Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

I’m sitting on the plane on the way back from Israel after a wonderful, all too short trip.

It’s been two years since the last time I was in Israel. That trip was a barely a month after October 7th. That time, when I left, the walkway to the departure gates was lined with pictures of hostages. At that point, we still didn’t know who was taken hostage, and who was murdered. Many of those faces were still “missing.”The streets of Yerushalayim were quiet. The hotels packed with refugees.

This time, everything had changed. It feels weird to write this, but were it not for the fact that I know October 7th happened, I wouldn’t have learned about it walking through Yerushalayim or Tel Aviv.

Sure, there are still some faded signs zip-tied to light poles and fences. It’ll be some time before the political slogans graffitied onto underpasses are painted over. But by all standards, the country has moved on.

Perhaps the only truly noticeable effect of these two years of war has been the increase in the wounded. The guy sipping his coffee by the beach with a full cast on his right leg. The man crossing the street was missing his left arm. And yet, they are not shutting themselves out the world. Even these heroes are desperate for “normal”.

Of course, we shouldn’t be so coarse as to ignore the reality that much of the country is still suffering from unimaginable trauma. Behind closed doors, families are struggling. Couples are in crisis, and kids have been forced to fend for themselves as their parents juggled month after month of miluim.

But I stood humbled as my niece and her friends danced for four hours, celebrating her bat mitzvah. They’ve spend the past two years running in and out of shelters. But they are not looking for sympathy. Neither are any of their parents.

This generation has finally learned that there never be any sympathy. Not from the news, not from the world. No one is coming to save them. No one cares. From a sheer lack of alternatives, Israelis – especially kids – have developed a newfound, nonchalant, iron clad resilience.

As a country, they are no longer afraid of the worst, because the worst has already happened: The promise of “Never Again” was broken on October 7th. And yet, despite all that, the country still stands. It it safer and more more prosperous than ever before.

That’s not to say Israelis are not concerned about anything; they certainly are worried. But it’s not about themselves. I was asked repeatedly how things were going for Jews in Florida, and in the US in general. “Are you seeing an uptick in anti-semitism?” “When are you Making Aliyah?” “Are people leaving New York?” “Are they moving to Boca?”

Israel is currently preparing for the possibility of massive waves of Aliyah from around the world.

Beyond the pain, the trauma, the pain, the confusion and the sadness, the country is infused with a deep and unshakable confidence. It’s hard-won and far from frivolous – everyone knows that something terrible could happen to anyone. But this is a different kind of confidence. It’s faith in Klal Yisrael and our future in Eretz Yisrael. So long as we keep doing what we’re doing, and keep fighting for it, we’ll be ok.

This confidence not only national. It is shared by every sector of Israel independently; despite the glaring contradictions and deep tensions between them.

Charedim in Bnei Brak are confident that their way of life will continue and this war will not end the Olam HaTorah they have built for the past century. Secular Jews in Tel Aviv are confident that the western democracy they have championed will remain just so. The Dati LeUmi communities in Yehuda v’Shomron are likewise not worried that the dream of Geulah through settling the land will fade.

Everyone knows that so long as they are willing to be moser nefesh, nothing can stop them; and they are all willing.

In the deepest way, Klal Yisrael is imbued with a profound resignation to the inevitability of our future. Whatever that future might hold, however it might materialize, whoever is in the driver’s seat, it is unstoppable.

By comparison, this confidence is all but absent in American discourse. People in the US feel as if the country is splitting apart at the seams. The right/left divide feels insurmountable, and the threats from inside and outside are making people feel like the US has peaked.

From conversations with friends and colleagues in the UK, Europe and South Africa, this feeling is spreading throughout the West.

Perhaps it is true, perhaps not; I am not a prophet. But I can say with certainty that no one in Israel feels like Klal Yisrael has peaked. If anything, we’re just getting started.

