Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

The question is a troubling one: If left to our own devices, without any external motivation or pressure, what would we do with our time? What would we do with our lives?

The Degel Machaneh Ephraim (פר׳ בראשית) was the first to coin the phrase (in the name of the Baal Shem Tov):

וידוע במקום שמחשבתו של אדם שם הוא כולו נמצא – It is well known, that in the place that a person's thoughts are, that's where they are entirely.

Rebbe Nachman expanded on this idea, teaching: If you want to know who you are, think about what you think about when you're all alone. When no one is looking, what thoughts do we gravitate to? What's our default? When no one is checking in, what are our aspirations? Who do we want to be?

It would not be an understatement to say that the entire enterprise of being a Jew is to move the needle on these default settings – even just a little. Of course, in theory, we all want to make those slight changes, tiny upgrades, climbing higher, growing greater.

The challenge here, is that without regular check-ins, our default settings can subtly shift, until we are no longer the people we were aiming to be.

This happens to us on a micro-scale almost every day. It starts with “I need to get through these emails.” That's the goal. Priority number one for the afternoon. Five minutes into my inbox, there's an email from a company that I didn't sign up for. Great! I'll unsubscribe from that list. It's a quick deviation, but ok, we're back on track... Then there's an email from some old photo account sending a notification that the service is shutting down and deleting my pictures. “Oh wow! I forgot that account existed. I guess I better make sure there was nothing important there...”

You probably been in similar situations.

Two hours of absentminded journeying down memory lane until we are awakened from our trance by the beep of the laundry machine, the oven or door bell. “Oh no! Where did all that time go?” By then, our email inbox has only grown more daunting, and the time allotted to clear it has disappeared into whatever place our minds have wandered.

It get's much worse the moment we click on that funny clip or reel. Hours of doom scrolling down infinity pools of meaninglessness...

Despite the blissful enjoyment of our distractions, we often awaken with frustration and regret. But what if the distraction was not simply losing an afternoon of email processing? What if we lost days, or even decades?

In these cases, the divergence happens so slowly over so many years that we fail to notice which way we're steering our lives.

I've seen it happen. I had a brilliant friend who chose not to stay in Yeshiva for Shana Bet. Instead, he told me, he was going to dedicate himself to becoming a multi-millionaire in his twenties, and then retire to be able to learn in Kollel for the rest of his life. I remember the conversation well, and I remember his total conviction to the plan. Turns out that he absolutely achieved his goal. Today, he is exceedingly wealthy; but his decade spent in the world of commerce, and not learning of learning, also convinced him that he didn't really want to learn in Kollel for the rest of his life.

Somehow, somewhere, in the pursuit of an idilic life of learning, he lost his drive to learn.

Of course, that's an extreme example, but you'll hear the same dejection and resignation from the retiree who always “planned on starting their own company”, and “just needed to get a little experience” before striking out on their own. Fifty years later there's a pit of regret in his stomach at his retirement party.

Rabbi Nachum Zevin, the grandson of Rav Shlomo Yosef Zevin told the following story:

My grandfather, Rav Shlomo Yosef Zevin, came from a Lubavitcher family. He was in constant contact with the Rebbe, and when I decided – in 1955 – to begin learning in the Chabad yeshivah in New York, he was delighted. (Previously I had studied at the Ponevezh Yeshiva in Bnei Brak.)

Obviously, one of the main attractions of studying in New York was the opportunity to spend time with the Rebbe. And, as it happened, during my stay I had the chance to speak with him privately on three separate occasions.

The first audience included a lively discussion concerning my various Talmudic studies. My second audience was even more interesting. In middle of our conversation, he suddenly asked me, “What are you doing here in New York – doesn’t Jewish law prohibit a resident of Israel to leave for the Diaspora?”

I was a bit surprised by this question, as I had expected the Rebbe to know the three conditions which permit one to leave the Holy Land, but nonetheless I answered, “One may leave Israel for the sake of livelihood, to seek a wife or, as in my case, to study Torah.”

“Does that mean then,” he responded, “that before leaving Israel one must make a calculation – namely, that one would study more in the Diaspora than otherwise? And, having made that calculation, one need no longer think about it?”

He paused and then continued, “Or, does it mean that one must ask himself every day: ‘I am a resident of the Holy Land of Israel, what am I doing in New York?’ And every day one must be able to answer, ‘I have studied more today than I would have back home.’ Perhaps that is what one must do?”

It's a demanding perspective to have, perhaps impossibly demanding. But, then again, Rabbi Nachum Zevin went on to serve as the Chief Rabbi of Kiryat Eliyahu near Haifa. He made it back to Eretz Yisrael, when so many others found good reasons to stay in New York.

The importance reevaluating our default perspective is codified amongst the mitzvos of a Jewish King in our Parsha. The Torah tells us that a King is obligated to write a Sefer Torah which he must carry with him throughout his life, constantly learning from, constantly reviewing.

Rashi (דברים יז יח), however, quotes from Chazal (סנהדרין כא ב׳) that the King writes not one Torah, but two:

משנה התורה – שתי ספרי תורה: אחת שהיא מונחת בבית גנזיו, ואחת שנכנסת ויוצאה עמו.

The King should write משנה תורה – i.e. two scrolls of the Law, one that is placed in his treasury and the other that goes out and comes in with him.

Why should the king have two Sifrei Torah? Or rather, what is that purpose of the first Sefer Torah. Granted, the king should always have access to Dvar Hashem. It should guide him, teach him, humble him, accompany him on every journey. That's the second Sefer Torah. But why does he need a separate Torah for his treasury at home?

The Malchus Shlomo (Rav Shloime Twerski) explains: Each of us carry with us a “Torah” of our own; our version of Ratzon Hashem. But as we encounter the reality of life, with all of its distractions and complications, we begins to read our Torah a little differently. Not that we're trying to twist and corrupt it, God forbid, but simply that our dreams, hopes and priorities change. We find leniencies where necessary and sometimes our judgment isn't always free of agenda. Little by little, it's possible that our relationship to the values of Torah changes with the turns and bends on the roads of our lives.

To this end, a Jewish King (and each of us accordingly) is obligated to keep a Sefer Torah at our home base as well. This Torah is never read, never even opened. But it stands as a constant reminder of our aspirations and priorities from before we started down this road. It serves to center and ground us, keeping us connected to the goals we had before we got distracted.

These weeks from Elul through Tishrei are days of coming back to the Sefer Torah at home; they are geared to provoke the same awakening. It's a return to home base, to our hopes, goals and dreams. It's a chance to realign the Torah we've carried this past year with the Torah that we're aiming to carry into the future. Hashem should help us to plug-in, recharge and reignite the dreams of who we're going to be in the year ahead.

Thinking back, there's a certain mythical quality to Elul in Yeshivos and Seminaries. For many of us who attended these illustrious institutions, Elul was our first foray into self-improvement, religious maturity and growth without grades.

We heard stories of Gedolim who didn't speak a single unnecessary word throughout Elul, and those who deprived themselves of sleep or food to increase the time they spend learning, davening and doing chessed.

Of course, for most of us, those achievements were and are unattainable (not to mention unhealthy), but the dream of riding the Elul wave to a radical life transformation was palpable and tangible.

I dare say that the same is not true of life as an adult. This is partially because our time commitments operate differently now. With careers, families and responsibilities, we no longer have the luxury to spend all night pouring over texts or debating ideology, morality and philosophy. But it is also because people, including ourselves, don't really seem to change all that much from Elul to Elul. Most of us are still coasting on whatever auto-pilot setting we rode a year ago.

All of this begs the questions: What does Hashem really want from me this Elul?

The “Yeshivish” answer is as obvious as it is impractical. The endeavor to correct and upgrade every area of our lives to be in line with the Shulchan Aruch, is noble, beautiful and impossible. That is not to say, of course, that we shouldn't aspire to be in complete and total observance with all of Halacha. I'm also not, Chas V'Shalom, saying that Halacha is impossible to keep in its entirety. It's simply a recognition that we will likely be “klapping al-Cheit” next year as well.

