Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

Taking stock of the past two years, one truth becomes increasingly obvious: The State of Israel is far safer than it was before October 7th.

The road to this new status quo has been brutally painful, but the achievements of the IDF in these two years has set the stage for a far more secure State of Israel. Iran’s nuclear programs have been set back, Hezbollah has been decimated. The Houthis have been relegated to their dust bowl once again. And Hamas is a shadow of its former self.

None of this is conclusive. None of this over. But we cannot deny that the State of Israel is doing far better than before.

The same, however, cannot be said about the Jewish diaspora. Jews across the world are finding that once again, flames of ancient hatred are being fueled, kindled and stoked. It is, without doubt, less safe to be a Jew in the diaspora than it was two years ago.

What does this mean for us?

As the month of Cheshvan approaches, I’d like to revisit an idea that I shared a number of years ago: Yidden come in different flavors.

Mind you, I'm not talking about the color of your kippah, the length of your sleeves or your Hashkafa (whatever that means). I'm not even talking about your choice of cuisine. I'm talking about what excites you, what animates you and what drives you in the world of Judaism

In general, I'd like to suggest, there are three primary primary flavors of Jews. Each one exemplified by the emotions in the Jewish calendar. Each Jew, to a certain extent, embodies one of these three – or perhaps a combination.

The Elul Yid: We all know this Jew. We regard them with awe, respect, and sometimes a little cynicism. This is Jew who lives his or her life with the persistent, ever present understanding that Yom HaDin is coming. Every action must be performed meticulously, every mitzvah with alacrity. Time is short, and there is much to be achieved. This Jew holds themselves to the highest standards in mitzvah observance. The Elul Yid holds themselves accountable for everything, and by extension, holds you accountable as well.

The Adar Yid: These Yidden are the most fun always living a life of simcha. The Adar Yid knows that the only way to over come a challenge is to sing, dance and laugh. He or she excels at bringing simcha to others. Every mitzvah is an opportunity, every day a new moment to celebrate. They make joy seem so effortless, you wonder what their secret might be. Sometimes the Adar Yid drives you crazy and you wish you could borrow those rose colored glasses for a moment.

The Av Yid: I used to make fun of the Av Yidden, with their serious demeanor, and kill-joy attitude. Av Yidden are not always easy to be around. But truth is, the Av Yid knows all too well that there is pain in this world, that can only be remedied with sensitivity, compassion and empathy. The Av Yid understands that life is short, and that things often don't work out the way we planned. The Av Yid find comfort and meaning in getting through it together. Most importantly, the Av Yid takes responsibility for the world around them, and lives to make it better.

Think of the members of your family. Who are the Elul, Adar and Av Jews closest to you? If you think about it for a moment, you might be able to assess what kind of Yid you are – or at least the ingredients.

Our calendar contains many hybrid emotions as well. Each month and Yom Tov carries a unique a flavor profile, a bouquet of emotions. By the time the year is complete, we will have engaged every Yid, every emotion, every flavor.

Of course, all except for Mar-Cheshvan. The most boring month of the year. Cheshvan is the sugar-free, gluten-free, flavor-free month of the year. If Tishrei is a five course steak dinner, Cheshvan is unsalted kale chips. It's the epitome of uneventful. Day after long day of the same. Week after week of routine, habits and monotony.

And it begs the question: Couldn’t the Torah have spread the love a little more evenly?

The Bnei Yissaschar explains, however, that this month, more than any other, contains within it the greatest promise, as well as the greatest challenges.

The Medrash (ילקוט שמעוני מלכים סימן קפד) explains that Chodesh Mar-Cheshvan is the month in which we will one day rebuild and rededicate the Beis Hamikdash. But the Navi (מלכים ב׳ יז:כא) tells us that it's also the month that our people became tragically and irreparably fractured. It's the month that Yerovam ben Nevat split off to form the Northern kingdom following the death of Shlomo HaMelech.

What is the source of the great potential of this month? The answer might best be found in understanding Parshas Noach.

Noach is a polarizing figure in Chazal. On the one hand, the Torah calls him a tzadik, but the pasuk then qualifies, “in his generation”.

Rashi, famously notes this dispute: Was Noach a tzadik only when compared to the evil doers of his generation, or perhaps in spite of them?

This dispute bothered me for a long time, it is unlike Chazal to attempt to defame a someone who the Torah calls a Tzadik. Give him the benefit of the doubt!

But, of course, if Chazal saw within Noach a complex, and nuanced person. Noach is us. Noach is the Cheshvan Yid.

Noach grows up in a world of moral decay and depravity. Noach, alone, realizes the decrepitness of such society, and is thus chosen by Hashem to build an ark, so that life may be spared.

For over a century, Noach builds and builds, fending off ridicule, excommunication and social ostracism. Yet he perseveres. When the flood waters descend, he, along with his family, are tasked with taking care of the needs of every animal – a job he does with compassion and dedication.

And then the flood is over, and Noach steps out into a new world, free of depravity, cleansed from the mistakes of the past, and is given carte blanch to build the world as he sees fit.

But here begins Noach's real challenge. The war is over... For now.

His Cheshvan has arrived, and the world is open to him. He no longer needs to act in reaction to, but now proactively. There are no cues, no foils, not problems. Noach is handed the blank check of a brave new world.

It is in this wide open space that he plants a vineyard, harvests his grapes and gets drunk. With nothing to react to, Noach is lost. He knows how to be an Elul tzadik, a Tishrei tzadik. But the real challenge is Cheshvan.

In 1978, Rav Soloveitchik delivered a lecture at M.I.T, later printed in Tradition, as “Catharsis”. In that essay, he develops the idea of the heroism of normative life. He explains that living according the values and details of Halacha with its demands and relentlessness is heroic.

“It is less spectacular than the death of an Achiles; yet it is more heroic, more redeeming, because it is performed in humility and in the hush of a dark night of loneliness.”

In essence, the Rav is speaking about the Cheshvan Yid. The world of limitless untapped potential lies in the slow burn; the steady methodical transformation of ourselves and the world around us.

So Hashem asks us now: What kind of Jew are you proactively? What fills you time and fuels your life during the long nights of Cheshvan? The answer to this question is perhaps the most challenging of our lives. If given the time, given the chance, given the blank slate, who will we become? Who do we wish to become?

