Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

This past week, we have seen the world return war, in a way we hoped would never resurface.

On Erev Shabbos, Rabbanim in Ukraine told their community that they should violate Shabbos in order to get out of the country. It's a frightening thought that takes us back to questions the were posed to Gedolim in Europe decades and centuries ago.

But not everything is the same. There is one thing that is fundamentally different this time:

Sivan Rahav Meir posted this incredible story:

Natan Sharansky spoke at a Sheva Brachot gathering in honor of the wedding of Benaya and Neta Dickstein. Benaya's parents, Yossi and Chanah, were murdered in a terrorist attack when he was seven years old. It's too bad that only those in attendance heard Sharansky, the famous prisoner of Zion, speak as follows:

“When I was growing up in Ukraine, in Donetsk, there were many nations and nationalities. There were those with identity papers that read 'Russian,' 'Ukrainian,' 'Georgian,' or 'Kozak.' This was not so important since there was not much difference between them. The single designation that stood out was 'Jew.' If that was written as your identity, it was as if you had a disease.

“We knew nothing about Judaism. There was nothing significant about our Jewish identity other than the anti-Semitism, hatred, and discriminatory treatment we experienced because of it. When it came to a university application, for example, no one tried to change his designation from 'Russian' to 'Ukrainian' because it did not matter. However, if you could change your designation of 'Jew,' it substantially improved your chances of university admission.

“This week, I was reminded of those days when I saw thousands of people standing at the borders of Ukraine trying to escape. They are standing there day and night and there is only one word that can help them get out: 'Jew.' If you are a Jew, there are Jews outside who care about and are waiting for you. There is someone on the other side of the border who is searching for you. Your chances of leaving are excellent.

“The world has changed. When I was a child, 'Jew' was an unfortunate designation. No one envied us. But today on the Ukrainian border, identifying as a Jew is a most fortunate circumstance. It describes those who have a place to go, where their family, an entire nation, is waiting for them on the other side.”

For the first time in Jewish history, we are not caught in between the wars of other nations. Our people in Ukraine have the possibility and the resources to escape. We have a homeland to run to, and brothers and sisters around the world who can and do help. We, here in Boca, can make a difference, and those who have means to help contribute to the rescue of Acheinu Beis Yisroel should absolutely do so. I'll be happy to help you direct those funds.

But I want to understand, deeply, how it is that we have this power today, when we never had it before. The secret is hidden in a Chizkuni in Parshas Beshalach. When Moshe tells Yeshoshua to choose people to fight against Amalek, there is a specific group of people that he knows will win the war: People born in the month of Adar Sheni.

בחר לנו אנשים – שנולדו באדר השני ואין להם לירא ממכשפות שהרי אין בו מזל, ובני עמלק מכשפנים הם, ויש להם יכולת בי״ב מזלות, ובעת שאין בו מזל אין כשוף מצליח.

The Bnei Yissachar (אדר מאמר ד׳ אות י״א) explains:

The system of this world operates with the laws of nature – the constellation/Mazalos. These can be exploited, perverted and harnessed for evil. But we have the power to exist beyond that. We can declare another month: Adar Sheni. This month is outside the natural order. We chose it; and by doing so we declare that we are not bound by the powers of the world. We can escape.

Amalek represents the world of randomness, nature and determinism. But Adar Sheni is the proof that we can overcome any and all the circumstances in our life.

My dear friends, we are living in the generation of Adar Sheni. We are Adar Sheni Jews. There's a escape hatch from the insanity of the world – All we need to do is say “I am a Jew!”, and the Master of All Worlds will schlep us out to the world of Nisan, the real redemption.

Hashem, we need Your help. Our brothers and sisters need Your help. Please give us the strength to be Adar Sheni Jews this Shabbos, this month, this year.

This week, I had the privilege of spending time with some old friends and colleagues at the YU Alumni Yarchei Kallah here in Boca. (For those that are wondering about the picture, it turns out that Rabbis are pretty good at Axe-Throwing.)

Aside from the learning, connecting and sharing of ideas, simply being together with friends from Yeshiva invites a certain nostalgia. Of course, this experience is not unique to Rabbanim; we all feel it to some extent when encountering people and places that take us back to different times in life.

I have grown to appreciate these moments as an opportunity to reengage with the parts of myself that made the decision to become a Rabbi. Speaking to like-minded friends in similar positions reminds me of the excitement, passion and joy that I have for a life of community service, learning and teaching.