Ever so cautiously, Klal Yisrael is escaping victimhood. Whether by choice or a lack thereof, we are rising above our fears, our reliances and dependencies.

Rav Kook (אורות ישראל פרק ב:ו) writes that each of us, as individuals can draw from the national treasure trove of strength: ע”י חוט קטן זה מרגיש היחיד את היופי הנעלה שיש בכללות האומה – There is a thread through which every Jew can feel the transcendent beauty within the collective of our nation.

What we are witnessing and experiencing in our generation, is Hashem’s answer the great Tefillah of Yaakov Avinu:

הַצִּילֵנִי נָא מִיַּד אָחִי מִיַּד עֵשָׂו כִּי־יָרֵא אָנֹכִי אֹתוֹ -Save me from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esav, because I am afraid of him.

The Imrei Pinchas explains: Yaakov felt an overwhelming fear, and that feeling itself made him afraid. For a person is only afraid of those things that have power over them. So Yaakov prayed: Hashem, I need You to save me, because my fear tells me that I have what to be afraid of.

We are privileged to see a generation of Klal Yisrael who is no longer afraid of the Esavs of the world, but here in lies our next challenge.

If Hashem has brought us to this place of national, communal and personal confidence, our job is rediscover an authentic sense of Yiras Shamayim. We need to fear wasting the incredible brachos Hashem has gifted our generation. We need to be concerned that we are spending our resources and time on meaninglessness...

Our enemies has hoped that October 7th was the beginning of the end of Klal Yisrael. If anything, it was the end of the beginning. A new chapter is just getting started. It’s time we all stop fearing for our lives and start living with purpose.

Around this time of year, unrelentingly, the same event unfolds almost daily: A random car or truck pulls up by your driveway. The bell rings. A package is flung at the front door. You look around wondering “did anyone order anything?” More often than not, you tear open the tape only to discover “Oh yeah, that was mine...”

The ubiquity of delivery trucks everywhere tells me that I’m not alone, in this experience, and my guess is that we’re not the only family suffering from some Amazon-induced-amnesia.

And this week, it only gets worse.

With all due respect to the upcoming festival of gratitude, somehow, Thanksgiving has remained confined to a single day. The Yom Tov of Black Friday, however, seems to have spread its wings for weeks and weeks, both before and after.

Of course, there are obvious financial issues with our behavior: It’s far too easy to spend money. The ease with which we can order, pay and receive almost anything is as amazing as it is frightening.

This is no accident. It’s well known that teams of the best psychologists, designers and software engineers are working tirelessly to hijack our brains. User interfaces are designed to remove all friction from the checkout process. Products are priced dynamically, and ads are tailored to present us with ever personalized “deals”.

But knowing these truths isn’t enough to combat their effects. It takes diligence and vigilance to avoid spending our hard earned money on trivial, forgettable non-essentials.

Nevertheless, despite constantly milking our wallets, this is not the biggest scam of modern consumerism. The far greater issue is that it robs us of regular, subtle human connection.

We live in a world where it is possible to work from home, order food to our doors, get our groceries delivered, pay our bills and live entirely online without interacting with another person.

A friend of mine related that he went to visit a cousin of his towards the end of COVID. This cousin greeted him at the front door, said “hello”, and then gasped when he realized it was the first time he had hear his own voice in months. He had quite literally lived without speaking to another human being. Texting, emails and apps had stolen that from him without notice or warning.

Of course, this example is extreme. And while most of us are not that secluded, convenient consumerism has removed the little hints of humanity we all know and love. A smile for the guy at the check out counter. A “good morning” from the lady at the bank. As these interactions are phased out, we risk making every encounter a high-stakes, high-pressure meeting. What will happen to eye contact and facial expressions? What will happen to the genuine concern that can only be shared in the context of regular micro-engagements? Will anyone be able to ask “you don’t look yourself today... is everything ok?”

