha Be’av that captures this idea perfectly. The Shulchan Aruch writes (או״ח תקנא ס׳ ט) that during the month of Av we do not get married. Ashkenazi practice is to begin this period from the 17th of Tammuz. Marriage is an expression of Simcha, and this not the time. Nevertheless, the Shulchan Aruch continues

“One may, however, get engaged during this period of time. And even on Tisha Be’av itself, one may get engaged, - שמא יקדמנו אחר - lest someone else precede him.”

The Shulchan Aruch is saying, you’re allowed to get engaged on Tisha Be’av, because if you don’t you might lose out on that opportunity. Perhaps this teaches that if Tisha Be’av is the day that we mourn lost opportunities, it cannot be commemorated with the same flawed behavior. We must ensure we don’t make the mistake again.

This is one Avoda of this time period - valuing our opportunities, with gratitude and alacrity ensuring that we don’t repeat the mistakes of history. But is no way to fix the world we’re in now? And if so, how?

Rav Kook’s Tikkun (מועדי הראי״ה ע׳ תקלו):

From a young age, Rav Kook, later to become the first chief Rabbi of Palestine, would close his Gemara around midnight, throughout the three weeks. He would sit on the floor, and say the tikkun chatzos - The midnight memorial for the Beis HaMikdash. And he would cry. His chavrusa recalled later, that Rav Kook would cry inconsolably, and genuinely, until one night that friend mustered up the courage to ask him how it is that he cries so much. “I too love Eretz Yisrael, and Yerushalayim, and I too wait for Mashiach”, he said “but neither myself not my father nor my grandfather cry as you cry. Why?”

Rav Kook answered: “Because while you, your father, and grandfather are all talmidei chachamim, I am a Kohen. I miss the Beis HaMikdash.”

Our Tikkun:

Perhaps that’s what Rav Nachman M’Breslov means when he writes that the word קינות - Lamentations and crying, is the same letters as תיקון - Fixing. We’re fixing the world by realizing and understanding what we’re missing, for in that we ensure we don’t squander these opportunities any longer. The mourning of Tisha Be’av tonight is our promise that we will not take Yerushalayim for granted. And as we make our commitments, Hashem makes his:

He promises that He will one day fix these days as the Navi Zechariah (זכריה ח,יט) says:

צום הרביעי וצום החמישי וצום השביעי וצום העשירי יהיה לבית יהודה לששון ולשמחה ולמעדים טובים

“The fast of the fourth month, and the fast of the fifth, and the fast of the seventh, and the fast of the tenth, shall be to the house of Judah joy and gladness, and cheerful seasons.”

This doesn’t just mean we won’t fast any longer - it means that Hashem will somehow allow us to capture the essence of these days. To reinstate them as they should be.

If it is to be that we mourn Tisha Be’av this year, then we take it upon ourselves to ensure that it will be the last such Tisha Be’av. We take upon ourselves to harness the potential of this day and everyday, with the confidence that the Almighty will do his share. May we see it soon, speedily in our days.

At 4:16pm on May 14th, 1948, in the Tel Aviv Museum, Rabbi Yehuda Leib Fishman got up from sitting next David Ben Gurion to say the bracha of Shehechiyanu. Arguably, the greatest Shehechiyanu heard in 2000 years. In that moment, Rabbi Fishman realized the dream of a return to our homeland of generations.

But Rabbi Fishman’s presence there should not be taken for granted, and his private purpose for being there, was not at all obvious to the hundreds in attendance that day.

In the weeks leading up to the end of the British Mandate, Jerusalem was under siege, no one could get in, and no one could leave. Rabbi Yehuda Leib Fishman was one of the fortunate few to be invited to the declaration, but feared he would not be able to attend due to the impossibility of getting from Yerushalayim to Tel Aviv under siege.

Despite Ben Grunion’s intentions to keep the meeting and times for the declaration a secret, it soon became public knowledge, that the State was to be Declared on Erev Shabbos, May 14th, 1948. To that end, Rabbi Fishman was approached by a pilot of a two man plane, who offered to fly the Rabbi from Yerushalyim to Tel Aviv. The Rabbi hesitated. Not from the obvious danger of Jordanian bullets, but because his leg was broken and in a full cast, and he feared he would not be able to get into the tiny two seater plane.

But with the stakes so high, and with the help of some friends, Rabbi Fishman was loaded into the passenger seat of the tiny plane, while his broken leg was strapped on to the side, and left dangling outside the plane.

Reb Dovid Kav, one of the senior Rabbeim in KBY, who lived in Yerushalayim at the time told us the story of Rabbi Fishman flying over the city, with his leg out the door.

But his journey was not simply to say Shehechiyanu at this momentum occasion. He arrived with the intention of ensuring that Hashem’s name would appear in the Declaration of Israeli Independence.