This is the month to build the Beis HaMikdash of our lives. To add our bricks, to make our changes. Hashem should help us to make this the greatest month of our lives.

By request from a number of members, I’m publishing some thoughts from my Drasha on Shmini Atzeres 5786.

This is the day after. The day that the world has been be speaking of for two years. With fear, with questions. What will Israel do the day after?

For us it was never a question. This day, the day after, is the day we embrace our brothers and sisters who returned from captivity. It is the day we mourn those who did not.

It is the day to remember when it all began.

Miraculously, today is also the day that Hashem gave us Simchas Torah again. Somehow, this year, we can celebrate, with joy and tears.

Last year, it seemed like our celebration was divorced from reality, a suspension of our the current pain of Klal Yisrael. We drew from ancient wells of joy; from generations past, from futures yet unknown. With danced with the Torah, shrouded in tears.

This year, the tears are still there. They have not abated, but somehow, our hearts and lives are bigger. In the grand collective soul of our nation, joy and tears can be held together.

I, along with all of you, watched the overwhelming emotional reunions. David HaMelech wrote about these moments: כי רגע באפו חיים ברצונו – For His anger is but a moment, Life is with His will. Rav Moshe David Valle explains this Pasuk as a taste of what the future final redemption will be. When that great day comes, it will feel as if all the pain was only a moment.

והנה יכירו וידעו גם הם בגמר מלאכתם שכל הצער שהיה להם בזמן הבירור אפילו שהיה זמן הרבה לא יחשב בעיניהם אלא כרגע קטון בעת שיתגלה הרצון העליון המביא את החיים וזה סוד כי רגע באפו חיים ברצונו ורזא דא ברגע קטון עזבתיך וברחמים גדולים אקבצך בערב ילין בכי זהו זמן הגלות והבירור הדומה לערב ולבקר רנה זהו זמן הגאולה הדומה לבקר כי מתעורר בו רזא דבקר לאברהם להציל ולהושיע

The pain is still there. But somehow the joy will be greater.

All over social media, people have been sharing the Pasuk from Nechemia 8 that defines this Chag:

וַיַּעֲשׂוּ כל־הַקָּהָל הַשָּׁבִים מִן־הַשְּׁבִי  סֻכּוֹת וַיֵּשְׁבוּ בַסֻּכּוֹת כִּי לֹא־עָשׂוּ מִימֵי יֵשׁוּעַ בִּן־נוּן כֵּן בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל עַד הַיּוֹם הַהוּא וַתְּהִי שִׂמְחָה גְּדוֹלָה מְאֹד׃

And all the congregation that had returned from the captivity made succoth, and they dwelt in the succoth. For the children of Israel had not done so from the days of Yeshua the son of Nun until that day. And the joy was very great.

Indeed, the joy we are feeling is enormous. But the Gemara (Arachin 32b) explains what they did what that joy:

דִּבְעוֹ רַחֲמֵי עַל יֵצֶר דַּעֲבוֹדָה זָרָה, וּבַטְּלֵיהּ They prayed for mercy with regard to the evil inclination of idol worship and nullified it.

What was it about this joy that was so transcendent, so powerful that they vanquished all desire for idolatry?

These were the Jews who had returned from Babylonian, Persian and Median Exile. It was this season about which Nechemia writes:

אַל־תִּתְאַבְּלוּ וְאַל־תִּבְכּוּ כִּי בוֹכִים כּל־הָעָם כְּשׁמְעָם אֶת־דִּבְרֵי הַתּוֹרָה׃ Do not mourn and do not weep. For all the people wept when they heard the words of the Torah.

The people wept for their failures, their sins, their impotence and ignorance. They wept for the first Temple, whose glory would never be restored. The wept for the vast majority of their brothers and sisters who chose to stay in exile, never to return.

And yet, that Sukkos, they celebrated. They chose to celebrate. They chose joy, despite the pain.

Chazal (Sanhedrin 94a) tell us: בִּיקֵּשׁ הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא לַעֲשׂוֹת חִזְקִיָּהוּ מָשִׁיחַ, וְסַנְחֵרִיב גּוֹג וּמָגוֹג – Hashem wanted to make Chizkiyahu Mashiach.

אָמְרָה מִדַּת הַדִּין לִפְנֵי הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא: רִבּוֹנוֹ שֶׁל עוֹלָם, וּמָה דָּוִד מֶלֶךְ יִשְׂרָאֵל שֶׁאָמַר כַּמָּה שִׁירוֹת וְתִשְׁבָּחוֹת לְפָנֶיךָ – לֹא עֲשִׂיתוֹ מָשִׁיחַ, חִזְקִיָּה שֶׁעָשִׂיתָ לוֹ כּל הַנִּסִּים הַלָּלוּ וְלֹא אָמַר שִׁירָה לְפָנֶיךָ – תַּעֲשֵׂהוּ מָשִׁיחַ? לְכָךְ נִסְתַּתֵּם.

The attribute of justice said before the Holy One, Blessed be He: Master of the Universe, and if with regard to David, king of Israel, who recited songs and praises before You, You did not designate him as the Messiah, then with regard to Hezekiah, for whom You performed all these miracles, delivering him from Sennacherib and healing his illness, and he did not recite praise before You, will You designate him as the Messiah?

Why didnt Chizkiyahu sing? Perhaps he didn’t sing because ten tribes had been exiled. Perhaps because his nation had been miraculously spared, and yet, the toll of war, siege and fear was still thick in the air.

But Hashem has given us this day, this Chag. This moment to sing, to rejoice, to say Thank You Hashem.

And perhaps, if we can choose joy, choose life, choose each other, choose Hashem, then we too can vanquish the evil plaguing our world, our souls, our lives.

May we soon merit the words of the Navi: בְּרֶגַע קָטֹן עֲזַבְתִּיךְ וּבְרַחֲמִים גְּדֹלִים אֲקַבְּצֵךְ׃ – For a little while I forsook you, but with immense love I will bring you back.