Truthfully, dedicating time to reflect on these thoughts and emotions is something that I don't do enough of in any area of my life. I'm working on getting better at it. But from discussions with friends, colleagues and guys in shul, I don't believe I'm the only one struggling with this issue.

To crystallize the problem: At some point in time, we fell in love with an activity, an idea, a dream, or a person. That passion drove us to choose to make it a priority in our lives. But in the weeks, months and years since that choice, passion has given way to a sense of obligation. And all too often we grow resent those obligations.

I hear this from good, well-meaning, loving parents all the time. Recently, a close friend told that for years he and his wife had davened and yearned for children. But now he's feeling strangely guilty since their tefillos were answered. A few years later the daily grind and the constant obligations of child raising have stolen the joy of parenting. It is not as inspiring and uplifting as he once dreamed.

The staggering divorce rates in our communities prove that the same happens in marriages. At some point, the spark which was so bright under the Chuppah is barely flickering.

Ba'alei Teshuva and converts have often described feeling this way about Yiddishkeit in general. “I fell in love with something, but I don't even know what it is anymore. I certainly don't feel the same way.”

We have all felt and thought these things in the worlds of dieting, exercising, starting a company, learning the Daf, coming to minyan, learning a new language, or mastering a musical instrument. At some point, enjoyment fades and obligation sets in. As time marches on, it seems less and less likely that the results we once dreamed of will ever come to fruition.

We begin to wonder why we made these choices, why we obligated ourselves in the first place. We question if perhaps these decisions were simply made by younger versions of ourselves that were more naive and less practical. But most tragically, we feel the acute loss of those pristine idealistic dreams that are now muddied with the hard truths of reality.

All this raises the question: Is this just a sad reality of life? Or is it possible to be stuck in the daily grind, and still enjoy, appreciate and love what we do?

I'd like to suggest that this question, and these feelings are not a bug, but a feature. This is built into the way that Hashem made us, and made the world. These experiences are so common, that it seems to be by design. But to what end?

Before we begin, we need to understand that there are two types of work in the Torah: מלאכה and עבודה. The HaKsav V'HaKabblah (ר׳ פרשת ויקהל) explains that while both are translated as “work”, they have entirely different meanings. מלאכה is purely results oriented; which is the reason that it is this type of work which is forbidden on Shabbos. For one day each week, we do not change Hashem's world; and we are prohibited from performing the 39 Melachos. עבודה, on the other hand, can exist even without any result. Foe example: Shlepping furniture from one room to another is עבודה, but it is not מלאכה.

With this in mind, we can understand why the Mishkan was constructed with מלאכה. There was a goal, a result – something that Klal Yisrael brought into existence.

In general, all of the dreams and aspirations, the hopes and goals that we have for our lives are achieved with מלאכה. Raising children, building a home, a business and career, all require calculated work to produce these result. Likewise, training for a marathon, losing weight and learning Daf Yomi are all geared towards a goal.

Understanding this nature of מלאכה is essential to progress. It allows us to change course when things are not working well and ensure that our destination is reached. But at the same time, it is this perspective that leads directly to the burnout, exhaustion, frustration and cynicism that we struggle with. Anytime that our efforts fail at achieving a result, we have wasted precious time that cannot be reclaimed.

Setbacks are disheartening and frustrating; and we lose sight of our dreams and goals.

The antidote to this problem, however, is addressed directly in our Parsha. The previous four parshiyos have cemented in our understanding that the Mishkan was constructed with מלאכה. This work is quintessentially and definitionally מלאכה. And yet, when the Mishkan is finally completed, the Torah (שמות לט:לב) tells us:

וַתֵּכֶל כׇּל עֲבֹדַת מִשְׁכַּן אֹהֶל מוֹעֵד – And the Avoda of the Mishkan Ohel Moed was completed...

Why is the Torah now switching to עבודה?!

Both the Netziv and the Malbim explain that the Melacha of the Mishkan was ensuring that each detail was successfully completed. But the entire project was ultimately an עבודה.

When we schlep heavy things from one place to another and back again, there is no change or result in the item. But we become stronger. When we practice our craft, nothing is created, but we become more skilled.

Melacha is about changing the outcome, but Avoda is about transforming the self.

If the entirely of our lives are about the result, we will always feel drained, strained and tired. Marriage, parenting, careers, learning etc... are not supposed to be exclusively about the goals. Of course, results matter; but beyond it all, the ultimate goal is the change in ourselves. To this end, Yiddishkeit is defined by Avodas Hashem. We are not changing Hashem, we changing ourselves.

What then was the Avoda of the Mishkan? The Netziv explains:

The goal of ונתתי משכני בתוככם – Hashem residing inside of the Jewish people – was finally achieved.