I would like to suggest that acknowledging this truth and saying it out loud is neither defeatist nor heretical. It is honest, reasonable, and the beginning of meaningful growth.

Where do we begin when attaining perfection is so improbable? Realistically, we can begin anywhere; with three important conditions: 1. We accept that there is necessary growth that we need to achieve in this area. 2. We are ready to work on this area, and we can begin now. 3. We have a strategy and action plan in mind – and we carry it out.

I'd like to briefly unpack each of these:

1. We accept that there is necessary growth that we need to achieve in this area.

I once asked Rabbi Azriel Goldfein זצ״ל (the Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshiva Gedolah in Johannesburg) why all Jews in South Africa considered themselves Orthodox – regardless of our level of observance. He explained that since almost all South African Jews were Lithuanian, they were never exposed to the grander and prestige of non-Jewish life. “In Western Europe there was aristocracy, enlightenment, education, nobility. But in Lita, they still ate with their hands. When a Lithuanian Jew stopped keeping Mitzvos, they knew that they were doing the wrong thing and they never attempted to fit in to European culture. They didn't want to be religious, but they certainly didn't want to be Lithuanian.”

As a result, much like Sephardim, South African Jews never developed a doctrine of apologetics and they never justified their religious failures with a new understanding or rendition of the Torah and Shulchan Aruch. I grew up in a world where most people would drive to Shul on Shabbos. But if they would get to shul and see no Mechitza, they would get into their cars and drive to another shul.

The way that Jews in the US operate is a little different. Here, people are far less comfortable with sin and hypocrisy. This obviously has significant merits, but carries a serious pitfall as well: The culture of the US temps us to think that since failure is unacceptable, “if I sin, I need to reinterpret the Torah to make it not a sin. I cannot accept my failure, I must explain it and justify it.”

But in order to truly work on something, we need to accept that this is, in fact, something to work on. No excuses, no blame, no reinterpretations.

This Elul, pick something that you know you need to fix and that you want to fix. Lashon Hara? Shnayim Mikra? Anger? Checking lettuce? Swimming on Shabbos? Attending Minyan? Overeating? Giving Tzedakah? Daily Learning? Brachos with Kavanah?

Whatever it is, step one begins with “This is my problem, and it is my responsibility to fix it.”

2. We are ready to work on this area, and we can begin now.

Aliza and I had an NCSYer a number of years ago who started becoming observant in twelfth grade. Her parents, whilst mostly supportive, refused to kasher their kitchen and buy only kosher products. She came over one Shabbos, heartbroken that she had just decided to keep kosher and was clearly unable to do so. We discussed many elements of hilchos Kashrus, including a host of potential leniencies, but concluded that perhaps her focus could be on other areas of Halacha that were more attainable at that point.

The Yetzer Hara often guilts us into working on something that we know we cannot change yet and it is tempting to overcommit to big dreams. But it doesn't work. If you're struggling to make it to shul on Shabbos morning, don't commit to daily minyan... yet. If you're having a hard time finishing Shnyaim Mikra, don't start Daf Yomi... yet.

Of course, we'd love to wave a magic wand and jump a thousand steps, but that's a recipe for failure. All growth must be gradual to be sustainable.

This approach was taken by Hashem Himself who didn't lead us directly to Eretz Yizrael after the Exodus: פֶּן־יִנָּחֵם הָעָם בִּרְאֹתָם מִלְחָמָה וְשָׁבוּ מִצְרָיְמָה – “The people may have a change of heart when they see war, and return to Egypt.” Sometimes, taking the long way 'round is worth it, to ensure that we get there in the end.

3. We have a strategy and action plan in mind – and we carry it out.

Our strategies are essential prerequisites to success. Rabbi Yisroel Salanter famously said that changing one Middah is more challenging than learning all of Shas. To change something – for real – is going to require a serious amount of planning.

We will need to consider our habits, environments, social circles, triggers and weaknesses. We will need to establish support systems of trusted partners and allow ourselves the latitude to fail as we practice and learn. None of this is simple, but dedication to deprogramming and reprogramming our thoughts and behaviors will take time, grit, patience, humility and empathy.

Indeed, the Gra (אבן שמלה ד:כב) notes that while the advice of Chachamim is essential in Avodas Hashem, it is insufficient when contending with our own Yetzer Hara. For that, we need our own creativity and our own strategies.

The most important part, however, is action.

Our lives are not the story of the things that we think, but the things that we do. Our thoughts, plans and considerations have little to no impact, when contrasted with even our least significant action.

Moreover, the Sefer HaChinuch famously instructs us: אחרי הפעולות נמשכים הלבבות – Our emotions follow our actions. Waiting to be in the right mindset with the right intentions guarantees that we will never take actions.

The Nesivos Shalom quotes from Reb Shlomo Dovid Yehoshua (the 4th Slonimer Rebbe) that often when we feel like our head is not in the game we should remember that when climbing a ladder, we first raise our feet and then only then our heads.

There are many ladders to climb this Elul. Many opportunities to make a real difference in our own lives. The Sfas Emes quotes from his grandfather, the Chidushei HaRim that the beginning of our Parsha, רְאֵה אָנֹכִי נֹתֵן לִפְנֵיכֶם הַיּוֹם בְּרָכָה וּקְלָלָה” – See, this day I set before you blessing and curse”, means to tell us that every day we have the capacity to make choices. To pick a ladder, to begin to climb.

Hashem should help each and every one of us to keep on climbing, keep on striving, keep on growing, so that by next years Elul we're a little closer to who we want to be.

The song “It's Geshmak to Be A Yid” has become a staple at camps and on summer programs. It's a fun, upbeat, leibadik niggun, and the message is beautiful.

Literally, the word “Geshmak” means “tasty” or “delicious”, and I find myself wondering: Is it really Geshmak to be a Yid all the time?

Undeniably, there are parts of being Jewish that are not always Geshmak. Sometimes, the Torah asks us to do things that are tough. Sometimes, the Torah tells us not to do things that we enjoy. Of course, intellectually, we believe that Hashem's Torah is objectively wonderful. But “Geshmak” doesn't mean logical – it means that we enjoy it, and there are certainly parts that are less agreeable to our Western palates.

How do we chew and swallow those elements that taste bitter to us? How do we feed them to our kids? Do we have faith that they will eventually digest into something that makes us feel good?

As a parent, Rabbi and teacher often consider how my Torah, Mitzvos and Yiddishkeit tastes? How does it make my children, community and students feel?

Broadening the scope of this question: Does our observance of Yiddishkeit make us feel satisfied, satiated and nourished? Or perhaps there are aspects of our religious and cultural life that make us feel sick, bloated and nauseous? What are the flavors and feelings that we trying to cultivate for ourselves, our families and our communities?

Most importantly, on an existential level, many of us wonder if there is a version of Jewish life that routinely tastes and feels good? What might it take to achieve it?

Most often, these questions hover around thirty-thousand feet. They percolate in different ways on the back-burners of our minds, popping up as frustrations, but rarely coming into view consciously. But this time of year demands that we address them, for two reasons:

Firstly: As the school year begins, we need to evaluate our goals, plans and intentions regarding our children. What do we answer our kids when they say that they don't enjoy keeping mitzvos or learning Torah?

Secondly, this Shabbos is Shabbos Mevorchim Elul; and there is no more poignant time in our calendar to carefully consider our own relationships with Shul, Learning, Torah, Mitzvos and Hashem. In the coming two months we will find ourselves engaged in the rituals and rhythms of our religion with far more intensity. What are our own intentions for the Yamim Nora'im? Are we trying to pass them by as quickly and painlessly as possible? Or are we planning to engage with renewed dedication?

It is worth noting, however, that this is not an isolated conversation. Yiddishkeit is not the only place where such struggles exist.

Consider the challenge of healthy eating: Some foods taste amazing, but make us feel awful. Some taste horrible, and make us feel horrible too. (Kale, I'm looking at you 😊.) And then there are rare delicacies, that taste delicious, provide us with nourishment, and leave us feeling satiated and reenergized.