Imagine two people, arrested by the police under suspicion of committing a crime. There is insufficient evidence to convict them on a serious charge; there is only enough to convict them of a lesser offence. The police decide to encourage each to inform against the other. They separate them and make each the following proposal: if you testify against the other suspect, you will go free, and he will be imprisoned for ten years. If he testifies against you, and you stay silent, you will be sentenced to ten years in prison, and he will go free. If you both testify against one another, you will each receive a five-year sentence. If both of you stay silent, you will each be convicted of the lesser charge and face a one-year sentence.

It doesn’t take long to work out that the optimal strategy for each is to inform against the other. The result is that each will be imprisoned for five years. The paradox is that the best outcome would be for both to remain silent. They would then only face one year in prison. The reason that neither will opt for this strategy is that it depends on collaboration. However, since each is unable to know what the other is doing – there is no communication between them – they cannot take the risk of staying silent. This problem, an outgrowth of John von Neumann's game theory, is called the Prisoner’s Dilemma. It is remarkable because it shows that two people, both acting rationally, will produce a result that is bad for both of them.

There are two practices of Chol HaMoed Sukkos that seem diametrically opposed to one another. One the one hand, we have the Simchas Beis HaShoeva, quite literally the happiest sight in all of Jewish history, and on the other, the reading of Kohelet, quite possibly the most depressing and sobering Sefer in Tanach (that doesn't deal with destruction.) But the answer to this problem, is the solution to the prisoners' dilemma.

Simchas Beis HaShoeva

The Mishna (Sukka 51a) describes the celebrations in the Beis HaMikdash during Sukkos:

מתני׳ מי שלא ראה שמחת בית השואבה לא ראה שמחה מימיו... מנורות של זהב היו שם... ולא היה חצר בירושלים שאינה מאירה מאור בית השואבה

One who did not see the Celebration of the Place of the Drawing of the Water never saw celebration in his days... There were golden candelabra atop poles there in the courtyard... And the light from the candelabra was so bright that there was not a courtyard in Jerusalem that was not illuminated from the light of the Place of the Drawing of the Water.

It is curious to note: What were they so happy about? There was no food, no drink. Indeed, all that they had was light – and so much of it that it illuminated the entirety of Yerushalayim! But how is this the source of happiness?

Dovid HaMelech writes in Tehillim (97:11):

א֭וֹר זָרֻ֣עַ לַצַּדִּ֑יק וּֽלְיִשְׁרֵי־לֵ֥ב שִׂמְחָֽה Light is implanted in the tzadik, but the one who is upright of heart is happy.

What is the difference between a person who is upright and a person who is a tzadik?

The Malbim (ibid.) explains:

הצדיק הוא הכובש יצרו, והישר לב טבעו נוטה אל הטוב והוא ישמח כי אין לו מלחמה פנימית A Tzadik is a person who (struggles) and conquers their Yetzer Hara. But the one who is upright of heart is happy – he doesn't have any internal struggle.

Thus he explains: The light that a tzadik experiences is the light of Hashem that shines within them, as they embark on a new challenge. By developing, harnessing and investing in that light, they will eventually reach a point of simcha – of being a ישר לב.

To that end, we must consider that every Jew after Yom Kippur is a tzadik. Not quite ישרי לב – we are still struggling, but tzadikim.

Indeed, the vidui that we recite over and over again on Yom Kippur implies this same:

שאין אנו עזי פנים וקשי עורף לומר לפניך ד'...צדיקים אנחנו ולא חטאנו אבל אנחנו ואבותינו חטאנו We are not brazen enough to say that we are righteous and without sin... but we and our ancestors have sinned.

At no point do we denigrate ourselves to say we are reshaim – or even benonim – Apparently, we are brazen enough to say we are tzadikim! Tzadikim, who happened to have sinned.

So what advice does David HaMelech have for the struggling, (or flailing) tzadik, who does not yet experience the simcha of success? > שִׂמְח֣וּ צַ֭דִּיקִים בַּי״י֑ וְ֝הוֹד֗וּ לְזֵ֣כֶר קדְשֽׁוֹ > – Be happy in Hashem, you tzadikim; And give thanks to His holy name.

The Malbim continues: > שמחו צדיקים בה׳ – כי הוא דבוק עמכם בדבקות אהבה > You, the struggling tzadik – be happy! Hashem is connected to you with bonds of love.

The אור ה׳ that shines on the person in conflict, the person struggling, the person that wants to change is enough to be happy. That was the light of the שמחת בית השואבה.

The Beis Yaakov (בית יעקב הכולל שמחת בית השואבה ד״ה מי שלא ראה) explains similarly, that the light of that celebration was a reflection of the light inside each and every Jew, that enabled them to understand how precious each person is to Hashem.

The Greatness of Knowing Our Worth

But the Beis Yaakov then continues: Hashem made people with the innate capacity to receive from each other. But in a world of where each person is jealously protecting their own value, we cannot give and we cannot receive. But the moment a person understands their own value, that Hashem values them, they will not be afraid to share with others. Ultimately, the pain of exile comes from the stinginess and disconnect between people. The reason we act in a self interested way is that we believe that we need to exert are value. “If I don't stand up for myself, I will be valueless – so I cannot give, I certainly cannot receive.”

But at the Simchas Beis HaShoeva, where everyone felt their own self worth, they could finally give and take. For this reason, the Gemara explains how the Talmidei Chachamim would celebrate – juggling fire, and doing handstands – each one expressing themselves for the benefit of each other.

Hillel HaZaken would enter and declare: אם אני כאן – הכל כאן – If I am here, everyone is here. That is to say, “Look at me, what I have achieved. If I can do it, so can you. Let's help each other to grow together.”

The Value of Koheles

Koheles, written by the wisest of all people, Shlomo HaMelech is a somber tale of the futility of all our efforts. Why do we read it now? Why is this the focus of Shabbos Chol HaMoed? How does it compliment the Simchas Beis HaShoeva?

The Sfas Emes (וילך תרמ”ב) explains:

ויתכן לומר כי שלמה המלך ע”ה חיבר ספר קהלת על שם מצות הקהל שהיא בסוכות, וכשראה שיתבטל בית המקדש ומצות הקהל שנתחדש אז הארת התורה בכל שמיטה, הניח זה הכח בספר קהלת שחיבר על ימי הסוכות

Shlomo Hamelech wrote Koheles based on the Mitzvah of Hakhel (when the entirety of the nation would gather together) to be read on Sukkos. When he realized that the Beis HaMikdash would one day be destroyed, and the mitzvah of HaKhel along with it, he wrote Koheles.