Please don’t misunderstand me – I also love the ability to download a box of Cheerios at 1am, knowing that my kids will be eating breakfast a few hours later. But the jump from that ease to total human avoidance is far too easy, especially as people get older.

If we’re not careful, this drive for convenience will scam us out of the single most valuable thing we have: Each other.

This is not my chiddush. It’s central to the narrative of the Avos and of Sefer Bereishis as a whole.

Chazal calculate that Yaakov spend fourteen years leaning in the Yeshiva of Shem and Ever after fleeing from Esav. Fascinatingly, the Torah does not transmit the lessons that he learned there, or any of the Torah he learned from Yitzchak. Indeed, even the fact of his enrollment in the Yeshiva is learned from calculations and hints.

Where does the Torah focus? Pasuk after pasuk describes Yaakov’s relationship with the people in his life. Chapters are dedicated to the tensions between Rachel and Leah, naming and raising children, and his business dealings with Lavan. Over and over again, the Torah draws our attention to personal and interpersonal challenges, and it is from these stories that Chazal glean volumes of multilayered wisdom and insight.

The Ohev Yisrael (ויצא ד”ה תוכחת מוסר גדול) writes:

וצא ולמד מאבותינו הק' ... ואיך התורה מספרת לנו הליכת יעקב מבאר שבע ובאיזה מקום ישן והדיבורים שדיבר עם רחל בת זוגו ואיך שנשק אות' ואיך שהיה רועה את צאן לבן. ותחבולתיו שעשה המקלות. וכיוצא באלו. הלא מזה מוכח שכל מעשיהם מקטן ועד גדול היה הכל רק בהשכל ודיעה מיושבת בחכמת אלקות.

Go and learn from our ancestors and see... How the Torah describes Yaakov traveling to Beer Sheva, where he slept, what he said to Rachel. How he kissed her. How he tended the sheep of Lavan, and his dealings with sticks. You will see that all of his activities, from small to great, were performed with understanding, calm thought and Godly wisdom...

That’s the kind of life Hashem wants us to lead. Lives of action, of engagement, of relationships and interactions. In that space, Hashem asks us to find Him, to find ourselves and to find each other.

If Hashem was writing our story, the story of each of our days, it seems that the impulse purchases wouldn’t make the cut in the Torah of our generation. But the trip to the grocery store might well be included. That’s the story with the potential to learn a lesson, help another person or overcome some challenge. That’s the life Hashem is inviting us to live. Don’t get scammed out of it.

The Medrash (תנחמא ויקהל א) teaches us:

אַתְּ מוֹצֵא שְׁלֹשָׁה שֵׁמוֹת נִקְרְאוּ לוֹ לְאָדָם, אֶחָד מַה שֶּׁקּוֹרְאִים לוֹ אָבִיו וְאִמּוֹ, וְאֶחָד מַה שֶּׁקּוֹרְאִין לוֹ בְּנֵי אָדָם, וְאֶחָד מַה שֶּׁקּוֹנֶה הוּא לְעַצְמוֹ. טוֹב מִכֻּלָּן מַה שֶּׁקּוֹנֶה הוּא לְעַצְמוֹ.

You find that a man is known by three names: the name by which his father and mother call him, the name by which other men call him, and the one he earns for himself. The most important name is the one he earns for himself.

This drama plays itself out throughout Sefer Bereishis, in the naming of people and places. Noach provides comfort. Avram becomes Avraham – a father of many nations. Yitzchak is named for the laughter of his parents.

By far, however, the strangest name given in the Torah occurs this Shabbos. To the best of my knowledge, we meet a person named for a food. Or rather, the color of a food.

Esav returns home, tired and hungry. Chazal tell us that this was the funeral of Avraham, and Yaakov and Esav were teenagers – fifteen years old. Esav sees the red lentil soup that Yaakov has prepared and demands הַלְעִיטֵנִי נָא מִן־הָאָדֹם הָאָדֹם הַזֶּה – Give me that red stuff!