This same scale can be used to measure and evaluate all of our habits, hobbies and experiences. Some provide enjoyment, but leave us feeling regretful, lonely, angry, saddened or ashamed. (These areas are the playground of our Yetzer Hara, temping us to do things we know will not feel good later.) Others, are painful and clearly disastrous from beginning to end. These are the activities that we hopefully learn to avoid.

Then there are those that occupy the sweet spot of experiences: They are thoroughly enjoyable in the moment, as well as deepening and enriching our lives. These are the ones that taste good and feel fantastic.

Our interpersonal relationships can, likewise be defined as: Those that are fun, those that inspire growth, and the rare and most precious relationships that achieve both.

With a little investigation and introspection a common denominator emerges: The parts of our lives that that bring us joy as well as long term positivity, take time and effort to achieve.

For example:

• It takes time and maturity to appreciate that overall, steak is better than cake. (A fact that is currently lost on my own children.) Quite literally, it's an acquired taste.

• It takes months or years of practice before one develops enough skill to truly enjoy playing the piano, going to the gym, or running a marathon.

• Cultivating the relationships that we would like to experience in marriage, business and family all require discipline, empathy, vulnerability and humility. None of it comes easily or automatically.

To our earlier point: It takes some considerable effort until observing mitzvos, davening and learning can be as enjoyable as they are meaningful. In order to truly declare “It's Geshmak to be a Yid,” we need to develop the acquired taste.

What is the road-map for acquiring this taste? How do we ensure Yiddishkeit transcends obligation and becomes an opportunity?

The Malbim explains that the Moshe Rabbeinu wrote the instructions, and placed it in our Parsha:

Step One: Understanding

We begin (י׳:י״ז) with an understanding that Hashem is real, true and has expectations. At our first encounter with this truth, is jarring, terrifying and demanding:

הָאֵל הַגָּדֹל הַגִּבֹּר וְהַנּוֹרָא אֲשֶׁר לֹא יִשָּׂא פָנִים וְלֹא יִקַּח שֹׁחַד The Great God, the Mighty, and the Awesome, who doesn't play favorites and cannot be bribed.

Step Two: Submission

Once we recognize the awesomeness of Hashem, we are left with only one rational conclusion (י׳:כ׳):

אֶת ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ תִּירָא אֹתוֹ תַעֲבֹד You should fear Hashem your God. You shall serve Him.

Since Hashem is real, and cares about what we do, there are consequences to our actions. To that end, we fear Him, and serve Him.

It is at the this stage of religious growth, Yiddishkeit is not Geshmak. This is the stage of tension, pushback and rebellion. No-one likes to be a slave. No-one wants to live in fear. No-one wants to be told what to do, and any action taken under these conditions is swallowing a very bitter pill. In previous generations, people were able to live with this discontent; today, abandoning Torah is far more common.

Step Three: A Relationship Emerges

The goal is not submission and fear. The conclusion of the Pasuk that instructs us to fear and serve Hashem tells us: וּבוֹ תִדְבָּק – Cling to Him. Here, Moshe is telling us “even though you are initially motivated by fear, don't ever be too afraid to reach out to Him, don't be afraid of the relationship.”

Despite the weight of duty, the awe, reverence and fear, cling to Hashem, don't run, don't hide. Remember how He has always been there for us, how He created us, and constantly wills us into existence. At the core of our relationship, even if we cannot feel or understand it, Hashem loves us. If we keep working at it, keep pushing, growing, learning, doing, something will change.

Step Four: It's Geshmak to Be A Yid

Finally, eventually (י״א:א׳):

וְאָהַבְתָּ אֵת ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ וְשָׁמַרְתָּ מִשְׁמַרְתּוֹ וְחֻקֹּתָיו וּמִשְׁפָּטָיו You will love Hashem your God, and keep his instructions, and his statutes, and his ordinances, and his commandments, forever.

This Pasuk the Malbim explains, is not a directive. It is a description of what we will achieve:

שתעבדנו מאהבה ושמרת משמרתו וחקותיו מאהבה ובזה יצויר אהבה במקום יראה We will serve Hashem out of Love, and observe His mitzvos out of love, and love will replace fear.

With enough training and investment, the bitter can become sweet. We can learn to enjoy the challenges, restrictions and obligations of the Torah. Much like the experience that after many weeks and months of training, it is more enjoyable to go for a run than to sit on the couch. With enough dedication, eating healthy tastes better than eating junk food, and it feels better too.

The response to “I'm not feeling it” is to not to quit; it's to reengage, try again, reach out for advice, push a little harder.

With enough time and practice, tefillah in a minyan, learning the Daf, singing zemiros, giving tzedaka and doing chessed can all be more enjoyable, more Geshmak than any other activity. The things that were once chores and tasks can and will eventually taste amazing, and they'll make us feel even better.

As school begins and we ring in the month of Elul, this is our Avoda for the weeks ahead: To push ourselves and each other a little harder with empathy, humility and dedication.

With Hashem's help, our lives, schools, shuls, businesses and homes will be filled with Avodas Hashem; our Yiddishkeit will feel incredible and it we will finally declare, it's Geshmak to be a Yid!

It's 7:45am on a Tuesday morning; I've just gotten home from Shachris. As I walk through the front door, I hear a crash, then a scream, and then crying. Looking for the source of the commotion, I see that two of my kids are busy eating breakfast. Except that one of the is on the floor, quite literally crying over their spilled milk (and cheerios). As I make my way into the kitchen, I ask both kids to help clean up. The one on the floor begins to collect their cheerios. The other child, however, is standing, staring, defiantly declaring “Abba! It's not my fault!”

“No one said it was your fault.” I explain. “But that doesn't mean we don't all have a responsibility to help clean up. After all, we all want to live in a clean home...”

***

I've been working hard on instilling this idea in my children, in my students and in myself for a number of years. Recognizing this truth has been a major factor in my own personal growth, weight loss and health journey. It took a long time for me to finally understand that while it might not be my fault (or anyone's) that I grew up with unhealthy habits, the responsibility to change them is still mine, and mine alone. Because, ultimately, the exercises of assigning blame and determining who is really at fault, do very little to solve the problem at hand.

Chazal (ירושלמי יומא א:א) thus explain:

כָּל־דּוֹר שֶׁאֵינוֹ נִבְנֶה בְיָמָיו מַצֲלִין עָלָיו כְּאִילּוּ הוּא הֶחֱרִיבוֹ Any generation in which the Beis HaMikdash is not rebuilt is considered as if they had destroyed it.

These are heavy words, but Chazal are making a clear point: Even though our generation is not at fault for the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash, we are most certainly responsible for ensuring that it is rebuilt.

The Yismach Moshe (כי תצא יב) spells out this responsibility: If we do Teshuva, fixed out actions and affect, the Beis HaMikdash will be rebuilt, and if we don't, then it won't. That's what's at stake. That is what is possible. But developing that mindset from the despair Tisha B'Av is difficult.

Reb Tzadok HaKohen of Lublin suggests that seven days after Tisha B'av is the day that we celebrate taking this responsibility. He writes that this day – Tu B'av – is designated to the day when we will one day rebuild the Mikdash.

But when the Talmud describes the celebrations of Tu B'av, however, the explanations seem to be someone confusing. There are six reasons given, but it is the final one which we will focus on, since the Izbitzer writes this reason is the one which encompasses them all:

רבה ורב יוסף דאמרי תרוייהו יום שפסקו מלכרות עצים למערכה (תניא) רבי אליעזר הגדול אומר מחמשה עשר באב ואילך תשש כחה של חמה ולא היו כורתין עצים למערכה לפי שאינן יבשין. אמר רב מנשיא וקרו ליה יום תבר מגל מכאן ואילך דמוסיף יוסיף

Rabba and Rav Yosef both say: The fifteenth of Av was the day on which they stopped chopping down trees for the arrangement of wood that burned on the altar, as it is taught, Rabbi Eliezer the Great says: From the fifteenth of Av onward, the strength of the sun grows weaker, and from this date they would not cut additional wood for the Alter, (Rashi: as they would not be properly dry, and they would therefore be unfit for use in the Temple.) Rav Menashya said: And they called the fifteenth of Av the day of the breaking of the axes, as from this date onward no more trees were cut down. The Gemara adds: From the fifteenth of Av onward, when the days begin to shorten, one who adds to his nightly Torah study will add years to his life.