The entirety of Koheles describes the futility of the individuals pursuit. It's a grand mussar shiur on the worthlessness of selfishness. הֲבֵל הֲבָלִים אָמַר קֹהֶלֶת – From the perspective of the Kahal – the Koheles – selfish pursuits are temporal, fickle and worthless.

The Solution to the Prisoners Dilemma is in realizing that Hashem already thinks I'm valuable, and there is no risk in helping another.

And this is the great secret of Sukkos: a life of Koheles; a life of Simchas Beis HaShoeva. May we soon be zocheh to see it במהרה בימינו.

The Chidushei HaRim once questioned why it is that immediately after Yom Kippur, Maariv begins with והוא רחום יכפר עוון – May the merciful one forgive our sins.

What sins could we possibly have committed in the five second interval between finishing Ne’ilah and starting Maariv?

He answered: We are asking Hashem to forgive us for the sin of not believing that Yom Kippur worked. Even after the final Shofar sounds, we are still questioning if Hashem accepted our Teshuva. We are still wondering if we are truly purified of our faults and failures.

The Avoda in the days following Yom Kippur is to know that we are changed people.

But there is a flip side to this deep faith. A question grounded in years of trial and error...

Reb Shimele Zelichoever served as the Mashgiach of Yeshivas Chachmei Lublin in the days when Rav Meir Shapiro was the Rosh Yeshiva. He told his Talmidim (נהרי א”ש עמ’ רטז) that he was once asked how it could be that after Yom Kippur we sometimes find ourselves returning to the same mistakes? If Yom Kippur has truly cleansed us of our sins, then perhaps we might be tempted to fail in other ways... but why do we return to the same failures again and again, year after year?

This question, he explained, had bothered him for many years as well, until he found the answer hidden in the books of the students of the Baal Shem Tov:

The power of Yom Kippur lies in its ability to purify and cleanse us from anything we have done against Hashem’s wishes. On Yom Kippur, Hashem forgives every action we have done. Beyond that, Yom Kippur fixes everything we said, leaving our mouths pure, and ready to engage in words of Kedusha. Yom Kippur can even atone for our thoughts, like anger, jealousy, hatred, licentiousness and self loathing.

But there is a limit. Yom Kippur cannot fix what you want.

Practically, there is no sin in the Ratzon to sin. Nothing has happened yet. No thought, speech or action. So Yom Kippur cannot atone for it. Which means that our deepest desires remain unchanged from year to year. Yom Kippur cleans out everything that we done. But our wills and wants haven’t yet materialized.

If we want that to change, we’ll need to do it ourselves.

Why do we return to the same failures? Because, the truth is that as much as we say we want to change, we don’t actually want to change. As Mori V’Rabi Rav Blachman often says “we wish to will to want to aspire to one day be different.” We’re often many steps removed.

To that end, perhaps there is a deep psychological power in leaving our homes, and entering into the Sukkah. This simple change enables us to arrest the habits that we have formed, allowing us to take stock, and perhaps even take control. It’s the first step on the road to beginning the work of actual transformation.

Charles Duhigg, in “The Power of Habit”, explains that the “cue” or trigger for a habit is a specific prompt that initiates the habit loop, consisting of a Cue, a Routine, and a Reward. These triggers typically fall into one of five categories: location, time of day, emotional state, other people, or an immediately preceding action.

The conscious identifying of these triggers is a key step in changing or creating habits, as it allows us to understand what starts a behavior and allows us to choose a different routine.

As such, the Sukkah is paradigmatically removing us from the norms of life. We are obligated to move to a different location. Our daily schedule is reshuffled. We are commanded to maintain a state of emotion excitement and joy. We invite guests, from the spiritual and physical words, and our actions now include shaking the arba minim and circling the bima daily.

Of course, while each of these have their reasons in halacha and minhag, the entirety of Sukkos is defined as צא מדירת קבע ושב בדירת עראי – leave your comfortable permanence, and spend some time in a place of transience. The Sukkah invites us to get used to being different. It’s ok, we’re all trying to be different.

Maybe if we spend a little time, boldly living the dreams and aspirations of Yom Kippur, we might find ourselves actually wanting to change.

May we merit to become the people we’re hoping to be.

Some Thoughts Before Yom Kippr

Like many of his Jewish contemporaries in turn-of-the-century Germany, young Franz Rosenzweig embarked upon a quest for personal religious solutions to the puzzles of human existence. Though unsatisfied by the aridity of the prevailing philosophical schools, his superficial Jewish education had not equipped him to counter the attractions of liberal Protestantism, which professed to embody the essence of enlightened universalism.

In 1913 Rosenzweig resolved to adopt Christianity, a move which was conventionally viewed as a necessary prerequisite to full acceptance into European culture and society. However he wished to enter the new religion “as a Jew,” and therefore determined to spend the last days before his conversion in Jewish settings, emulating the founders of Christianity who had seen the new faith as a fulfilment of their Judaism.

When Rosenzweig confided his plans to his mother, she threatened to have her apostate son turned away from the Yom Kippur services in the central synagogue of Cassel. It thus turned out that Rosenzweig came to daven on Oct. 11 1913 at a tiny shtiebl in Berlin.

The experience was an overpowering one. Rosenzweig never described precisely what happened in that small shitebel. All we know that immediately afterwards his perspectives underwent a complete reversal, and that the prospect of conversion was “no longer possible.”

A biographer would later describe how Franz Rosensweig, that Yom Kippur, converted from Judaism, to Judaism.

A Day from the Next World

The Sefer Ikarim (4:33) describes the moment of a person's death. In that one instant, freed from the limitations of the physical body, the soul perceives itself as it truly is. It's a moment of great awakening. For some, that moment is liberating, a moment of realizing the greatness that has been achieved throughout a life of overcoming challenges, and building connections and striving for perfection. It is that feeling that is called Gan Eden

But the opposite is true as well.