Through the careful consideration of each and every detail of the building, Klal Yisrael were getting better, getting stronger, becoming greater people. This transformation of self is what enabled Hashem's presence to be felt in their hearts, minds and lives.

We can do them same. When we view our challenges as a training ground to become greater, then every moment, every failure is an opportunity to get better and stronger.

That's the real goal of the Mishkan of our lives: To create the space and time to become different people. This way, despite any setbacks, our passion, dreams and aspirations live on.

The Talmud and Shulchan Aruch record with detail and clarity the obligation to treat a Beis HaKnesses with awe and reverence. This obligation precludes many basic activities: Eating, drinking and sleeping; and prohibits speech that does not pertain to the observance of mitzvos.

In general, these are areas in which our community needs Chizuk.

In recent weeks, however, an additional question has arisen with regards to the permissibility of bringing a service dog into shul. This discussion is not new, and has been addressed by poskim in the past century.

In 1953 Rav Moshe Feinstein wrote a Teshuva to Rav Pinchas Teitz addressing this question (אגרות משה או״ח ח״א מ״ה). There, he permits bringing a service animal to shul on the basis of Talmudic precedent, as well as the reality that many of our shuls today are constructed with stipulations that allow them to be used for purposes other than Tefillah.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe as well was strongly of the opinion that leniency should be applied to enable all Jews to come to shul and participate in community Tefillah.

While it is true that Rav Ovadia Yosef prohibits bringing service animals into shul, Rav Ovadia’s grandson, Rav Yaakov Sasson, writes (Halachah Yomit November 30, 2016): “if the dog is quiet and well-behaved in the synagogue and the congregants are not frightened by its presence, there is no reason to prevent a blind man from coming to the synagogue and bringing his seeing-eye dog along with him.” (See Rabbi Chaim Jachter's article for a fuller treatment of this discussion.)

Our community is blessed to have many members with diverse needs, and as much as possible we endeavor to ensure that everyone can find their place in shul. The honor and respect that we owe to each other is certainly no less than the Kavod due to our Beis HaKnesses, and as such, we welcome people of all abilities to participate in our Tefillah, and to bring along the service animals that make it possible to do so.

However, awe and reverence for shul and davening should not suffer as a result. To that end, I would encourage everyone to take upon themselves to hold back from unnecessary conversations in shul, and to do our utmost to upgrade our personal connection to the Kedushas Beis HaKnesses in both attendance and attention.

B'yedidus, RRB

I can't be certain, but I imagine that in the history of dads threatening to turn the car around, someone, somewhere, actually did it. Somewhere in the world, there are siblings are still pointing fingers at each other saying “you started it!” “It's your fault we didn't get to go...”

I am not so brave. Once we've already planned and paid for the vacation, our kids have us cornered. Sure, we could go home. But what on earth would we do then?! Kids know this simple truth. They know that the trip is at least as important to their parents as to themselves. They know our threats are empty, which is why they don't work.

But what else is there? Kids are kids. The prodding, poking and bickering of sibling relationships are all normal. And, of course, so is parental frustration. Sometimes I wonder if “I'll turn the car around” is factory conditioned into every Honda Odyssey.

Trying the same threats expecting different results is insanity. So this vacation, Aliza and I tried something else. We let our kids figure it out themselves.

“This one said that...” “That one hit me...” “He took my toy...” “She's not sharing!”

Rather than responding by trying to solve the problem, we simply paused, and told our children that we couldn't go on until they had fixed it. “But Mommy! But Abba! It's not fair! It's their fault!”

These cries were met with a calm “We understand that you guys are having a hard time with each other right now. But we're a family. We're not here to take sides. We're just gonna wait until you guys have come to a solution.”

It didn't work every time. But we saw some pretty cool things happen. We watched as our kids negotiated taking turns sharing toys and choosing which shows to watch. We listened as they told us which songs they had agreed on in the car, and who was allowed to sing and drum along and for how long.

I think they greatest advantage is that no one ever felt that we were “taking sides.” There were no postmortems on “who started it.” Only one thing matters now: How do we move on from here.

This perspective has powerful applications that reach far further than siblings bickering in a minivan.

There is a deep and all-consuming Yetzer Hara to spend precious time and resources over analyzing the past, when the far more important question is “How do we move on from here.” This is not to say that understanding the past has no value. It most certainly does; but only in pursuit of a way forward.

This is as true in the world of interpersonal relationships as it is in the world of personal growth. And it is this perspective that the Torah introduces us to this Shabbos.