There are many questions to ask on this Gemara. Why is stopping to chop wood for the Mizbeach a cause for celebration? The lengthening of the night and the heralding of winter a cause for celebration? Furthermore, why break the axes? Are we not going to use them next year? Isn't this Ba'al Tashichis?

To understand this, we need understand the dichotomy of axe anatomy, as the Talmud (סנהדרין לט ב) explains: מיניה וביה אבא ניזיל ביה נרגא. “From the forest itself comes the handle for the axe.”

The Medrash (בראשית רבה ה י׳) tells us the whole story:

כיון שנברא הברזל התחילו האילנות מרתתים. אמר להן: מה לכם מרתתין? עץ מכם אל יכנס בי ואין אחד מכם ניזוק

When Hashem created steel, the trees began to tremble. Said the steel to them: “So long as none of you serve as my handle, no tree will be harmed.”

The Maharal (חדושי אגדות סנהדרין לט) explains what Chazal are teaching us in these Midrashim:

כי רגיל הוא שפורענות יבא על האדם מצד עצמו Most of the calamities that happen to us, also happen through us.

That is to say, the person most likely to cause damage to us, is ourselves. It might not be the wood's fault that other trees are cut down, but allowing oneself to become a handle is evading essential responsibility.

In almost every situation in our lives, we are both the subject, the actor, as well as the object, the recipient. Which means that there are only two ways to live life. Either as victims of our circumstance, or as captains of our ship.

This decision effects every part of our lives, from our careers, to raising our children. From marriage to davening. From success to failure. This decision effects the way that we look at everything – is this a failure, a setback, or a trend? Is this challenge a speed bump or a road block?

As Henry Ford put it: “Whether you think you can, or you think you can't – you're right.”

It is possible to see children growing up and complain about the late nights and early mornings. It is possible to see the sun rising and gripe about getting too little sleep. It's possible to see our community grow by leaps and bounds, and get upset about not getting enough herring at Kiddush.

Those that live as victims, get stuck in perpetual cycles of negativity. Those that live as captains, guide the ships of their lives over the challenges that Hashem sends our way.

Optimism doesn’t mean everything is great, it means we can respond to everything with greatness.

So how should a Jew respond to the aftermath of Tisha B'av, where the night is growing longer, and the world is growing colder? Where we can no longer dry out the wood for the mizbeach?

There are plenty of reasons to be upset. Plenty of reasons to throw our hands up and say that the task ahead is too formidable, that we didn't have enough time; that the weather is too unpredictable.

But there is another way. We could look at the lengthening of the night, and the coldness of the world, and say “Wow! This is a great time to dive deeper into Talmud Torah. This isn't an obstacle, it's an opportunity.”

The celebration of breaking the axes was a display of abandoning the self destructiveness that led us to the Churban in the first place. It was a bold declaration that we won't the cause of our own demise. It doesn't matter whose fault it is, the milk and cheerios need to be cleaned up, so we might as well get a mop.

This Shabbos, Moshe Rabbeinu teaches us (4:29):

וּבִקַּשְׁתֶּם מִשָּׁם אֶת ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ וּמָצָאתָ...

But from there you will seek Hashem you God; and you will find Him...

The Baal Shem would teach: “There” means that wherever you are is the place from which you should seek Hashem. In essence, be a captain of your ship.

Rebbe Nosson writes (ליקוטי הלכות הלכות ראש חודש ו:יא):

וּבָזֶה טוֹעִים רֹב בְּנֵי אָדָם שֶׁכָּל אֶחָד אוֹמֵר אִם הָיָה לוֹ פַּרְנָסָה הָיָה עוֹבֵד ה'... רַק יֵדַע וְיַאֲמִין שֶׁבְּחִירָתוֹ תְּלוּיָה דַּיְקָא בְּאֹפֶן זֶה,... So many people are mistaken in this area; “If only I was wealthy, I would serve Hashem! ... But know and trust that you have the ability to choose your own path specifically in this situation.

This perspective of taking responsibility was a pillar of the Lubavitcher Rebbe's life, and indeed, many of his talmidim and chassidim. Lord Rabbi Sacks tells the story:

“Many years ago, I came to the Rebbe’s residence in New York, and eventually the moment came when I was ushered into the Rebbe’s study. I asked him all my intellectual, philosophical questions; he gave intellectual, philosophical answers, and then he did what no one else had done. He did a role reversal, he started asking me questions. How many Jewish students are in Cambridge? How many get involved in Jewish life? What are you doing to bring other people in? I’d come to ask a few simple questions, and all of a sudden he was challenging me. So I replied: “In the situation in which I find myself…”

The Rebbe did something which I think was quite unusual for him, he actually stopped me in mid-sentence. He says, “Nobody finds themselves in a situation; you put yourself in a situation. And if you put yourself in that situation, you can put yourself in another situation.” And Rabbi Sacks concluded: “That moment changed my life.”

Hashem should help us to break the axes of self destruction. To see the opportunities and not the obstacles. To be captains and not victims. To, Be'ezras Hashem, bring ourselves, our families and each other into a world of Geulah, to build the Mikdash, speedily in our generation.

Every year the great Nine-Days machlokes grows stronger: To Siyum or Not to Siyum.

Frum-Twitter lights up with meat and memes, comedians weigh in, and Rabbanim address shaylos like “does Pirkei Avos count?” (All the while, of course, Sephardim are happily BBQ-ing on the front lawn.)

It certainly seems that people feel a guilty pleasure eating meat at a nine-days siyum. It feels disingenuous; a little sneaky. But then again, Yiddishkeit has all sorts of loopholes, right? After all, we all our sell Chametz, right? Why not enjoy a delicious steak dinner, so long as there's a little Torah thrown in? Enough people seems to be OK with it... so there's gotta be some opinion that says that this is allowed, even if it's not ideal, right?

Well... Not really, sort of. Maybe. Some background is needed.

The Rama (ס׳ תקנ״א ס”י) does allow for the eating of meat at a Siyum, but restricts the attendees to those who are “Shayach” to the Siyum. During שבוע שחל בו ת״ב, the week in which Tisha B'Av falls out (and when Sephardim also refrain from meat and wine) the guest list is further limited.

The Mishna Berura (ס׳ תקנ״א ס״ק ע״ג) adds that one should certainly not speed up or slow down a regular schedule of learning to make such a Siyum, but that if it happens to work out that you finish during the nine days, and you usually make a Siyum, then you may invite the guests that you would usually invite.

There are many more nuances and subtleties to discuss, but this is the mainstream approach of standard, straightforward Halacha. Of course, there are many justifications offered for more expansive understandings of the how's, who's and when's of a Siyum. Some note that the definition of “usually” is dependent on time and location, and that during the summer at camps and on vacation, people have larger gatherings in general. Others point to the value of increasing Ahavas Yisrael and Talmud Torah. (Rabbi Gavriel Zinner lists many more in the footnotes of נטעי גבריאל הל׳ בין המצרים ח״א פרק מא).

But far beyond the questions of technical permissibility, there are deeper question of appropriateness. Does eating meat at a nine-days siyum subvert the spirit-of-the-law? The Aruch HaShulchan (תקנ״א כ״ג) certainly thought so, as he writes:

ודע שיש שמניחים הסיום מסכת על ימים אלו, כדי לאכול בשר. ודבר מכוער הוא And you should know that there are those who plan a Siyum in these days for the purpose of eating meat. This practice is despicable.