In the days preceding Yom Haatzmaut, the members of the Moetzet Ha’am - the national advisory council debated including the line:

“מתוך בטחון באלקי ישראל” With Trust in the God of Israel

Rabbi Fishman argued that the Megilat Haatzmaut could not possibly be complete without mention of God’s name, while members of the secular Zioist parties disagreed.

Finally, at 3pm, just one hour before the State was declared, it was decided that the phrase would read:

“מתוך בטחון בצור ישראל” - We place our trust in the Rock of Israel.

We as religious Jews know that as a reference to God, while the secular camp would interpret it as they wished - a reference to the Land.

But Rabbi Fishman would not relent. When signing the Declaration, just before his name, he wrote the letters: בעז׳ ה׳: or בעזרת ה׳ With the Help of God. Thus ensuring that the momentum document itself would bear clear reference to Hakadosh Baruch Hu.

This decades old debate still rages. It rages over busses, and flights, and public funds and services in Israel. It rages in fights over army service, tax breaks and government subsidies. The question of whether or not we include Hashem in the State of Israel is one that we cannot ignore. Factions on the Left as well as the Right, the religious and the secular, debate these issues hotly on a daily basis.

But the debate does not rage in the State of Israel alone. It rages daily in the hearts and minds of Jews worldwide. More importantly, it rages in our own hearts and our minds everyday. And the question is simple:

How much is God included in our day-to-day lives? Is Hashem a part of our daily Declaration?

Is Hashem’s presence felt in our cars, and commutes? Do we include Him in our daily decisions? In running our own lives, do we put the little בעזרת ה׳ before going work, going to the gym or going out for lunch?

The State of Israel today is a reflection of us, and we of it.

In our own way, we too struggle with framing our lives as Avdei Hashem, we, like Yerushalayim, are under siege from western culture, and our lives are so often so broken we don’t know where or how to go. But the question is obvious. Are we willing to put that little בעזרת ה׳ next to our lives?

This notion is the charge and challenge of Kedoshim Tihyu. As the Ramban famously comments in this weeks parsha, קדש עצמך במותר לך - We are commanded to increase our kedusha in the parts of our lives that the Torah does not comment on. It’s not just about what we eat, what we say, what we do, but how we eat, speak and behave. Are our lives stamped with the בעזרת ה׳ - With Hashem’s help. Are we inviting Hashem into our world, or leaving Him in shul as we rush out to Kiddush?

But it’s hard. Living a committed life is challenging, and it’s oblivious that there are set backs. We’ve all faced them. But conquering is not the point:

A man came to Rav Elyashiv complaining. “Rebbe”, he says, “My whole life I’ve made sure to spend time in the Beis Medrash. My whole life I’ve tried to learn.” Smiling, Rav Elyashiv asks him “So what’s the problem?”

“I remember nothing! For all of my achievements I have nothing to show. I wrote no safarim, I gave no shiurim, I have no talmudim!” He cried.

And as people start to think sometime as they get older, he asked: “Rebbe, what will they write on my matzeiva? What are they going to say? “Here lies Yaankele Shoef? Yaakov who tried?!”

Rav Elyashiv looked back at him calmly and said: “You know, I’m not really into davening at graves. But if I was in a beis hakvaros, and saw a grave saying “Here lies Yaankele Shoef? Yaakov who tried,” That’s where I’d stop to say tehillim. In the place of the one who tried.

And this is the secret of Sefiras HaOmer. We left Mitzrayim behind us, and we’re on our way to Matan Torah.

Rav Eliyahu Dessler (חלק ב עמוד כד) explains that quite literally, we are journeying from a life devoid of God, to a life infused with Godliness. And the Torah tells us that there is a road to take in between - it’s called Sefiras HaOmer, and it works by going step by step, doing a little more each day. He explains that for this reason, the Torah introduces the count with the Passuk:

“וספרתם לכם ממחרת השבת”

We all know that this is a reference to the Yom Tov of Pesach, but here the word שבת doesn’t mean the weekly day of rest, but the day we rested from the world of slavery and mundanity. The day we finally began to live lives of kedusha.

The Holy Aish Kodesh writes in his sefer Tzav V’ziruz that for a Jew to know they are growing is to know what challenge they’re working on right now. Where’s the place in our lives that we’re looking to put the ב״ה? Where are we striving, yearning and pushing ourselves? Which tefillah, or mitzvah or middah or sugya are we trying to grow in? It’s not about results, it’s about embracing the challenge of kedoshim tihyu.

Ultimately, the Avoda of Sefiras HaOmer, the challenge of Kedoshim Tihyu, and of course, the way to bring our beloved State of Israel to a place that reflects our ideology, history and future, is all the same.

We need to muster up the courage, strap our broken legs into a two seater plane, and plant that בעזרת השם all over our lives. One day at a time.