Then comes the strange end of the pasuk – עַל־כֵּן קָרָא־שְׁמוֹ אֱדוֹם – So he called his name Edom. A person named for a food?! But the name stuck. It is the nation of Edom, rather than Esav that arises.

Yaakov uses this opportunity to bargain Esav for his birthright, to which Esav replies:

הִנֵּה אָנֹכִי הוֹלֵךְ לָמוּת וְלָמָּה־זֶּה לִי בְּכֹרָה – I am going to die. Why would I need a birthright?

This exchange would set the stage for the relationship between these brothers for years to come, and indeed for all of history. But Chazal, however, see in this story, a hidden narrative that seems a little unfair:

The Gemara (Bava Basra 16b) explains:

אמר רבי יוחנן חמש עבירות עבר אותו רשע באותו היום בא על נערה מאורסה והרג את הנפש וכפר בעיקר וכפר בתחיית המתים ושט את הבכורה בא על נערה מאורסה

Rabbi Yochanan says: That wicked Esau committed five transgressions on that day that Avraham died: He engaged in relations with a betrothed girl, he murdered a person, he denied the principle of God’s existence, he denied resurrection of the dead, and he despised the birthright.

That’s a heavy statement. I’ve taught some rough teens, and being fifteen is not a simple stage of life. But even for the most challenging of young men, that’s an impressive itinerary for one day of sinning. How could we possibly understand such behavior?

A deeper question is to ask is what inspired Rabbi Yochanan to read these crimes into a seemingly more innocent episode.

Perhaps the solution to this enigma lies in the curious name change in the story: עַל־כֵּן קָרָא־שְׁמוֹ אֱדוֹם – So he called his name Edom.

Who called Esav Edom? There were only two people present. How did the name stick? The Daas Zekeinim of the Baalei HaTosfos explain: Esav called himself Edom.

On that day, Esav, whose name means “complete man”, decided that his identity was now Edom – the red guy. Rabbeinu Bachaya explains: “Since my hair is red and my land is red... I guess the red food should be mine as well. I’ll take it.”

Rabbi Yochanan is teaching us that the roots of moral and ethical decay are not based in desire and temptation. Of course, people are fallible and flawed. But society does not crumble from those who cannot control there Yetzer Hara. Rather, Rabbi Yochanan explains: the cruelest evils in the world are perpetrated by those who willfully neglect nuance. If all “red things” are the same, no further thinking is needed.

At it worst, this is the tendency to reinterpret all facts to suit a narrative. Without subtly and nuance there is no hope for reexamination.

Of course, this is not just an issue that Esav faced. We all make generalizations that fit our agendas. We ignore details and brush over subtleties that should affect our decisions and behaviors. We miss the details, because it’s easier, but in doing so, we miss out on the most important parts of life.

This is Esav’s failure; and this is how we can understand Rabbi Yochanan: There are two ways to live life: either everything is important, or nothing is important.

The Chafetz Chaim explains that this also accounts for Esav’s statement: “I’m going to die – why do I need a birthright?!” For tzadikim, the thought of death, a reminder of the temporality and fragility of life spurs them to action. The knowledge of our mortality induces a sense of urgency – carpe die.

But a rasha is someone for whom the knowledge of mortality serves only to convince them that nothing is worthwhile. And if nothing is meaningful, then who cares?

The Torah is teaching us here: If all you can see is what lies on the surface, you’ve already missed out on your birthright.

In a world that has lost it’s sense of nuance, subtleties are disregarded, and unless something is painted in red, we fail to notice it.

Yaakov, on the other hand, is named for one who grabs onto the heal – מצוות שאדם דש בעקביו – The opportunities that others disregard. For Yaakov, everything is meaningful.

His name, too, is later changed; to Yisrael. One who fights with God and Men and prevails. But he never loses his name Yaakov.

It is this trajectory that makes us Jews. The secret to our success lies in our ability to see beyond, within, and around. And in doing so, to learn to value everything.