He takes issue with the abandonment of communal customs, the totally disregard for mourning over the Destruction of the Beis HaMikdash and goes so far as to question our ability and desire to control our base urges, explaining:

איך לא נבוש ולא נכלם? הלא הרבה מהאומות שאין אוכלים הרבה שבועות לא בשר, ולא חלב, ולא ביצים; ואנחנו עם בני ישראל, שעלינו נאמר “קדושים תהיו” – לא יאבו לעצור את עצמם שמונה ימים בשנה, לזכרון בית קדשינו ותפארתינו? How are we not ashamed? Is it not true that many of the nations of the world have many weeks where they refrain from meat, milk and eggs? And we, the Jewish People, about whom the Torah says “You shall be Holy” are not capable of holding ourselves back for eight days in the year in memory of the Beis HaMikdash?!

His mussar is well taken. If his generations over a century ago were getting too hedonistic, I think we're in trouble.

A friend and colleague recently noted to me that there is a basic theme behind so many of the questions he is asked in Halacha. They reduce to a simple request: “How can I live the unrestricted, pleasure-filled life that I want to live, and still feel like I'm keeping Halacha?”

Perhaps that take is overly cynical, but there is a painful truth to recognize. We desperately want to ensure that Halacha does not interfere with our lives, and this Yetzer Hara is easy to understand.

For starters, the concept of being an Eved Hashem is foreign in Western Society, and we are culturally conditioned to reject restrictions and authority. Holding back from a desired menu choice for religious purposes is about as un-American as it gets. That's true year 'round regarding Kashrus.

During the nine-days, however, the emotional requirement is far worse. This week we are asked to restrict ourselves for the expressed purpose of reducing our happiness. All of this is to focus on the loss of our Ancient Spiritual and Cultural Center two millennia ago. Simply stated: There is nothing here that resonates as a value in contemporary western society at all.

This is the battle that we (and the Aruch HaShulchan), are fighting in general. We are fighting it for ourselves, our kids and the future of Torah Judaism. This issue is the front line of ensuring the relevance and continuity of Torah values for ourselves and our future generations.

It seems then, that while there might be technical loopholes to arrange a “meat-eater siyum” there is no justification to utilize these loopholes outside of extenuating circumstances.

But perhaps there is more to the story...

After Rabbi Meir Shapiro's untimely passing, Rabbi Aryeh Tzvi Frummer, known as The Kozhiglover Rav, was appointed to be the Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivas Chachmei Lublin. Throughout his life and Sefarim, he attempted to find a “לימוד זכות” – a meritorious defense – for some of our more perplexing practices. As such, in his Sefer on the Parsha (ארץ צבי דברים תרפ״ה), he addresses our question, and takes up the defense of learning a Masechta and arranging a siyum for the exclusive purpose of eating meat in the nine days. He writes:

The Talmud (שבת פח ב׳) quotes Rava as saying:

לַמַּיְימִינִין בָּהּ סַמָּא דְחַיֵּי, לְמַשְׂמְאִילִים בָּהּ סַמָּא דְמוֹתָא. To those who are “right-wards” in their approach to Torah (and engage in its study with strength, good will, and sanctity) Torah is a potion of life, and to those who are “left-wards” in their approach to Torah, it is a potion of death.

The normative interpretation of this teaching echos what we have been discussing. If we are proper in our study of Torah, then Torah is the elixir of Life. But utilizing Torah to undermine and subvert Ratzon Hashem turns the Torah into a dangerous poison.

But the Sfas Emes (לקוטים פרשת וישב) understands Rava differently, in light of the Chazal's well known principle in Avodas Hashem (פסחים נ׳ ב׳):

דְּאָמַר רַב יְהוּדָה אָמַר רַב: לְעוֹלָם יַעֲסוֹק אָדָם בְּתוֹרָה וּמִצְוֹת אַף עַל פִּי שֶׁלֹּא לִשְׁמָהּ, שֶׁמִּתּוֹךְ שֶׁלֹּא לִשְׁמָהּ בָּא לִשְׁמָהּ. Rav Yehuda said that Rav said: A person should always engage in Torah study and performance of mitzvot, even if he does so not for their own sake. Through the performance of mitzvot not for their own sake, one gains understanding and comes to perform them for their own sake.

If this is true, that learning Torah with alterior motives is still positive, then how can the Torah ever be a poison?!

The Sfas Emes answers by re-explaining Rava: When we learn Torah ״לשמה״, for its own sake, then Torah is an elixir of Live, adding to the quality, profundity and beauty of our lives. But sometimes we engage in Torah for some other purpose. On such occasions, the Torah does not add to our lives, but still protects us from sickness, pain and death. Talmud Torah is always good. It is always positive. Done right, it adds life, but even when done wrong, it prevents death.

With this in mind the Kozhiglover explains: During this time of the year, when the darkness of the Churban is so overwhelming and and pain of exile is most palpable, we should encourage any and all Torah learning, even for the wrong reasons. Even if it's just for the purpose of enjoying a good steak.

The power of Torah is that it can hold back the darkness, and we need all the help we can get.

Who is right; The Aruch HaShulchan or the Kozhiglover? The choice that each of us make here probably says a lot about the way we look at the world in general. But allow me to offer my own understanding: It appears to me that both are true. We are living in a generation that is walking the tight rope from exile to redemption.

From this precarious precipice, it is possible to tumble into Western hedonism and lose ourselves to the rat race, where all we yearn for is endless power and pleasure. Fall in this direction and the values of Halacha, Jewish History and the Beis HaMikdash will fade tragically into obscurity.

But it is also possible for us to collapse into loneliness, doubt, despair and depression. Fall here, and we conclude that we are never truly deserving of pleasure, and certainly not of redemption. We are fakers, imposters and charlatans; barely a shadow of the greatness of yesteryear. Nothing we do will ever be good enough, nothing is meaningful enough, nothing is potent enough to turn the tide and change the world we live in.

There are days that I feel I need the Aruch HaShulchan, and days that I need the Kozhiglover. There are values to both approaches, as well as pitfalls, and I'm grateful that our Mesora is broad enough to help steer us straight.

Is there a way to have your steak and eat it? Perhaps.

If we learn to navigate this tight rope, with empathy, thoughtfulness and intellectual honesty, we might merit that Hashem should help us to ensure that the question is never relevant again.

In the words of Rebbe Yehuda HaNassi (מגילה ה׳ ב׳): הואיל ונדחה ידחה – Since Tisha B'Av is pushed off this Shabbos, it should be pushed off forever.

This past week, I was zocheh to spend some time in Eretz Yisrael, together with some incredible educators from Yeshiva High Schools across the country. It was an eye opening trip, that focused on learning how to teach the complexity of the Modern State of Israel in the context of the Israeli-Arab conflict and world opinion. (There are so many parts of the trip that will require processing so be prepared for some future posts...)

But being that this week heralds in the month of Menachem Av, I thought, perhaps to zoom out a little, and think about where we are in the context of Jewish History. To a certain extent, all of this is brand new, and yet, in the long arc of the history of our people, we've been here before.

It brings to mind the story of a family trying to navigate their way on vacation:

The story is told about family, who, after a long year, decides to take a summer road trip. Carefully following the his GPS, the father, who is in the driver's seat, arrives a road with a large sign that read, “Road Closed. Do Not Enter.”

“But Waze says that this is the way to go! Going around will take hours!” He remarked.

“But honey, if the sign says it's closed, then maybe we shouldn't risk it?”

But despite his wife's protests there was no turning back for the persistent captain of his RV. After a few miles of successful navigation, he began to boast about his brilliance. His proud smile was quickly replaced with a humble cold sweat when the road led to a washed-out bridge, with no possibility of passage. He turned the car around and bashfully retraced his tracks to the main road.

When they arrived at the original warning sign he was greeted by large letters on the back of the sign “Welcome back, stupid!”

Every year, I teach a short crash course in the history of Tanach to my incoming students. We open google maps and follow the geographic History of our People. It's a funny story – effectively bouncing between Mesopotamia and Eretz Yisrael half a dozen times, before the destruction of the Second Beis HaMikdash. Since then, we've spread to every corner of the globe, enduring the worst of what humans are capable of doing to each other.