Last week we learned about the highest heights: Revelation at Sinai. Hashem speaking to man. Ultimate national prophesy. Yet from such a height, we quickly pivoted to our Parsha:

כִּי תִקְנֶה עֶבֶד עִבְרִי – If you should purchase a Jewish slave...

From here the Torah explains the laws of slavery for a Jewish Slave. Yet, most strikingly, the Torah neglects to describe how such a descent took place. It's a disconcerting non-sequitur. We should reasonably expect some narrative that connects the lofty heights of Sinai to the chains of slavery. Yet the Torah gives us us no indication, prompting Rashi's explanation:

מיד בית דין שמכרוהו בגניבתו כמה שנאמר ואם אין לו ונמכר בגניבתו (שמות כ”ב:ב') או אינו אלא במוכר עצמו מפני דוחקו ...Who you bought from Beis Din which sold him for a theft which he had committed, as it is said, (Exodus 22:2) “if he (the thief) has nothing, then he shall be sold for his theft”. Or perhaps he who sells himself as a servant on account of his desperation...

The back-story is that of a thief who cannot pay back a debt, or perhaps someone who, for lack of friends or relatives finds himself at the point that he must sell himself into slavery to survive. It’s a final, and tragically desperate option.

All of this begs the question: Why the Torah neglects to begin with how the circumstances came to be and proceeds simply with what to do now.

The Rebbe of Izbihtz (מי השילוח ריש פ׳ משפטים ח״ב) explains that this is exactly the lesson that the Torah is teaching us.

The question can never be: “How did I get here?” But instead “What can I do now?” The preoccupation of previous failures, blunders and mistakes is far too paralyzing. The great lesson of Matan Torah is that we are far less interested in the circumstances, or lack thereof, that resulted in a situation. They exist as a peirush, an explanation, to the most important question: “What Do We Do Now? How do We Fix This?”

Our Parsha continues to describe the correct thing to do in cases of slavery, damages, borrowing and lending, personal injury, and indeed, the gamut of daily life.

“If you should buy a slave... If a man should sell his daughter as a slave... If a man should conspire to kill another man... If two people should be fighting... If they should harm a pregnant woman... If one man injures another.”

In each case, the Torah presents the circumstance, not the background.

There is a beautiful pragmatism to this approach. With it, we can navigate the fraught landscape of human experiences, edging us closer towards a life with less hangups and far more freedom.

But perhaps the great Chiddush, the real truth to Parshas Mishpatim is that *there is a correct answer*. There is a Mishpat, a Halacha. Despite the murkiness of any situation, the challenges presented and the courage demanded, there is an optimal solution to the problem at hand. There is a way forward.

If we believe and understand that our lives are consequential, that our actions are meaningful, that Hashem wants us to be where we are right now, then there is always a right thing to do; difficult as it may be.

Rashi notes that this Chiddush, is connoted by the first letter of our parsha: > ואלה המשפטים – כל מקום שנאמר אלה פסל את הראשונים, ואלה מוסף על הראשונים מה הראשוני' מסיני אף אילו מסיני, > Wherever אלה (these), is used it invalidates the preceding section. When ואלה (and these) is used it adds something to the former subject. Therefore: “And these are the mishpatim”. Just as the former commandments (the עשרת הדברות) were given at Sinai so these, too, were given at Sinai!

Simply stated, the influence of Hashem on our lives is not limited to the Ten Commandments. It’s not limited to big principles, or overarching themes. Yiddishkeit always has an answer to the question “What should I do now?”

By truly asking the question we find within our value system, The Talmud, Shulchan Aruch, Sifrei Mussar and Chasidus, provide us with a derech, a pathway to the challenges of life. Chochmas Hashem gifts us insight into questions as mundane as what to do for a summer vacation, or as complex as considering a change of career. There is a derech to answer issues as personal as “Am I gonna stick to my diet this week?” or as consequential as contemplating “Are we ready to made Aliyah?”

Certainly, in the realm of interpersonal relationships, marriage and raising children there is a Derech HaTorah, a value system that is waiting to be probed. There is a best way in each situation, if we are willing to find it. Ultimately, every question can be reduced to one: “What can I do right now to ensure that my life comes a little closer to what Hashem wants from the world.” In the words of the Navi: איה מקום כבודו – Where, in this place, can I find God?

This Shabbos, the Torah is telling us that we don't need to turn the car around. Perhaps forwards is the only direction to go. Hashem should help us to continue putting our foot on the gas, learning how to fix it, one mile at a time.