It’s no secret that I love stories, particularly, Jewish stories. And amongst my greatest joys as a father, is that my my kids seem to love them too.

However, there is a particular genre of story which is in vogue at the moment, and for a while, I’ve been bothered by it. There is there’s something a little unsettling about “the Hashgacha Pratis story”.

It hit me last week, erev Shabbos. The Rebbetzin called me, sending me on a mission to pick up a last minute item at the Grove. With two of the kids in the car, and not a lot of time, we arrived at the Grove parking lot. I had already pre-empted my kids that this was a very quick trip. No candy, no wandering around the store. In. Out. Done.

I had done everything in my power... But the parking lot is in the hands of Hashem.

Lo and behold, as we pulled in, a car right in front of the store pulled out. Miraculously, no one was waiting for the spot. In less than ten seconds, mission accomplished. It felt like the single quickest parking event in the history of Boca Raton.

One of my kids turned to me, “Abba, that was really lucky! ... No wait! It’s Hashgacha Pratis!”

As a father, that made me so happy. We all pray that that our children recognize and realize Hashem’s Hand in their lives. But this is not what Hashgach Pratis means.

Don’t get me wrong. These stories are often quite beautiful, contemporary, relevant, meaningful and true. But on the deepest level, we’re missing the point, and dangerously so.

Hashem’s divine attention in our lives is not only when things go swimmingly; He is just as present making things difficult.

To illustrate, let’s revisit Eliezer and Rivka at the well, as Rashi teaches us:

וירץ העבד לקראתה: לְפִי שֶׁרָאָה שֶׁעָלוּ הַמַּיִם לִקְרָאתָהּ

The servant ran toward her — because he saw that the waters rose in the well when she approached it (Genesis Rabbah 60:5).

Rivka, as we know, acquiesces to Eliezer request, graciously offering to draw water for this stranger and his caravan of camels.

But the Ramban (כד:יז) makes a unsettling observation:

וְנַעֲשָׂה לָהּ הַנֵּס בַּפַּעַם הָרִאשׁוֹנָה, כִּי אַחֲרֵי כֵן כָּתוּב “וַתִּשְׁאַב” – This miracle happened to her only the first time for afterwards it is written, “and she drew”.

Imagine that you’re Rivka. As you approach the well, the waters miraculously rise to meet you. Green lights all the way. Life is great. You see a traveller in need, so you stop, and offer to help.

And precisely at that moment, the miracles end. The water recedes to the bottom of the well. Now it’s just you, alone to draw water, lifting jug after jug for some random stranger, exhausting your time and energy. Where’s the Hashgacha Pratis here? What happened to Hashem’s Hand?

Perhaps Hashem doesn’t want her to draw this water for this man? Perhaps this is Hashem’s silent protest? Perhaps Rivka is no longer worthy of this miracle?

The Kedushas Levi (חיי שרה ד”ה וירץ העבד לקראתה) explains:

מה שאין כן בפעם שניה שכוונתה היה לגמול חסד להשקות הגמלים של אליעזר עבד אברהם לא עלו המים לקראתה, שכשאדם עושה מצוה יותר נחשב לעשות פעולה שבעשותו פעולה לשם מצוה נחשב לו יותר למצוה והבן:

...The second time, when she did an act of ‎kindness to others, Hashem withheld His ‎assistance, because the mitzvah is far greater when effort is expended in it’s performance.

When the miracles end, and life get hard, there are two ways of looking at the situation. Option one: we can conclude that Hashem has withdrawn because doesn’t want to be part of this. Or, option two: we can conclude that this is exactly what Hashem wants us to be working on ourselves.

It’s that second option that gets to the root of Hashgacha Pratis.

To become a mother of the Jewish people, Rivka will need to grow even greater and even stronger in her chessed and hachnasas orchim. And we all know that miracles don’t make us stronger.