It's been almost two thousand years, and we're finally back home, with a big sign the reads “Welcome back, stupid.” Of course, we're not entirely back yet. Not all of us, and not completely. We still have a long way to go before the pain of Tisha B'Av is reversed. But without doubt, the month of Av in our generation is different from what it was once before.

We are not living in the world of destruction, but we are also not quite in the world of redemption. We're somewhere in between. The Radak writes that L'chu Neranena was the Tefillah that was written for our generation. It's a description of how we will feel at the beginning of Geulah. The Tefillah thus reads:

Come with me! We're going to say thank you to Hashem. It's been so long since we've had a chance to be together in Yerushalayim. We're going to sing, we're going to bow, we're going to thank Him for everything He has done for us...

But then we pivot sharply: אַל תַּקְשׁוּ לְבַבְכֶם כִּמְרִיבָה – Each person will turn to his or her friend and say: “Don't get frustrated and belligerent like we did in the desert. Please, let's not mess it up like we did before...” Whatever it was before, can it be over now? We've blundered every national opportunity since we came out of Egypt, maybe we can hold onto this one?

The Vilna Gaon would daven every day that “Mashiach Ben Yosef” shouldn't die. The Kol Mevaser explains: Mashiach Ben Yosef is the natural return of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel. It's a trajectory that could succeed; transcending all of history, and taking us towards a world of Malchus Hashem. But it could also fail, thrusting us in the darkest of pain and exile until a miraculous redemption rescues those who remain.

The Vilna Gaon prayed that the State of Israel should continue to succeed.

The way that we look at our history, however, has an immense impact on the way we envision the road ahead. To that end, the Torah instructs us this Shabbos to take a look at the stops we've made along the way.

For our ancestors in the Midbar, their forty year detour is coming to an end this week and Parshas Masei is the end of the narrative of the Torah. It is the final installment of the story of the generation that left Mitzraim. From Devarim until the end of the Torah is Moshe's last speech.

This final Parsha begins with אלא מסעי – these are the journeys, the detours that we took. The Torah then lists forty-two stops from slavery in Egypt to standing at the entrance to Eretz Yisrael.

Why do we need such a summary? Rashi explains that it's all to teach us that Hashem looked after us at every point in the long journey. And while the Ramban accepts Rashi's explanation, he adds:

והנה מכתב המסעות מצות השם היא מן הטעמים הנזכרים או מזולתן ענין לא נתגלה לנו סודו The writing of these journeys were a command from Hashem, perhaps for the reasons we mentioned, or perhaps their secret has never been revealed to us.

That is to say, that fundamentally, even in the retrospective, we don't know why this was the way that it needed to happen. Sometime, hindsight simply isn't 20/20.

The Degel Machaneh Efraim, explains, in the name of the Baal Shem Tov, that likewise, each and every individual traverses their own wilderness, each one with their own stops along the way:

כי כל המסעות היו מ”ב והם אצל כל אדם מיום הולדו עד שובו אל עולמו ולהבין זה כי מיום הלידה והוצאתו מרחם אמו הוא בחי' יציאת מצרים כנודע ואח”כ נוסע ממסע למסע עד בואו לארץ החיים העליונה וכמ”ש ע”פ ה' יחנו וע”פ ה' יסעו

These travels of the Jewish people are the journeys of each and every Jew from the day they are born – their personal Yetzias Mitzrayim. And they continue, from journey to journey until they come to the Land of Eternal Life.

Of course, there are some places along the way where it's obvious why Hashem wants us to visit. Places like קברות התאוה – where we failed as a result of giving in to our base desires; and תבערה – where we got carried away with our emotions. But mostly, we just don't know.

Reb Dovid of Lelov used to say that at the end of time Hashem will sit down with each of us, and learn through the פרשת מסעי of our lives. We'll finally understand the hows, whats and whys of our journey.

But perhaps our current lack of clarity is exactly the point. We have no explanation for how we have arrived at the places we are. All that we know with certainty, is that our personal and national narratives don't make sense, even to us. We have no natural explanation as to why any of us are who and where we are. The odds of any one of us being committed, connected, Jews today is so infinitesimal, it is practically miraculous. The odds of our national return to Eretz Yisrael under Jewish sovereignty is a shattering of all of the rules of history. And yet, here we are.

As Menachem Av begins, the Torah is asking us to note that the journey we have each taken is the journey that Hashem knows is right for us. Somehow, this is the way that it needed to be. The failures and detours were somehow part of the route. It opens the door to forgiveness, acceptance and empathy; a perspective that invites us to get over our differences, knowing that Hashem has curated a trajectory for each of us.

Perhaps this is how we ensure that we don't mess it up again. The humility to accept that Hashem has always been the Tour Guide, enables us to look ahead without the confusion of the journey obscuring our vision.

Hashem should help us to look ahead, to see the shining future just over the horizon, so that this year, Menachem Av will live up to its name, finally entering a world of comfort.

Growing up, I remember teachers telling us to “pay attention.” It's a strange phrase. How does one “pay” attention? Enter 2022 where attention is a multi-billion industry. In many ways, paying with our attention is the cost of living in the modern world.

Quite literally, every moment, someone is making money off of mine and your attention. This is no secret to any of us who have been repeatedly badgered to “like and subscribe”. We know that the accounts and profiles we follow are gaining from our engagement. “Good for them,” we think. “If an advertiser wants to pay them for my clicks and views, that's no sweat off of my back. I have the choice to disable notifications, mute my devices and unsubscribe whenever I want.” But while there is no harm in subscribing and engaging, there is most certainly a cost.

More often than not, we are completely unaware of the price we pay when we give our attention away. That's the brilliance of this industry: When we give our focus away, we are giving away the very ability to notice what else we are giving up.

Please note: I am not here to rant about phones, social media and the internet. While these tools have certainly made distractibility easier, the problem is as old as humanity itself. Indeed, the question of focus and attention is central to our Parsha. To understand it, we'll need a quick recap:

Bilaam has been recruited to curse the Jewish people, and despite knowing that Hashem might not let him get away with it, the money is too good to pass up. He leaves home accompanied by the nobleman of Moav, but along the way, his donkey is acting up, veering from one side of road to the other.

Unbeknownst to Bilaam, there is an angel of Hashem blocking their path. In his rage, Bilaam begins to beat the animal until, miraculously, Hashem opens the mouth of the donkey who protests: “Why are you beating me?!”

Bilaam, yells back “Why am I beating you?! You're making making a mockery out of me in front of all of these people! If I was holding a sword, I would've killed you by now!”

The donkey, replies “Seriously?! In all the years that you've ridden me, have I ever done anything like this?”

“No”, Bilaam acknowledges, but before the conversation continues, Hashem opens Bilaam's eyes and he sees the angel in his path. The angel admonishes Bilaam, who quickly defends himself before resuming his journey and mission.

By all standards, this is a strange story and there are many questions that the narrative demands. But a number of years ago, one of my students remarked, half-joking, there is no point where Bilaam exclaims: “OMG! A Talking Donkey?!”

He shows no pause, takes no break, shows no recognition that he has witnessed a singularly miraculous event.

It's a good question, one that the Anvei Nezer addresses (שם משמואל תרע״ו).

He explains: It is entirely possible for a person to encounter the most incredible wonders of reality, and walk away from them completely unfazed and unchanged.

The human capacity to concurrently focus our own agendas and ignore all else, gives us ample room to feel cynical, disenchanted and uninspired regardless of the opportunities and events around us.

The Kotzker explains this tragic truth in the Pasuk describing Matan Torah (Shemos 20:14):

וְכָל הָעָם רֹאִים אֶת הַקּוֹלֹת... וַיַּרְא הָעָם וַיָּנֻעוּ וַיַּעַמְדוּ מֵרָחֹק And all the people saw the thundering, and the lightning, and the voice of the Shofar, and the mountain smoking; and when the people saw it, they trembled, and stood a far away.

