Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

Rav Aharon Kotler once got into the back of a cab and saw that in front of him attached to the seat was a small steering wheel. It even had a horn button and turned like a real steering wheel. When he questioned the driver about this unusual setup, the driver said that his son loved to be a “driver” just like his dad, so he specially attached that steering wheel for his son to feel like he was the one driving the car.

Rav Kotler commented on this how in life we think we are the one’s “driving” and directing our life but really Hashem is the driver, we just have the kid’s toy steering wheel to make it feel like we are in control, just like the driver’s son...

As the parsha opens, one can feel the palpable tension. Yehuda approaches the throne of the Egyptian demagogue and begins to plead, almost irrationally for the life of his brother Binyamin. In his mind, this is clearly Divine retribution for the pain he caused Yosef all those years ago. But giving up is simply not an option – he gave his word to Yaakov, and so all measures must be attempted.

Yehuda presents his clinching argument:

כִּי־אֵיךְ אֶעֱלֶה אֶל־אָבִי וְהַנַּעַר אֵינֶנּוּ אִתִּי – How can I possible return to my father, the child is not with me?

In that moment, Yehuda knows that his life, as he knows it, is over. Either the Egyptian viceroy will take him a slave, and he will never see his family again, or worse, he’ll keep Binyamin, and destroy the family entirely. Or perhaps, he might have them all executed. There is no happy end to this story. There is no logical, rational, or political way to resolve the situation.

And then, the most unlikely thing occurs, and in an instant, all the pain, confusion and terror dissolves. The same demagogue that has been persecuting the brothers for months, the cause of all their anguish; the man that has threatened their lives, families and future, is their brother!

In the moment that Yosef declared who he is, and his intentions, the curtain is lifted, and the brothers finally understand that they were never really in any danger. What they feel instead is overwhelming shame and humiliation.

Yosef consoles them:

וְעַתָּה לֹא־אַתֶּם שְׁלַחְתֶּם אֹתִי הֵנָּה כִּי הָאֱלֹקים – You didn’t send me here Hashem did. This is all part of a great and grand plan – through this, I can provide for you. I can sustain you, I can ensure that our family continues and prospers.

In this moment, the brothers finally understand the truth. That they were small pieces in a larger puzzle, and Yosef, too, understands that the suffering he endured was to bring about a world in which he could save his family.

With this perspective, Yosef now understands why he was in prison. It was all orchestrated so that he could meet the Sar HaMashkim. Why did Pharaoh have those dreams? So Yosef could rise to prominence. Why did the brothers sell him into slavery? So that he could save him.

For one moment, everything made sense and the truth was revealed.

The Mei HaShiloach explains that this is will how we feel when at the moment of Geulah when Hashem announces: אני ה׳:

כאשר יבוא העת לגלות כבוד מלכותו עלינו ולרחם שארית ישראל, כל ישראל יראו שהישועה היתה נגד פנינו, רק מצדנו נסתר זאת

When the time comes for Hashem to reveal the Honor of His Kingship to us, and to have mercy on the remnants of the Jewish people, all of Yisrael will see how the salvation was always right in front of us, only that it was hidden from our sight.

But the Meshech Chochma (מקץ מא:כא) explains that this was not the whole story. Why did there have to be a famine at all? Why did Pharoah have to have those dreams?

It all began as a result of the covenant that Hashem made with Avraham:

וַיֹּאמֶר לְאַבְרָם יָדֹעַ תֵּדַע כִּי־גֵר  יִהְיֶה זַרְעֲךָ בְּאֶרֶץ לֹא לָהֶם... וְאַחֲרֵי־כֵן יֵצְאוּ בִּרְכֻשׁ גָּדוֹל

And Hashem said to Abram, “Know well that your offspring shall be strangers in a land not theirs... and in the end they shall go free with great wealth.”

This was a five hundred year process that began with Avraham. A story that necessitated the exile and slavery of the Jewish people, as well as their supernatural exodus, along with all the wealth of Egypt. For this to take place, Egypt needed to be wealthy, and the children of Avraham needed to be slaves there. Yosef’s story was part of this process.