All this is to say, that perhaps the greater Hashgacha Pratis would’ve been driving around the parking lot at the Grove for fifteen minutes, learning how to remain calm when time is short and drivers are infuriating.

The Avoda of seeing Hashem’s Hashgacha in our lives should not be limited to gratitude when things are great. Far and beyond, Hashem is inviting us to grow while He cheers from the sidelines.

Reading blogs, and watching reels has presented us with a bizarre spectacle this week. There is an openly antisemitic politician, who has been democratically elected to run the most powerful city in the world. And now, the Jews of New York are caught between running further afoul of a man who hates us, and making deals with the devil.

As a nation, this is not our first rodeo. Pharaoh also tried to enlist Jewish midwives to join his side. The Inquisition offered an exemption to Don Yitzchak Abarbanel for him to remain in Spain.

This has occurred countless times throughout our history. But perhaps it is instructive to examine the very first time any Jew is offered to make a deal with an anti-semite: It happens this Shabbos when Avraham is approached by Avimelech.

To provide context, the Torah describes how Avraham and Sarah migrate to Gerar, bringing great blessing to the ruler, Avimelech and his nation.

Of course, this is all part of the grand vision shared by Hashem the Avos – to be a source of goodness, kindness and material wealth. By opening their hearts and homes, Avraham and Sarah are attempting to educate humanity to recognize the truth of ethical monotheism.

But by the time Yitzchak is born, however, Avimelech is nervous. Until this point, Avraham is an eccentric multimillionaire. He’s a little strange, but great for the economy. Yitzchak changes the equation – now Avraham has an heir... And who knows what this young man might do with his wealth and prominence? So Avimelech acts decisively, making a deal with Avraham.

Avraham readily makes the deal; a multi generational promise that their decedents will not engage in land grabbing or military action against each other.

The symbol of this deal is peculiar: Avraham gives seven sheep to Avimelech. The Medrash HaGadol explains this strange gesture, as well as the reason that Avraham is so willing to make a deal in the first place: שבע כבשות כנגד שבע מצוות בני נח – These seven sheep correspond to the Seven Noahide Laws.

Effectively, Avraham is proclaiming: We will be at peace so long as you are willing to observe these seven mitzvos. Rav Saadya Gaon explains that Avraham chooses not erect a monument to mark this deal. Instead he creates some kind of national petting zoo, which will require constant upkeep. The sheep will need to be fed and taken care of. And when one of these sheep dies, it will need to be replaced. This way, the idea of the Sheva Mitzvos Bnei Noach will not be forgotten, fading out of collective consciousness like an ancient roadside memorial.

Yet, despite all of these lofty ideals, Chazal (ב”ר נ”ה) view Avraham’s deal very critically:

אָמַר לוֹ הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא אַתָּה נָתַתָּ שֶׁבַע כְּבָשׂוֹת בְּלִי רְצוֹנִי, חַיֶּיךָ שֶׁאֲנִי מַשְׁהֶה בְּשִׂמְחַת בָּנֶיךָ שִׁבְעָה דוֹרוֹת. אַתָּה נָתַתָּ לוֹ שֶׁבַע כְּבָשׂוֹת בְּלִי רְצוֹנִי, חַיֶּיךָ כְּנֶגֶד כֵּן הוֹרְגִים מִבָּנֶיךָ שִׁבְעָה צַדִּיקִים, וְאֵלּוּ הֵן: חָפְנִי, וּפִינְחָס, וְשִׁמְשׁוֹן, וְשָׁאוּל, וּשְׁלשֶׁת בָּנָיו. אַתָּה נָתַתָּ לוֹ שֶׁבַע כְּבָשׂוֹת בְּלִי רְצוֹנִי, כְּנֶגֶד כֵּן בָּנָיו מַחֲרִיבִין מִבָּנֶיךָ שִׁבְעָה מִשְׁכָּנוֹת, וְאֵלּוּ הֵן: אֹהֶל מוֹעֵד, וְגִלְגָּל, נוֹב, וְגִבְעוֹן, וְשִׁילֹה, וּבֵית עוֹלָמִים תְּרֵין.