Apparently, it is possible for a person to see sounds, hear lightning, experience the call of shofar and see the mountain ablaze before us. It is even possible to tremble in awe and fear, and yet, to still stand far away.

It is possible to have a full conversation with a talking donkey and fail to notice the sheer miraculousness of the event. When our attention is zoomed in on our own narrow thoughts and screens, we are effectively giving up the possibility of noticing anything else.

What else is there to notice? Everything.

So much of our Halachik experience is designed to draw our attention to things that we might otherwise ignore. We make brachos on thunder, lightening, new fruit and dozens of other irregular experiences. But we also take note of the miracle of opening our eyes in the morning (ברוך פוקח עורים) and express our gratitude in putting on shoes (ברוך שעשה לי כל צרכי).

It is essential to note, however, that we are not trying to focus on everything and certainly not everything at the same time. That would be impossible and naive to attempt.

Instead, the goal of the Torah is curate our attention, to train us on which aspects of existence to focus on so that we can lead elevated and enjoyable lives.

The narrative of my life and yours is told to us, by us. But by focussing on details in one direction or another, the stories we tell ourselves can diverge wildly.

In one version the stranger's kid having a melt down in aisle seven is “badly behaved”. Naturally, there are things we could focus on to explain that conclusion. But in another version of the same story, that great kid is having a really rough day, and there is evidence for this conclusion as well. Which version is true? I have no idea, it all really depends on which details we choose to focus on. But I know what I'd like you to think if it were my kid; so I should try to do the same for you.

That's our Avoda. To try to see the details that explain how the world is good, how everyone is doing their best, and perhaps how we could lend a hand.

This is the essential message of our Parsha. Everything that Bilaam saw as negative, Hashem forced him to see as positive, to see from the perspective of a loving friend:

לֹא הִבִּיט אָוֶן בְּיַעֲקֹב... ה׳ אֱלֹקיו עִמּוֹ וּתְרוּעַת מֶלֶךְ בּוֹ Hashem has not seen sin in Yaakov, or perverseness in Yisrael. Hashem his God is with him and the Teruah of the King is within him.

Rashi comments here: וּתְרוּעַת מֶלֶךְ בּוֹ – לשון חיבה וריעות. The word תרועה is an expression for love and fellowship. If you love someone, you choose to see the good in them. That's the part to focus on.

If time is a limited resource, then focus and attention are even more so. The charge of the Torah is to choose how we use this single most powerful resource.

Hashem should help us in this fight to reclaim our attention, to focus only the goodness of the Torah, each other and ourselves.

Summer is a peculiar time for Avodas Hashem. For kids, teens and young adults, the summer offers a change of pace and place from regular scheduled schooling. This often enables opportunities for meteoric growth, and indeed, I've seen many talmidim come back from a great summer reinvigorated and reenergized.

But for adults, for whom the responsibilities of life are sometimes slowed, but not paused, the change of pace of family life can contribute to feelings of lethargy and disinterest. Effectively, for many adults, the summer is a Ruchniyos Recession.

I vividly remember my first major Ruchniyos Recession in Yeshiva. It happened the day after Rosh HaShana in my second year in Kerem B'Yavneh. I was flying high the whole of Elul; pushing later and later hours in the Beis Medrash. My chavrusa and I were covering more ground than ever before, we were even doing Chazara!

In retrospect, I should've known that my relentless sleep deprivation was unhealthy and unsustainable. But Rosh HaShana was a few days away, and after all, that's when Hashem is judging us. I wanted to make a good impression. My davening that Yom Tov was soulful, uplifting and exhausting.

... And it all came crashing down the morning of Tzom Gedalya. I simply couldn't get out of bed. I was tired in a way that sleep doesn't fix. I wasn't feeling sick, I was burned out. I didn't want to open a Siddur. I certainly didn't want to open a Gemara.

More than anything, the guilt was overwhelming. I has soared my way up to Rosh Hashana only to flake out during the Aseres Yemei Teshuva?! What a fake, what a fraud! I imagined Hashem's disapproval; His judgement and disappointment. I was upset with myself for not foreseeing this crash, for failing so hard. I questioned everything I had ever achieved, all of my hopes and dreams for my time in Yeshiva.

Needless to say, most of those feelings were unnecessary and unduly exaggerated.

Later that week, I approached Rav Blachman to ask for advice. He listened carefully to my predicament, and then gave a hearty chuckle and explained casually: “You're young. You'll learn. You can't expect to fly upwards forever. It takes time; and each time you'll get a little better. There will be many more Eluls and Rosh HaShanas to work up to.”

In the past week, speaking to chaverim, members and colleagues, many have expressed deep fears about the market, the economy and the future of this country. I'm not an economist, and talks of an impending (or current?) recession are disconcerting. But on the other hand those who are much smarter and more experienced than me know that fluctuation is normal, and that we should learn to expect the ups and downs.

I can certainly understand that as a market grows, it experiences natural ups and downs. In the short term, however, the highs are extraordinary and the lows are devastating.

I would like to suggest that the same long game perspective is true in our Ruchniyus as well. We all experience periods of heightened growth, excitement and inspiration. And we all experience setbacks, frustrations and failure. Perhaps, the greatest commonality between economics and Ruchniyos is the need to understand that there are forces outside of our control, and choices that are within our control. Differentiating between them requires humility, empathy, maturity and perspective.

So what do we do in a Ruchniyus Recession? What is our Avoda when we don't feel connected or inspired? What do we do when we feel like we've already failed?

In many ways, I think that that this was the final challenge of the Dor HaMidbar. Those great Jews who survived slavery, followed Moshe into the desert, walked through the sea on dry land, and stood at the foot of Mount Sinai. After everything that they achieved, ultimately, they failed. They would not see their dream to completion, they would never enter Eretz Yisrael.

Consider how Moshe Rabbeinu might have felt, knowing that he was facing 38 years of funerals. Imagine the pain of learning that he too would not be allowed to step foot in the Land of Israel, that he too would die in the desert.

For an entire generation, there was no “We want Moshiach now!” campaign. There was no geulah; they wouldn't ever see the Land that Hashem had promised. How did they survive that spiritual recession, and what can we learn from them?

Chazal (תענית ט א) tell us that there were three great leaders in the Midbar: Moshe, Aharon and Miriam. In their merit Hashem gave us three miracles: Manna from Heaven, Annanei HaKavod to protect us from the elements, and water from a rock.

But this Shabbos, Aharon and Miriam die. What happened to those great miracles? How would we ever survive? No problem, the Talmud teaches, חָזְרוּ שְׁנֵיהֶם בִּזְכוּת מֹשֶׁה – the Clouds and the Water returned in Moshe's merit.

The Ksav Sofer asks: If all three miracles could happen in Moshe's merit, why did we need Miriam and Aharon at all?!

He explains: At the beginning of the forty year exile, those miracles could only have been in the merit of Miriam and Aharon. But forty years later, Moshe Rabbeinu had also grown. Now, as a greater version of himself, Moshe could achieve more on behalf of his people.

We don't often think of Moshe's personal growth. Much like a kindergartener doesn't think that their teacher could ever been seen at a the mall. But Chazal are telling us that Moshe also continued to grow; and all of this during a national Ruchniyus Recession.

Rabbi Nachman (ליקוטי מהר״ן ו׳) writes:

וּכְשֶׁרוֹצֶה אָדָם לֵילֵךְ בְּדַרְכֵי הַתְּשׁוּבָה, צָרִיךְ לִהְיוֹת בָּקִי בַּהֲלָכָה, וְצָרִיךְ לִהְיוֹת לוֹ שְׁנֵי בְּקִיאוּת, הַיְנוּ בָּקִי בְּרָצוֹא, בָּקִי בְּשׁוֹב Now, when a person wants to walk the pathways of repentance, he must be baki (expert) in Halakhah. This demands that he have two types of expertise: baki b’ratzo (expert at “running”) and baki b’shov (expert at “returning or retreating”).