When Reb Zusha was on his deathbed, his students found him in uncontrollable tears. They tried to comfort him by telling him that he was almost as wise as Moshe and as kind as Avraham, so he was sure to be judged positively in Heaven. He replied, “When I get to Heaven, I will not be asked Why weren't you like Moshe, or Why weren't you like Avraham. They will ask, Why weren't you like Zusha? Why didn't you fully live up to your own potential?”

In truth, however, this question is not one we will be surprised to hear when we leave this world. It is the question that Yom Kippur asks us each year.

In many ways, Yom Kippur mimics the experience of the soul leaving the body. Indeed, for the next twenty four hours, we will all but ignore the needs of our physical selves. We will abstain from necessary food and drink. We will not bathe, or experience intimacy. We will divorce ourselves wholly from the demands of our bodies. Like the angels on high, we will say ברוך שם aloud in the Shema tonight and tomorrow.

The Talmud (Yerushalmi 42a) quotes a Beraisa: יום מיתה כיום תשובה – the day of death is like Yom Kippur, the day of Teshuva.

Thus Yom Kippur offers us a taste of the same other worldly experience.

Entering The Mikdash

On Yom Kippur we are entering into the other world, the Beis HaMikdash Shel Maalah. As we enter, who will we meet here? We come in as ourselves, but inside this world there is another person, that stares back at us from the behind the Paroches.

We know that person, it's he person we could have been this year. We encounter that individual that we hoped we would be by now, the one who conquered that particular issue, fixed that long standing problem. We stare into the face of that Jew, and wonder why that person is not us.

So we begin... Ashamnu, Bagadnu... we failed to live up to our dreams of last year. This was not how we wanted to arrive to the Beis HaMikdash on Yom Kippur, and yet, here we are.

But the goal of Yom Kippur is not, God forbid, shame, but opportunity instead. It is the gift of knowing that even as we taste of the world of truth, we will not stay here, we get to reenter our world tomorrow night. But for the next twenty-four hours, we have a job – an Avoda.

Who is the Real You?

The central Avoda of Yom Kippur involved two goats. To the outside world, they look identical. But internally they couldn't be more distant. One is LaShem. The other, La'azazel.

They arrive to the mikdash at the same time; they're the same height, same color, same age. But one will be destined to for the mizbeach, the highest service possible. The other will be extracted, and pushed unceremoniously off a cliff.

And there are two versions of ourselves: The actual self, the self of last year, and the ideal, the self of tomorrow. To the outside world, they are the same. No one knows our inner world, no one understands our private commitments, our hopes, dreams and plans. Know one knows the places we have succeeded, and the places where we have failed.

But Hashem asks us today, which version are you keeping, and which are you pushing off the cliff? Only one person entered your Yom Kippur, and only one can leave. But which version? Over the next 24 hours, we will make a choice: Are we keeping our dreams, and leaving our current selves behind, or are we clinging to our current selves, allowing our aspiration to be pushed aside and pushed away. That's up to each of us.

Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, the Alter Rebbe wanted to “test” his young grandson, Menachem Mendel who would later become the third Rebbe of Chabad, the Tzemach Tzedek. He sat him on his lap and asked him: “Where is zaide?” The young Menachem Mendel pointed to his grandfather's head. The Alter Rebbe smiled and shook his head: “No. That is zaide's head. Where is zaide?” The child pointed to his grandfather's chest. Again the Rebbe smiled but shook his head: “No. That is zaide's heart. Where is zaide?” And so the exercise continued until the child stood in seeming bewilderment.

He jumped off his grandfather's lap and went, so it seemed, to play outside. Suddenly a sharp cry was heard from outside the Rebbe's window: “ZAIDE! ZAIDE!” The Alter Rebbe rushed outside to see what had happened and was greeted with a grinning Menachem Mendel who chirped merrily: “Here is zaide!” The young child realized that there was no “grandfather” that could be pointed at. Grandfather was the man who came running out to him when he called his name.

Making the Upgrade

Which version is the real you? When Hashem calls your name this Yom Kippur, who is running onto the stage?

In the Kaparos service on Erev Yom Kippur, we raise some money, or a chicken and recite: this is my exchange... Yom Kippur asks us to make an exchange. To switch out the old model of us, and switch in the new.

The Shem Mishmuel (עמוד קי) explains that each day of the Aseres Yemei Teshuva corresponds to one of the ten utterances with which Hashem created the world.

The first two, בראשית and ויהי אור are the two days of Rosh HaShana; which began with היום הרת עולם – today is the conception of the world. We have progressed for the past nine days to see the world develop. There are seas and skies, birds, bugs and beasts. There is a sun and a moon, and billions of light years of planets and space that span the galaxy.

But today is the final day of creation. Today is the day of נעשה אדם – Let Us create mankind. Note the plural. We are going to create ourselves together with Hashem.

Reb Yissachar Dov of Belz would explain that the Shehechiyanu we make on the night of Yom Kippur is not for the day, nor the service. We make a Shehechiyanu on our new selves. The ideal selves that we have not seen since we left them behind last Yom Kippur, or perhaps much longer.

Reb Simcha Bunim of Peshishcha would tell the story of a young man, standing at the train station to catch a train to Warsaw. In the confusion of the moment, instead of boarding the train to take him to Warsaw, he took the train that had left Warsaw, and was going the other direction.

The Rebbe continued: In the world of truth, the world of Yom Kippur, they will not ask why you got on the wrong train. They'll ask why you didn't get off and change direction.

This is what changed in Franz Rosensweig. He saw the direction he was going. He saw the Jew he could be, and he got off the train. He pushed the other self off the cliff, he changed direction.

We are making our exchange – זֶה חֲלִיפָתִי, זֶה תְּמוּרָתִי, זֶה כַּפָּרָתִי. We leave behind the failures of last year, – וַאֲנִו נלֵךְ לְחַיִּים טוֹבִים אֲרֻכִּים וּלְשָׁלוֹם – as we walk together to a long life of goodness and peace.

A number of years ago, this story was told to Rav Zilberstein by a doctor:

I have a patient, a wife in her thirties who had a son. The process of having this child was the product of many infertility treatments, thousands of dollars and immense good fortune. After this boy was born, the doctors informed the couple that this would be their only child. It was medically impossible for her to conceive and carry another child to term.

