Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

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.

#Shemos #תשפב

We all thought we were done with this. Finally, we had rounded the corner, COVID was in the rear view mirror. And then there is a new wave, a new variant, a new Greek letter to learn. Israel is once again closed to the Jews of the Diaspora, and the were it not for the pain, loneliness, loss and sickness, this whole saga would seem comical.

Perhaps most frustratingly, the plans we make are scuttled, and we feel as if control over our own lives is continuously snatched away.

At its core, this deep incongruity, so profoundly amplified in the past two years, is emblematic of our world and our place within it. We are constantly trying to find balance, harmony and predictability in a world that seems antagonistic towards any attempts of orderliness.

Understanding and contending with this schism between us and our world is a deep tradition in Chazal. The resolution of it is a closely guarded secret that our sages called it the סוד העיבור – the secret of the Leap Year.

This year, is a leap year; there will be two months of Adar, and a total of 13 months in our year. The reason we have this institution is to bring together the two cycles that given our natural world – the Solar Cycle, and the Lunar Cycle. These two cycles do not line up well. There are roughly 11 days difference between them, and this discrepancy is paradigmatic of our lives. Things just don't match up well, forcing us to constantly tweak and adjust our calendar: Seven times in every nineteen year cycle, we add an additional month.

The Shelah HaKadosh (הקדמה לספר שמות) explains that the period of time from now until Adar (שובבי״ם ת״ת) is a unique opportunity for personal and universal Teshuva. Indeed, being that this is a leap year, we are actively working on restoring balance and harmony in the world. Reb Tzadok (פרי צדיק ר״ח אדר י׳) explains that our collective realignment of time in a leap year is a window into a world that will finally make sense. The Torah reading of weeks are the story of our exile and redemption, and we have the opportunity – and challenge – to experience that story ourselves in our generation.

Hidden behind our constant tweaking of time is the conviction that meaning, balance, harmony and alignment, are possible. In the deepest way, it's a testament to our understanding that the world is not random, that Hashem is taking us somewhere; that beneath the noise and madness there is a latent unity and a destination for the universe. We simply have to adjust ourselves to make it work. Even in the confusion of this world, we can achieve small moments of clarity; windows that allow us to see what could and will be when Hashem heals the world of its inconsistencies and imperfections.

In different way, we have all felt these snippets of clarity. Sometimes they hit us in the face – other times we need to look carefully to spot them. Sometimes it takes months or years to finally understand the purpose of some seemingly random or adverse event. Sometimes, we never do. But our history has shown one indisputable truth: Nothing in Jewish history is truly random.

Perhaps the greatest moment of personal clarity in the Torah was when Yosef HaTzadik finally understands the reason for his life in Egypt. Despite every overwhelming and antagonistic adversary standing in his way, Yosef rose to become the savior of Mitzrayim and the provider for his family, the nascent Jewish people. All of this, of course, was the set up for an eventual fulfillment of the promise that Hashem made to Avraham: “Your children will be strangers... and then they will leave will immense wealth.”

Anyone who knows the story of Yosef, knows that there is nothing that stands in the way of Jewish destiny. Somehow, every single event is woven into the masterful tapestry of our past, present and future, and there are simply no coincidences. With this in mind, we might understand the fatal mistake of Paroah in his attempt to destroy us:

There arose a new king over Egypt – אֲשֶׁר לֹא יָדַע אֶת יוֹסֵף – who didn’t know Yosef.

Obviously, as Chazal and all the Rishonim note, he did know Yosef. Perhaps then, what he didn't know was the story of Yosef. He didn't know how Yosef was the least likely person to ever assume leadership in Mitzrayim, and that against these awesome odds, Hashem's plans prevailed.

Were it to be the Paroah did know Yosef's story, he might have thought twice before challenging the One pulling the strings. A careful look into history would have revealed that Jewish destiny is outside of human hands.

Every now and then, if we're looking carefully, we too can see the strings being pulled as well. Sometimes in large ways, sometimes, quite small. For me, this insight of אֲשֶׁר לֹא יָדַע אֶת יוֹסֵף is a perfect example in itself.

This understanding of the Pasuk is not my own chiddush. Late on Tuesday night I stumbled across this idea quoted in the name of the Sefer Zichron Aharon – a book with which I was not familiar. I liked the idea, and did some digging online to find the original Sefer, and some information about its author. The author, I discovered, was Rabbi Aharon HaKohen Kohn, who, as the title page displayed, came from a place called נאדי־מעדיער – or Nagymegyer, which I had never heard of. Some further research revealed that he was a Hungarian born Rabbi and businessman. A student of Rabbi Yehuda Aszod, and a contemporary of the Chasam Sofer.

What struck me as incredible was the dedication offered by his children. In place of a copyright, was the request to share the Sefer far and wide in honor of their father. But reading the inscription found in the introduction to the original printing of the Sefer was tiny window into Hashem's world behind the scenes:

“We are distributing this Sefer of our father and grandfather amongst those that knew our father, and those who love his Torah. And we request of all those who receive this Sefer to remember our father – Aharon ben Genendel – on the day of his Yahrzeit. The 18th Day of the month Teves. And to learn Mishnayos in his honor...”

Tuesday night, of course, was the 18th day of the month of Teves.

I don't know if there were any other Jews learning his Torah on his Yahrzeit, but clearly, Hashem has a plan. And if the Master of All World wants something to happen, then all of Jewish history tells us there nothing that could prevent it from occurring. I am grateful that I was zocheh to that moment.

So as the news of another variant surfaces, I cannot help thinking that Hashem is taking us somewhere. We may not know the road, but we certainly know the destination. Hashem should help us to arrive there soon, safely, together.