There are times in our lives when we are “Running”, growing by leaps and bounds. These times contain their own challenges; obligating us to make the most of our opportunities, and not to succumb to complacency.

In the times of “retreat”, however, we are challenged by maintaining slow consolidation of our achievements. Building personalities of stable Avodas Hashem, and diligent Emunah. The world of בקי בשוב is the deep work of understanding that setbacks and failures are part of the process, on the micro and macro scales of our lives and Jewish history.

Our Avoda is to respond to our the economics of our Ruchniyus with careful planning and consideration. To set goals, weigh up options, and to ensure that the next steps we take are moving forwards. We need to ask ourselves: “Ok, I don't have the time, money or energy for 'X', but what can I do? In what way can I become closer to Hashem? What can I change today?”

Hashem should help us to weather every storm – in Gashmiyus and Ruchniyus – and to ensure that we emerge as greater people, with loftier middos, stronger connections, and deeper understanding of Hashem, His Torah and ourselves.

Once again the USA is embroiled in a Machlokes. This week it's about abortions. Naturally, everyone believes that their argument is L'Shem Shamayim – “for the sake of Heaven”. And of course, everyone is strongly of the opinion that the “other side” is not L'shem Shamayim.

Tragically, it seems that there has never been a year that Parshas Korach is not relevant. But before we point fingers at who the “Korach” is, we need to ask if we are arguing L'Shem Shamayim.

Chazal (אבות ה:י״ז) teach us:

כל מחלוקת שהיא לשם שמים. סופה להתקיים. ושאינה לשם שמים. אין סופה להתקיים. איזו היא מחלוקת שהוא לשם שמים זו מחלוקת הלל ושמאי. ושאינה לשם שמים. זו מחלוקת קרח וכל עדתו: Every dispute that is for the sake of Heaven, will in the end endure; But one that is not for the sake of Heaven, will not endure. Which is the controversy that is for the sake of Heaven? Such was the controversy of Hillel and Shammai. And which is the controversy that is not for the sake of Heaven? Such was the controversy of Korach and all his congregation.

I've always been bothered by this Mishna, I am fairly certain that if we would have asked Korach “Are you fighting for the sake of Heaven”, he would have answering a resounding “Yes! I want to be able to serve Hashem better!”

In the history of disagreements, we'd be hard pressed to find a single individual who truly believes that their fight is unjustified. Of course, I hope that we are all OK with apologizing for losing our cool during small fights, and lapses of judgement. With a moment of clarity and hindsight, we can appreciate that we all make getting it wrong sometimes. We all make mistakes in the world of daily frustrations.

But the major moral, ethical, philosophical questions of our time? That's where we are convinced that we need to stand our ground. After all, we're not arguing for our own sake, so we must be fighting L'shem Shamayim!

This orientation makes it impossible to determine if any Machlokes we are involved in is indeed truly L'Shem Shamayim. How do we know if our fight is for the sake of Heaven if everyone is convinced that their fight is?!

At this point, it's worth asking what difference it makes at all. Perhaps we're not arguing L'Shem Shamayim? What's wrong with that? Can't we simply have a good old fight?

It's not so simple. The Medrash (במדבר רבה י״ח) notes that מחלוקת is an acronym:

מַחֲלֹקֶת: מ' מַכָּה, ח' חָרוֹן, ל לִקּוּי, ק' קְלָלָה, ת' תּוֹעֵבָה. וְיֵשׁ אוֹמְרִים, תַּכְלִית, כְּלָיָה מֵבִיא לָעוֹלָם.

Violence (מ), anger (ח), punishment (ל), curse (ק), and abomination (ת). Some some that the ת׳ is for תכלית – end, since Machlokes destroys the world.

Machlokes is the single most destructive force in humanity, and the only Heter to getting involved in a Machlokes at all is when we are arguing L'shem Shamayim. Resolving whether or not our disputes are in this category is now crucial. Quite literally, everything is at stake.

Here's the litmus test. The Zohar HaKadosh (חלק א׳ י״ז ב׳) explains:

At the core of every Machlokes there is a driving emotion: Either love or anger. An argument for the sake of Heaven is one that is driven exclusively by love. An argument fueled by anger is, by definition, not L'Shem Shamayim.

When Chazal tell us that a מחלוקת שהיא לשם שמים סופה להתקיים – A Machlokes for the sake of Heaven, will in the end endure – this is the criteria, in and of itself. In order to know if our disagreement is for the sake of Heaven, we need to ask: Do I want this to endure? Do I love the person, or people on the other side? Is this argument making me love them more? Is it making me love the truth more? If yes, then it is for the sake of Heaven. If not... perhaps it's time to get off the pedestal. Even if you are 100% sure that you are right.

Case in point: Hillel and Shamai wanted their disagreements to continue. Korach wanted Moshe to drop dead.

It's important to note here that Beis Hillel and Beis Shamai weren't simply debating the best toppings for pizza. They argued about the personal status of individuals in their communities, the legitimacy of marriages and the children born from them. These are amongst the highest stakes in Halacha and yet, the Mishna (יבמות י״ג ב׳) tells us:

אַף עַל פִּי שֶׁאֵלּוּ אוֹסְרִים וְאֵלּוּ מַתִּירִין, אֵלּוּ פּוֹסְלִין וְאֵלּוּ מַכְשִׁירִין — לֹא נִמְנְעוּ בֵּית שַׁמַּאי מִלִּישָּׂא נָשִׁים מִבֵּית הִלֵּל, וְלָא בֵּית הִלֵּל מִבֵּית שַׁמַּאי. Although Beis Hillel prohibit and Beis Shammai permit, and although these disqualify these women and those deem them fit, Beis Shammai did not refrain from marrying women from Beit Hillel, nor did Beit Hillel refrain from marrying women from Beis Shammai.

The Talmud debates how Beis Shamai and Beis Hillel navigated their disagreements. Perhaps one side was outvoted and then followed the others opinion, or perhaps they were careful to only suggest shidduchim to each other that worked for both.

Regardless of how they resolved these massive issues, their approach is codified in the Mishna:

לְלַמֶּדְךָ שֶׁחִיבָּה וְרֵיעוּת נוֹהֲגִים זֶה בָּזֶה, לְקַיֵּים מַה שֶּׁנֶּאֱמַר: ״הָאֱמֶת וְהַשָּׁלוֹם אֱהָבוּ״ This serves to teach you that they practiced affection and camaraderie between them, to fulfill that which is stated: “Love truth and peace”

The Meiri, in his commentary to Mishlei (ט׳:ח׳) writes:

שהאהבה קירוב הדעת ושיווי הרצון, והחולקים בחכמה הוא מצד חקירת האמת, ומתוך המשא ומתן יבררו האמת ויסכימו לדעת אחת, ויאהבו זה את זה. Love is drawing thoughts together, and aligning desires. Those who argue in wisdom do so for the sake of investigating the Truth. Through the give-and-take of intellectual debate, they will arrive at a mutual conclusion, and will love each other.

I am an optimist. I believe that most people on both sides engaged in this Machlokes are well intentioned, good people. But that bar is too low for an Eved Hashem. Having good intentions is not the same as arguing and living L'Shem Shamayim. For that, we need to be absolutely, completely clear that there is no malice, anger, resentment, frustration or negativity that we carry into the fight. It's an Avoda of checking our egos at the door and asking “What does the Ribono Shel Olam want of me?”

Of course, there is much to be said about the abortion in Halacha. (In the Shuir this Shabbos afternoon we'll be learning some of this material.) As usual, the Torah is far more nuanced, sensitive, broad and subtle than could ever be contained in a slogan or on a bumper sticker. Torah Jews are not bumper sticker people, we care too deeply about Ratzon Hashem to dumb it down.

However, while Halacha is complex, our emotions, our relationships and our care for others should not be. In all of those areas, the Torah is clear: Love, Truth and Peace. Only then can we being to plumb the depths of Ratzon Hashem.

Hashem should help us all to inspire ourselves and each other, to upgrade the national conversation from anger to Ahava, to live L'shem Shamayim.