And so, resigned to their fate, this couple poured their hearts and souls into the raising of this little boy; sending their son to a great school, ensuring he had wonderful teachers. They made sure to spend time and resources on giving him everything he needed.

As is typical in Jewish day schools, when their son was around six years old, they received a letter in his backpack inviting them to the annual siddur play, in which all the children in the grade would be given, for the first time, their very own siddur. Excitedly, they anticipated the day, and when they sat in the audience and watched their little boy singing tefillos to Hashem, their hearts filled with joy. They watched the smile on their son's face as his name was called, his siddur handed to him.

As they returned home that night, their son clutching his siddur, he turned to his parents and said:

“I'm so excited to have a siddur. Now I can ask Hashem for what I really want.”

“Well, what is it that your really want?” His parents asked?

“I want a baby brother.”

His parents were dumb founded. What could they say? On the one hand, it was medically impossible, and on the other hand, how could they tell their son not to daven? So they looked at him and said “You have a siddur, you know how to daven, so ask Hashem for a baby brother.”

Nine months later, his brother was born.

Moshe Rabbeinu is standing by the burning bush and Hashem is attempting to persuade him to take the job of leading the nation out of Mitzraim. Moshe, for his part, has many reasons why he should not go, finally culminating in his complaint that he has a debilitating speech impediment – How could I possibly be the person to speak to Paroah and the nation? Hashem then tells Moshe, that He will send Aharon to be the spokes person instead.

The Ramban (4:10) asks a tremendous question: Hashem is Hashem. Why didn't he simply heal Moshe's speech impediment?!

It's quite simple, says the Ramban: Moshe never prayed for it.

Why is davening so difficult? Why do we have such a hard time making our way through the siddur or the machzor?

Allow me to suggest, audaciously, that we don’t have a problem with tefillah at all. When we really want something, we do pray for it.

In times of crisis, when we are acutely aware of our vulnerabilities – during sickness, or war – our ability to pray becomes self evident. These moments, like we’ve experienced since October 7th, teach us something so valuable about ourselves – that each of us can truly daven: קרוב ה' לכל קוראיו לכל אשר יקראוהו באמת.

Rav Kook in his Olas Re'iah explains this phenomenon:

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.

Real Tefillah can only result from the understanding that in essence, the soul is always davening. Does she not fly, hovering to her beloved without any disconnect at all? Only that in the moment of actual prayer, this constant connection is revealed in practice.

What Rav Kook is teaching us is that tefillah our natural state of being. Each of us is a חלק אלוק ממעל ממש – A piece of Hashem, and in truth, we want to connect to Hashem again. Tefillah is not foreign to us, it is who we are.

Our difficulty with davening is not our ability. It’s our desire. Are we ready to focus on what’s lacking in our lives? Are we ready to ask for the changes that our tefillah will bring?

We’re caught between the guilt of knowing we should be davening seriously, and the lethargy that lures us into complacency.

If this resonates, here are some suggestions to alleviate the anguish that accompanies attending shul on the Yamim Noraim.

1. Become An Advocate in Shamayim

In some ways, it's easier for us to ask on behalf of others. If it's challenging to ask Hashem for our own needs, it is so much easier to ask for others. Rav Wolbe writes that the primary obligation of a parent is to daven for their kids. Which of our kids does not need our tefillos? For health, for success in school, for a stable and safe social life?

2. Find a Tefillah Buddy

Everyone needs something, some more than otheres. There are people in our kehillah battling sickness, financial concerns, infertility and trauma. Chazal (Bava Kama 92) tell us: כל המבקש רחמים על חבירו, והוא צריך לאותו דבר – הוא נענה תחילה – Anyone who davens for their friend and needs the same thing is answered first. If you know of someone else who shares your need; daven for them. Feel free to tell them, or not to. But including that person in your tefillos is an opening for you as well.

3. Don’t Just Daven to Hashem, Daven for Hashem

The Shela HaKadosh explains that in the deepest way, all of our tefillos are for Hashem. He created us, and this world. He gave us our lives and everything that fills them. We are not davening for our own purpose, but to fulfill His. Like a good parent, Hashem is happiest when His children are healthy, wealthy and getting along. Ask for the things you need, with the confidence that Hashem really wants to give them to you.

As we prepare to enter the season of our greatest Tefillah, my prayer is that succeed in transcending the words on the page. The words and letters should provide the springboard to more profound relationships with Hashem, ourselves and each other.

Wishing us all a כתיבה וחתימה טובה.

Even amidst the turmoil we have witnessed since October 7th, this week has been particularly painful and momentous. Six Israelis were murdered this week in Yerushalim. Our air force unabashedly attacked Qatar to eliminate the leaders of Hamas. And Charlie Kirk was murdered.

History is speeding up, and the pages are turning quicker than ever before. We have not reached the final redemption, but it is also abundantly clear that, as a nation, we are no longer living in a time of exile.

The Gemara in Brachos records (לד ב):

דְּאָמַר שְׁמוּאֵל: אֵין בֵּין הָעוֹלָם הַזֶּה לִימוֹת הַמָּשִׁיחַ אֶלָּא שִׁעְבּוּד מַלְכוּיוֹת בִּלְבַד - As Shmuel said: The only difference between this world and The Days of Mashiach is with regard to servitude to foreign kingdoms alone.

We are not subjected to foreign rule. Our nation has the strength, skill and political will to seek out those who are plotting to destroy us, and eliminate them. According to Shmuel, we are living in “The Days of Mashiach.” Mashiach might not be here yet... but we are already living in the days that our ancestors dreamed about, yearned for and prayed for.

I have often noted that if any of us described our current lives to our great-great-grandmothers, they would certainly think we’re living in Yemos HaMashiach. Image explaining that we have fully stocked fridges and pantries. That more Yeshiva students are learning today than any time since the first Temple. That we can visit our own sovereign Jewish State of Israel, protected by the fiercest army in the Middle East.

On a fundamental level, the question then arrises: what is the purpose of Jews in the diaspora during times of redemption?