But we can ask the question even further – why did we need to be slaves? Why did we need to exit with wealth? Because we are to become a מַמְלֶכֶת כֹּהֲנִים וְגוֹי קָדוֹשׁ – a Kingdom of Kohanim, a transcendent nation. We’re supposed to change the world. To achieve this, we would need a dual legacy: One that intimately understands the pain of human suffering, paired with overwhelming wealth to actually make a difference. These two ingredients would be needed to change the world according to Ratzon Hashem. All of Bereishis and Shemos are marching to this great destiny.

Truthfully, all of Jewish history is coalescing to this point.

This is the grand truth. The one that we don’t get to see while it is still unfolding. This is the truth that we’ll finally understand when the great curtain of history is lifted, and we see the Director backstage.

But the message of our Parsha is that there is always a greater truth, a deeper truth. It’s a truth that we know, but don’t feel. We know that everything is part of Hashem’s ultimate plan, we just don’t know how.

And thus the Torah charges us: Live according to the Big Truth, be a part of the Big Story. Yosef’s revelation teaches us that whenever anything adds up, it’s a small piece of the larger plan. May we merit to find our place within it.

A few weeks ago, I was speaking with an old friend who made Aliyah many years ago. He was describing the current trauma so many Israel’s are experiencing and the challenges of growing up in a war zone. But, as he noted, despited all that, or perhaps because of it, kids in Israel believe in their purpose.

The TikTok generation of chayalim has proven themselves to be lions on the the battlefield; while their teenage siblings have mobilized to volunteer meals, support and social media campiagning.

It worries me that while all of this is going on in Israel, most of us, and our kids, are standing on the sidelines. Perhaps, there is a widening gap between the next generation of Israeli and Americans.

I know that I’m not alone in this concern. It’s a conversation that we’ve all been having for the past two years (at least).

As we enter the final days of Chanukah, I’d like to reflect on this question from the standpoint of a famous and central dispute of the Gemara: What is the mitzvah of lighting Neiros Chanukah? Are we required to actively light the Ner (הדלקה עושה מצוה) or is the essence of the mitzvah in its proper placement (הנחה עושה מצוה)?

The significance of this question is not simply in the realm of Halacha. It extends to our identity as Jews in a world teetering on the brink of Redemption.

The question is as simple as it is profound: Is our obligation to ensure that we are in the right place at the right time? Or are we obliged to kindle the fire of Yiddishkeit ourselves?

There was a time, perhaps, that the right way to ensure Jewish survival and even success was making sure that we and our children were in the right place at the right time. There were generations of ensuring that the walls of the Shtetls and Ghettos kept us in and the world out. In those sacred enclaves, the world was challenging and treacherous, but clear. “They” might kill us in this world, but we will forever be safe in the world to come.

But little by little the walls have come down. And today, there are none at all. We and our children are living in a world where it is impossible to remain insular. Even if we desperately wanted and tried to, we cannot shield ourselves from the constant onslaught of western culture. Especially as our whole lives have transitioned to online-everything.

Thus the Halacha is that it is not enough to ensure the proper placement of the Neiros. We pasken הדלקה עושה מצוה – The mitzvah is to kindle the fire.

I'd like to ask your forgiveness in advance. This is not an attack on you or your family. But it seems clear to me that despite placing ourselves in wonderful communities, despite enrolling our children in stelar institutions of Torah, Mitzvos and Derech Eretz, we are not always happy with the outcome. We don't always feel as if the return on our investment meets our expectations. This is true for families everywhere; Israel and Chutz La’artetz.

I look at my students, my friends and relatives, who grew up in worlds similar to our own, and who have fallen off to one side or the other. Some have abandoned Torah and mitzvos, whilst others have fled to less nuanced, more insular communities.

I would like to humbly suggest that root of this discontent stems from attempting to live in a world in which proper placement is all it takes to live a live of mitzvos and meaning.

It's simply not enough. It is high time we learn to light the fire ourselves.