The Holy One blessed be He said to him [Abraham]: ‘You gave seven ewes against My wishes, by your life, I will delay the rejoicing of your descendants for seven generations.’ ‘You gave him seven ewes against My wishes, by your life, they [the Philistines] will correspondingly kill seven righteous men of your descendants.’ They are: Chofni and Pinchas, Samson, and Saul and his three sons. ‘You gave him seven ewes against My wishes, they [the Philistines] will correspondingly destroy seven Sanctuaries of your descendants.’ These are: The Tent of Meeting, Gilgal, Nov, Givon, Shilo, and the two eternal Temples [in Jerusalem].

Chazal, looking through the eyes of history understood that this deal was fraught. Despite all of his greatest wishes and intentions, Avraham failed to transform Avimelech and his people. They never became a nation of ethical monotheists, and indeed, the children of Avraham would suffer again and again from the savage cruelty of the P’lishtim.

On the one hand, this is a cautionary tale. Be careful with whom you are ready to make a deal. But the Toras Yechiel notes a profound connection between the two Midrashim.

The reason for exile and destruction is not simply that Avraham made a deal with a corrupt despot. It is because throughout our generations, we, the Jewish people have failed to impart the values of the Sheva Mitzvos Bnei Noach. In fact, Chazal famously teach us that the primary reasons for the destruction of the first Beis HaMikdash were Idolatry, Murder and Immorality. All three of these are part of the seven universal laws!

Hashem certainly cares that we observe Shabbos and Kashrus. But our identity as the Nation of Hashem is directly related to our observance and role modeling of the Sheva Mitzvos Bnei Noach. First and foremost, we are to be exemplary people. Thereafter, religious Jews.

We, the Jews who who are still in Chutz La’Aretz have a lot of work to do. If we want the world to change, we need to up our game as Hashem’s people. On a personal level, we need to become paragons of ethical monotheism. But on a national and communal level, that is not enough. We dare not cheapen the sanctity of the Sheva Mitzvos Bnei Noach. Which means that we need to unabashedly condemn anyone who supports murderers, excuses immorality and allows for a subversion of justice.

The deep lesson of Chazal is that a temporary truce is nothing more than kicking the can down the road. If the people on the other side of the table are not acting in good faith, we are failing in our national mission. Our job is to ensure that all of humanity is ultimately transformed into good and moral people, and any deal we can make must align with that destiny.

Hashem should give us and our leaders the strength to navigate the days ahead, bringing ourselves and our world to the place He wants us to be.

There once was a very rich man, in fact, the richest man in Poland. And like all rich people, he sometimes wondered what to do with his money, until one day, it dawned upon him, that he should have the nicest horse in Poland.

Now, as some might know, owning a horse is not a simple endeavor, but he was determined to ensure that he had the nicest horse in Poland. So he went out and bought the horse. But, of course, to have such a horse, one must build a stable.

Thus it came to be that this rich man would own the nicest horse in Poland, as well as the greatest, state-of-art stable.

But it's not enough to have a stable for such a horse. He needed a lock to protect his investment. So he found the best lock smiths and had a lock designed for this sole purpose.

Not yet satisfied, the rich man sought out a guard who would stand outside the stable all night keeping watch.

With the stable build, the lock on the door and the guard in place, the rich man went to bed; but try as he might, he couldn't fall asleep. “What if something happened to the guard? Or the lock? Or the stable?”

So he got up at 1am, walked outside and went to check on the guard, who was standing wide awake outside the stable. “Tell me,” he says “How do you stay awake all night?”

“I'll tell you the truth” The guard answered “I'm bothered by a question.” “What's the question?” Asked the rich man.

“When a carpenter nails a nail into a wall, what happens to that part of the wall?”