Clearly, in the many long years of Galus, we weathered the pains of exile to atone for our centuries of failure – מפני חטאינו גלינו מארצנו – due to our sins we were exiled from our land.

This is no longer the case, which means that our existence in the USA can either be understood as a colossal denial of the redemption happening around us, or that the time has come to reimagine our purpose vis-à-vis the nations of the world.

There are times in the Torah that the expansion of the Jewish nation is compared to the dust of the earth: וְהָיָה זַרְעֲךָ כַּעֲפַר הָאָרֶץ וּפָרַצְתָּ יָמָּה וָקֵדְמָה וְצָפֹנָה וָנֶגְבָּה – Your descendants will be as numerous as the dust of the earth, and you will proliferate to the west, to the east, to the north, and to the south...

Other times, we are compared to the Stars in the Heavens: וְהַרְבָּה אַרְבֶּה אֶת־זַרְעֲךָ כְּכוֹכְבֵי הַשָּׁמַיִם.

Seforno explains that to be as the dust of the earth is to be downtrodden and trampled, but still to survive. This is the life of Klal Yisrael in Galus. The Radak writes that to be as stars in the Heavens means: כי בסוף כשיהיו ימי המשיח יהיו ככוכבי השמים שלא תשלט בהם יד אדם עוד, ויהיו באורם לעולם – During the days of Mashiach when we are no longer controlled by foreign hands, our light will shine forever.

In our most elevated state, the purpose of being in the diaspora is to illuminate the world. We, the emissaries of Hashem, are charged with speeding goodness, kindness and ethical monotheism.

And I dare say, that if Charlie Kirk, a father, a husband, a devoted defender of the State of Israel, could be murdered in broad daylight... We have a lot of work to do.

In two weeks time, we will stand before Hashem on Rosh Hashana, and yearn for the day when He will rule as Melech over all humanity. But this is as much a Tefillah as it is our marching orders.

We need to exemplify the values of Torah, to stand unafraid of being at the top. It is up to us to model healthy debate, good middos, and a kavod ha-beriyos.

After all, this is the first time in two millennia that we have the opportunity to inspire humanity from a place of so that strength rather than weakness.

If America is devolving into violence and sectarianism, we need to practice empathy and morality. It is time we fulfill the dream of the Navi in our Haftara:

וְהָלְכוּ גוֹיִם לְאוֹרֵךְ – That nations shall walk at you light If the USA is walking in darkness, it’s on us to fix it.

May we merit to achieve it soon.

One Thursday night in camp this summer, I overheard two teens complaining about the offerings at dinner.

“Man, I’m struggling here. There’s just not enough quality protein.”

His friend, similarly disappointed, nodded in agreement: “I know what you mean. Burgers and hot dogs are not gonna help me...”

As these two walked off, a visitor standing next to me in the line chuckled, noting that a few years ago, teens seem didn’t care about their macros so much. As long as there was enough food for seconds and thirds, no one cared.

His tone indicated that he was not impressed with this obsession over their diets. If anything, he explained, this is nothing more than pampered entitlement, and a lack of gratitude for everything with which Hashem has blessed our generation.

Moreover, he continued, it appears clear that they have been persuaded to care about this naarishkeit by their devices. It’s no secret that social media is overrun with health advice, detailed directives for losing weight, gaining muscle and sculpting our bodies...

I didn’t want to pick a fight while juggling dinner with my kids, so I smiled politely, and moved on. But I’ve been thinking about this argument for a few weeks.

Something has changed in the world. There is a generation which is no longer content with aesthetic beauty alone. Teens and young adults are researching functional fitness, and training to build strength. Not everyone, not all the time. But it’s happening. And as a social trend, this is all pretty new.

Of course, it would be easy to dismiss it all as a distraction from the real work that Hashem wants us to engage in. We know that health is important; but the preoccupation with working out is outside the pale of normative Yiddishkeit.

Or, at least it used to be.

The mekubalim explain that whenever there is a new drive in the world, it comes along with positive and negative applications. Ultimately, however, the reason that Hashem infuses a drive into the world is because Klal Yisrael needs it. As the Medrash explains: כל מה שעשיתי לא עשיתי אלא בשבילכם – Hashem says: Everything I do, I do for you.

The Kli Golah notes that Hashem promised Avraham that his children would be as numerous as the stars of the heavens. He also told Avraham that his children would be enslaved in a strange land. How might a slave nation grow so numerous? By placing them in a country and culture that was overrun by promiscuity. That way, Bnei Yisrael would still be interested in procreating! Hence, our first exile was in Egypt – ערות הארץ – the most licentious place in the world.

In our own recent past, we might argue it was Hashem’s Hashgacha which ensured that the Baby Boomer generation followed the horrors of the Holocaust. Somehow, it became acceptable and financially possible to raise large families. Such opportunities have not been the norm in human history.

Likewise, it appears that the philosophies of Nationalism gripped Europe just in time for Zionism to take root in the hearts and minds of Klal Yisrael. And it all happened at exactly the right time for the State of Israel to be born.

In a deep and profound way, every new technology, social trend or political movement is somehow paving the way for our redemption.

What then is this new desire for physical strength and prowess?

Rav Moshe Yaakov Charlap writes (מי מרום חלק ו’ – ממעיני הישועה פרק ס):

בעקבתא דמשיחא יש לטהורי לב להברות את גופם להיות בריאים ואיתנים כדי שיהיו מוכנים ללחום מלחמת קרב עם עמלק למחקו מן העולם

In the footsteps of Moshiach, those pure of heart must strengthen their bodies to be healthy and resilient, so that they will be ready to wage battle against Amalek and erase him from the world.

The Torah tells us this Shabbos, that when Amalek attacked us, we were עָיֵף וְיָגֵעַ וְלֹא יָרֵא אֱלֹקים – tired and feeble, and without fear of Hashem.

As the world becomes a more dangerous place for Jews, Hashem is instilling a new drive into our world. A desire that we no longer live as tired and feeble. A deep desire to fear nothing other than Hashem.

That’s the invitation for this Elul: If we wish to develop our Yiras Shamayim, we need to ensure that we’re not afraid of world around us.

So eat your protein, get yourself to the gym, and push yourself to keep on growing in learning, davening, chessed and middos.