The Good News is That We're Ahead of the Curve

We have much to be thankful for. Our Rabbonim have been teaching us, leading us, paskening for us and training us to contend with worlds of tension. We are not people who shy away from modernity. We are not afraid of the halls of academia. We are students and teachers of the arts and sciences.

In the deepest way, we are the students of Yosef HaTzadik; the first Jew who lived outside of his bubble.

His greatness, of course, was that despite his lifetime of displacement, he was always on fire for Yiddishkeit. So much so, that for all generations, we asks Hashem to make our children like his.

How did he do it?

How To Survive Betrayal

The Sforno (פרק לז) explains that Yaakov had always given Yosef greater responsibilities than his brothers, recognizing that there was a certain greatness to him. Yaakov understood that Yosef alone was capable of ensuring that the legacy of Avraham and Yitzchak would eventually blossomed into a sovereign nation settled in the land. To that end, Yaakov invested in Yosef, pouring his heart, soul and time into his development. The goal of which was to raised not just another אב, whose children would continue the legacy, but a מלך, a king over the fledgling Jewish nation. Yosef shared these aspirations, and in the dreams of his youth, he saw himself as being that great leader, amongst the sheaves of wheat on earth, and the stars of the heavens above.

But when Yosef found himself being hauled out of that pit, being sold into slavery by his brothers, his world effective ends. Not only Yosef's world, Yaakov's as well. His hopes for being the father of the sovereign nation are dashed, and he retreats into himself, mourning his failure to bring the light of Hashem into this world through his children. Without Yosef, he is lost and hopeless – ארד על בני אבל שאולה.

But as the Torah turns its attention to Yosef, we ask, what will become of this leader with no-one to lead, this מלך בלא עם? What will be of this dreamer with no one to populate his dreams?

Betrayed by his own family, Yosef realizes that his brothers cannot be the future of the Jewish people. Which leaves him with only question: Can he be the next of the Avos? Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov and... Yosef?

Yosef is left asking himself if all of Yiddishkeit can start again from him. At least in his mind, once Yaakov leaves this world, Yosef is the last Jew on earth. The last person loyal to the tradition of Avraham, the bris with Hashem. And Yosef is just a teenager; with the weight of the future of Judaism and indeed, humanity, resting on his shoulders.

The Tipping Point

But for Yosef, all of these overwhelming complexities, enormous responsibilities, and awesome potential comes into question in one moment of one day. Will he succumb to the seduction of Potifar's wife?

This moment crystallizes all of the internal tension that he feels, the questions of his capacity to relaunch a Jewish people in exile, the questions of his fortitude as a father of the nation. All this comes to the fore in this one moment. If he can face his own challenges, he can revive and restore Yiddishkeit. And if he not.... How does Yosef succeed?

We all know the famous Medrash: ראה דמות דיוקנו של אביו – he saw the face of his father. But the Satmar Rebbe explains much further, he saw the face of his father within himself. He realized at that moment that just like Yaakov had to fight his angel of the night, so too, Yosef did as well.

In that moment, he found his fire. He was no longer a Jew. Yosef was Judaism itself. In him, was the mission and vision of bringing the Ribono Shel Olam in the world. The purpose of creation and humanity rested with him. It would be his failure or success that moved the world forward or held it back.

He found his little jar of oil. He began to live a life on fire. Yosef lives his life in Egypt charged with universal purpose. From that moment on, wherever he goes, he is holding Hashem's hand.

Do we feel that sense of mission? It's not about stocks, portfolios, SATs, promotions, or politics. It's a fire of knowing, that the Master of All World wants me here right now to do something that only I can do.

Living with this fire means that Davening is not a ritual, it's a privilege. Learning is not a chore, it's the manual for success. Chesed and tzedaka are the reasons for living.

For Yosef HaTzadik, placement is irrelevant as long as he is on fire. This is the Modern Orthodoxy that we need to live. This is the Hashkafa we need to emulate and educate. It's the deep knowledge that we are Yiddiskeit. And we can be Yiddiskeit no matter where or when we may be.