“It's a good question”, says the rich man. “Good, good, keep thinking about it.” Now satisfied that his guard was not falling asleep, he attempted to sleep himself. But to no avail, he couldn't do it.

So he went outside again; and again, asked how the guard was staying awake. This time he had a new question: “When they make bagels, what happens to the part in the middle?” Another good question. But when he returned to bed, he still could not fall asleep.

So, a third time, the rich man went outside. Once again, the guard was wide awake. “How are you so wide awake?” he asked. “I'll tell you truth, there's something that's been bothering me all night.”

“You're the richest man in Poland, correct?” “Correct.” “And you bought the nicest horse in Poland, correct?” “Correct.” “And build the best stable,” “Correct.” “And bought the best lock,” “Correct.” “And hired a personal guard,” “Nu, what's the question?”

“I've been wondering all night, what ever happened to the horse?”

This story was told by Reb Simcha Bunim of Pshischa towards the end of his life. He gathered his chassidim and told them, never stop looking for the Why and the Who of Creation.

This was Avraham's question: Why are we here? Most people seem to be running around, doing whatever they're doing, with little regard to why. Children are raised to go to school, to get a job, to make a living, to start a family, only to continue the cycle.

In the words of the Rambam (Hilchos Avoda Zara 1:3):

כֵּיוָן שֶׁנִּגְמַל אֵיתָן זֶה הִתְחִיל לְשׁוֹטֵט בְּדַעְתּוֹ וְהוּא קָטָן וְהִתְחִיל לַחֲשֹׁב בַּיּוֹם וּבַלַּיְלָה וְהָיָה תָּמֵהַּ הֵיאַךְ אֶפְשָׁר שֶׁיִּהְיֶה הַגַּלְגַּל הַזֶּה נוֹהֵג תָּמִיד וְלֹא יִהְיֶה לוֹ מַנְהִיג וּמִי יְסַבֵּב אוֹתוֹ. כִּי אִי אֶפְשָׁר שֶׁיְּסַבֵּב אֶת עַצְמוֹ

As soon as this giant, Avraham, was weaned he started to busy his mind. In his childhood he began to think by day and by night, and would encounter this enigma: How is it possible that this planet should continuously be in motion and have no leader—and who, indeed, causes it to revolve, it being impossible that it should revolve itself?

But how does one become an Avraham? How do we learn to ask the right questions? How do we seek out and live a life of meaning?

The Ramban addresses this issue, asking a famous question: Why are we not introduced to Avraham in the same way that we are introduced to Noach. With Noach we are given his resume: Righteous, pure, walking with Hashem. But Avraham is seemingly dropped into the Torah. Why does Hashem choose him? Why does Hashem speak to him?

Knowing the answer is essential here. Whatever it was that made Avraham into Avraham, is what we need to be working on.

The Sfas Emes explains, based on the Zohar:

רמב”ן הקשה שנאמר לך לך בלי שנזכר מקודם חיבתו, ובזוהר הקדש נראה כי זה עצמו השבח ששמע זה המאמר לך לך שנאמר מהשי”ת לכל האנשים תמיד... וממילא נראה רק הדיבור אליו, כי הלא לא נמצא מיוחד לשמע רק הוא.

The directive of Lech Lecha was not intended to Avraham alone. Hashem was calling out to every person in the world. Being that Avraham was the only one to listen, the stories continues with him.

Lech Lecha – go to yourself. Go find yourself. Leave behind your smallness and find something great. Avraham was simply the first person to listen.

This voice is echoing throughout the world, screaming out: “What happened to the horse? Why do we do what we do? What's the meaning and purpose in life?” And most people ignore it. Avraham did not.

Our job here begins with the the openness and sensitivity to listen. If we listen, we’ll hear. If we hear, we’ll be able to move from where we are to where we need to be. To ask, to question, to challenge and to become the people Hashem is inviting us to become.

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.