The time has come for strong Jews. The end of Amalek is coming, as we finally take our rightful place as leaders of the world. With Hashem’s help, it should be soon.

This week has been a stressful one for our family. Baruch Hashem, all for good reasons. For the past few days, I’ve been flying solo, while Aliza is in Israel celebrating our nephew’s Bar Mitzvah.

While I am, of course, incredibly supportive of her taking the time to be with family, it’s not simple to go from a two-parent household to a one-parent home. Even for a few days.

I’ve written about this experience before, when she joined a Rebbetzin’s mission to Israel last year. Once again, I’m struck by enormity of single parenthood. I have a new found respect for my own mom who, for years, raised us single handedly.

Most acutely, I’m in awe of the thousands of Tzahal wives who have said goodbye to their husbands over and over again, for weeks and months. Truthfully, I have no room to complain over a stressful morning of carpools.

But between all the FaceTiming with Aliza, running around the house, trying to figure out which kid needs which what, and co-parenting from a distance, there’s an uncomfortable truth that needs to stated. It’s a truth that we all need to know as parents, and as Jews. Especially Jews living in Chutz La’aretz.

No matter how much better my wife is at getting the kids ready, packing their backpacks and making dinner; when she’s not here, that job is mine. Which means that in those moments, the parent with the responsibility must have the authority to decide what’s best.

Every parent has their own style and their own skill set. There are many right and many wrong ways to get things done, and more than likely, open dialogue and communication will make things better. But in critical moments when only one parent is present, trust is more important than communication.

Trusting that your spouse is loving, capable and committed to your kids means that even if you’d do it differently, you can trust that they’re making the best decision in that moment. Because they’re there, and you’re not.

I’ve been thinking about this more and more as I see people making comments and writing letters about Israel, the government and Tzahal. Without doubt, we all agree that what happens in Israel affects us deeply. Whether it be issues about drafting Yeshiva students, negotiating hostage deals or the war in Gaza. All of this affects us. But the fact that it affects us, does not grant us sufficient information to have an authoritative opinion on it.

Ultimately, the people who are taking responsibility for the situation, are the people who have the right to make decisions about it. Discussions are important. Talking things out is wonderful. But our world seems to think that parenting from afar is the same as being on the ground... and it really isn’t.

From our vantage point, our brothers and sisters in Israel need us on the phone, on FaceTime, giving them support and love and encouragement. Even giving advice if asked.

But ultimately, it’s their right to decide if we’re having ice cream for dinner.

This week, I had one of those “back in my day...” moments.

My kids were waiting for a show to load on the iPad, and it had been buffering for a few seconds longer than expected.

These days, delays of this nature tend to induce a mild panic. People get antsy. Maybe somethings broken? Maybe we need to restart the router?

Looking at their exasperated faces, I explained that “back in my day”, downloading an album of music took the whole night. We’d cue it up to start downloading before going to bed, and then, in the morning, we prayed that it had worked.

Of course, it was all lost the moment anyone picked up the phone.

My kids have never heard those screeching dial-up tones, and likely they never will. As of last month, AOL no longer offers dial up internet. All of this has been replaced by an internet that moves data faster than any of us could’ve imagined.

But this is not a tale of nostalgia for times past.

To be clear, I love technology and I’m far from the type to get sentimental about slower times. But there’s a point we often seem to miss... That the speed of everything in our world is also part of Hashem’s Hashgacha.

___

Chassidim tell a story of the Baal Shem Tov who once met a group of horse dealers at an inn. It was during the time of year when the fair was open, and they had all come to buy and sell their wares. They would spend every day doing business, and they would come in the evening to the boardinghouse to rest.

When the Ba’al Shem Tov saw how immersed in their business these men were, he felt sorry for them. He said to them, “I have a question for you, my brothers.”

Can you tell me the difference in price between a good horse and a bad horse?” The horse dealers began to laugh at the silly question. One of them spoke up and said, “There is a huge difference! A good horse that is able to run fast and which can carry a rider can fetch 100 gold coins or more. A bad horse that is too weak to run fast or carry and rider and can only pull a small cart can only be sold for 10 gold coins at most.”

The Ba’al Shem Tov, however, continued to speak and he asked,“Why is it good for a horse to be able to run fast? This could be a detriment. If it runs off the path, it will get very far away before you can catch it and get it back!”

The merchants now understood that he was hinting to deep matters and they waited to see what he would say next. The Ba’al Shem Tov continued: “It is true that a fast horse may get lost and run far away but it will also get back on the right path very quickly!”

He then turned to them with sweetness, “You should be able to understand on your own what I am getting at. You are all good Jews. You descend from great men and women. Even if you wander very far from the good path, do not despair! You still possess greatness within you and you can quickly return to the proper path.”

___

As parents and teachers, most of the time, our inclination is to attempt to control the rapidly increasing speed of the world. We try to create boundaries, structures and rules with the hope that we can slow things down to a pace we recognize; a pace we can manage.

What if we looked the rapid changes in our world as more than a danger? What if this was all an invitation?

Moshe Rabbeinu presents this invitation at the opening of our parsha:

רְאֵה אָנֹכִי נֹתֵן לִפְנֵיכֶם הַיּוֹם בְּרָכָה וּקְלָלָה – See, I set before you this day a blessing and a curse;

On this, the Seforno explains: In every situation, there is a possibility of it being entire good, or entirely the opposite:

כי אמנם אנכי נותן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה והם שני הקצוות כי הברכה היא הצלחה יותר מן המספיק ע”צ היותר טוב. והקללה היא מארה מחסרת שלא יושג המספיק ושניהם לפניכם להשיג כפי מה שתבחרו:

Remember that I present you this day with the choice of two extremes, opposites. The ברכה is an extreme in that it provides you with more than you need, whereas the קללה is another extreme making sure that you have less than your basic needs. You have the choice of both before you; all you have to do is make a choice.

What if this year, this Elul, we harnessed the speed of our generation to make rapid changes? All it takes is to point ourselves in the direction we want to move towards, and then to start doing the things we want to be doing.

The invitation is simple: If Hashem has given us a faster horse than any time in Jewish history, let’s use it to get our lives back on track quicker than ever before.