Rebbe Noson of Breslov was once asked what the difference is between a person who is on fire with Yiddiskeit, and one who isn't. Don't they both keep the same mitzvos? He answered: Of course. But it's the exactly the same as the difference between a piece of warm kugel and cold kugel.

Hashem should help us that the kugels we eat and serve should be delicious. He should help us to kindle the flame; to be warm Jews no matter where or when we are, until we are zoche to bring the fire home to Yerushalayim.

Each day as we daven, we invoke the memory of the Avos: Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. Each one in their own right is an Av – a father of the Jewish people. Each one had their own struggle, their own challenge, their own perspective and the own middah.

But each of the Avos is exactly that – an Av. A parent. The Torah describes little, or nothing of their childhood. Avraham is already a grown man by the time Hashem says “Lech L'cha.” Yitzchak is thirty-seven years old at the Akeida. And while Yaakov is indeed 15 when he purchases his birthright from Esav, and that this event is recorded in the Torah, this one verse is the only narrative of Yaakov's teenage years. The next time we meet Yaakov is at the age of sixty, when he steals the brachos that Yitzchak intends for Esav.

The very first Jew to be identified as a child, is Yosef:

אֵלֶּה  תֹּלְדוֹת יַעֲקֹב יוֹסֵף בֶּן־שְׁבַע־עֶשְׂרֵה שָׁנָה הָיָה רֹעֶה אֶת־אֶחָיו בַּצֹּאן וְהוּא נַעַר

These are the generations of Jacob. Joseph, being seventeen years old, was tending the flock with his brethren, being still a youth...

We are introduced to Yosef, a seventeen year old young man. The favorite child of his father, and, paradigmatically, הוּא נַעַר. He's is a child.

Contrast this with Yaakov and Esav, one generation earlier. Immediately after telling us of the birth of Yaakov and Esav: The children grew up – וַיִּגְדְּלוּ הַנְּעָרִים. Very rapidly, they transcend “na'ar”. וַיְהִי עֵשָׂו אִישׁ יֹדֵעַ צַיִד אִישׁ שָׂדֶה וְיַעֲקֹב אִישׁ תָּם יֹשֵׁב אֹהָלִים – Esav was a hunter, a man of the field, and Yaakov was a wholesome man, dwelling in the tents. No longer are they young; each one is now an “ish.”

Yosef is still very much a na'ar when we meet him. Rashi quotes the Medrash and comments that Yosef did childish things:

והוא נער – שהיה עושה מעשה נערות, מתקן בשערו, משמש בעיניו, כדי שיהא נראה יפה.

His actions were childish: he dressed his hair, he touched up his eyes so that he should appear good-looking (Genesis Rabbah 84:7).

One can easily imagine how this affected his brothers. In a world that values growing up quickly, taking responsibility for the Jewish people and the future of the world, Yosef's childishness comes off as immature.

Consider that Avraham Avinu is crowned with ואברהם זקן – Avraham became old. On this, Rav Hirsch explains:

הזקן הוא בעל ההכרה הבשלה, בנגוד לנער, המנער בקלות את כל הרשמים שקבל מהחוץ.

He who is old is one who had a full understanding. In contradistinction to a youth, who is easily stirred by external stimuli.

Yosef epitomizes the opposite of זקנה – of age and of wisdom. But this is the least of the issues between Yosef and his brothers.

Yosef is a dreamer, like his father Yaakov before him, who dreamed of the ladder rising to the heavens. But quite unlike Yaakov, who is an observer in his dreams, Yosef is the protagonist. In Yosef’s dreams, he is gathering grain. He is at the center of the circle, surrounded by the sun, moon and stars.

His visions of grandeur and self importance are coupled with his immaturity. In the eyes of his brothers, he is little more than a pampered, narcissistic child, who is out of touch with the reality of being a part of the Am Segulah – the Nation that would shape human destiny. He leads a life of privilege, spending his time on his education with Yaakov, and his physical appearance.

Living in Yosef's World

There are many similarities between Yosef's live and the life of many contemporary Jewish teens and young adults today. He lives with a gnawing existential loneliness, and is faced with challenges far beyond his ancestors.

Economically: His career veers sharply from the stability his predecessors enjoyed (they were always shepherds). Yosef is a slave, a servant, a prisoner, an interpreter of dreams, economist, and eventually a politician and ruler.

Socially: Yosef spends most of his life surrounded by people whose beliefs are antithetical to his own. He dreams of greatness, yet his deepest desire is to impact the world positivity, with innovation and leadership.

Morally: Like many in generation, Yosef is challenged with sexual temptation, and needs to contend with emotions of abandonment and the desire for revenge.

The Meaning of נער

Despite these challenges, all of Yosef's dreams eventually come to fruition. The question we must address is how does Yosef succeed? How does he transcend being a נער, or perhaps, how does he utilize it? Is there a secret ingredient that makes Yosef's life a success, and if so, how can we emulate him?

The answer lies in understanding that Yosef's childishness is not one dimensional. The Medrash Tanchuma (Vayeshev 20) explains:

שלש מדות היו בו, בן תורה, ונביא, ואת אחיו מכלכל, בן תורה דכתיב כי בן זקונים הוא לו, וכתיב שאל אביך ויגדך זקניך ויאמרו לך. ומנין שהוא נביא, שנאמר והוא נער את בני בלהה וגו', וכתיב ומשרתו יהושע בן נון נער, וכתיב ויגדל הנער שמואל, ומנין שהוא זן את אחיו, שנאמר ועתה אל תיראו, אנכי אכלכל אתכם

Yosef had three attributes: He was a Ben Torah, a Prophet, and a Provider for his brothers... How do you know he was a prophet? He is referred to as נער. And both Yehoshua, and Shmuel are called נער as well.

The Medrash is telling us that in his being a נער – within his childishness – is his capacity for prophecy and greatness!

How does one contend with these conflicting Medrashim? Was Yosef a self-centered child? Or a Ben Torah, a Prophet, and a Provider for his Brothers? And how can both notions be communicated in the word נער?

Rav Gedalya Shor in Ohr Gedalyahu argues (based on the Zohar and Rabbineu Bachya) that נער is a complex word. One the one hand, it most certainly connotes immaturity. But on the other, it means התנערי מעפר קומי – To wake up from the ashes.

The Depths of Childhood

To be a child is to constantly balance the nativity of childishness with התנערי – the excitement of possibility. The capacity to build, to grow, to dream, to achieve and to achieve prophecy. It is through Yosef that Klal Yisrael is introduced to the importance childhood.

This is the not the approach of the brothers, or of the Avos. But Yosef disagrees. He is a not an Av, he is a na'ar. He teaches us that it is essential to dream, and to cultivate the children within ourselves (and indeed, give us the tools to to raise our own children.) He teaches us that growing up should not mean giving up.

The Magid of Mezritch would explain that there are three things he learned from children:

• They are always happy.
• When they need something they cry out. They're not ashamed to ask for help.
• They're always going somewhere. Children don't walk – they run.

Yaakov's Bracha

But how does one harness the passion, excitement and opportunity without falling off the bandwagon. How should we channel it?

At the end of his life, Yaakov calls Yosef in order to give him a Bracha – one that we echo to our children:

המלאך הגואל אותי מכל רע יברך את הנערים – May the angel that protected me, protect these naarim – these children.

The Sfas Emes explains:

שנתן ברכה להתפשטות כחו של יוסף, והנערים הוא התעוררות החיות שבעולם, והכלל כי שורש החיות בא מיוסף

Yaakov gave them the Bracha to continue Yosef's power. Children are those that awaken and provide life to the world. And the root of this comes from Yosef.

Yaakov and Yosef both understand, for a נער to succeed, they need protection. Who provides that protection? Exactly the same מלאך that has protected us throughout the ages.

The passionate growth that Yosef brings to the world is safe-guarded by the continuous connection to the core values of Yiddishkeit. That's the anchor to the excitement of innovation.

Ultimately, that's the tool box that we need to cultivate for ourselves, that we need to develop for our children.

Be'ezras Hashem, that same Malach should protect our dreams, our goals, our aspirations and our children.

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.