Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

One thing is clear; our hopes, prayers and dreams from last Rosh Hashana did not turn out the way we wanted.

The lights of 5784 are beginning to fade this Shabbos. By Wednesday night, as Rosh Hashana enters, our world will be shrouded in the darkness and mystery of what is yet to come. Once again, we will enter the fray, yearning to move Hashem from the seat of Judgement to seat of Mercy.

The Alter Rebbe writes that until we sound the Shofar on Rosh Hashanah morning, the world is still in flux. It hangs in the balance between being and not being, and we are the ones who are charged with the responsibility to bring it into existence for the year ahead. It is up to us to recreate it and reconfigure it.

Being that we have the power to do so, I think I know what we’re all aiming for.

We are trying to change the world into one where Jewish boys and girls are not stolen from a music festival, and held in torturous captivity for almost a year. We would like to see a world where an army of terrorists occupying territory in Lebanon are not treated with any legitimacy on the world stage.

The world we would create includes the safe return of our soldiers to the homes, and the safe return of the residents of the North.

Of course, there are thousands more specific needs, many more details to pray for. But if we could all yearn for just one thing, perhaps it might be that this should be the End. This year should mark the ultimate end. Meaning, that we should be the final generation before the Geulah. That all the pain comes to an end.

But what if the way to achieve it is hiding in plain sight?

It’s humbling to realize that Moshe Rabbeinu in his prophetic vision saw all the way to our time and beyond. He saw me and you, our lives and challenges. And this Shabbos, he reveals what will happen in the end:

וְאָמַר הַדּוֹר הָאַחֲרוֹן... עַל־מֶה עָשָׂה ה’ כָּכָה לָאָרֶץ הַזֹּאת מֶה חֳרִי הָאַף הַגָּדוֹל הַזֶּה

And the last generation will say ... why has Hashem done this to our Land? Why is He so upset?

They will answer:

וְאָמְרוּ עַל אֲשֶׁר עָזְבוּ אֶת־בְּרִית ה’ אֱלֹקי אֲבֹתָם Because they abandoned the covenant of Hashem the God of their ancestors.

Moshe Rabbeinu was standing on the border of Eretz Yisrael, looking thousands of years into the future, to a time when calamity would strike his people. After generations of straying from Hashem and His Torah and suffering in exile, Klal Yisrael will finally ponder the reason for our troubles.

R’ Shlomo HaKohen of Radomsk (פר’ אחרי) explains this enigmatic vision: Moshe Rabbeinu is not simply predicting the future. He is prescribing it. This parsha is not revealing events that are yet to unfold, it is telling us how to make them happen.

Who is this final generation? It is the generation that finally asks the question “Why is this happening?” And answers “because we abandoned Hashem.”

כל דור שישים על לבם את הדברים האלה להצטער על גלות השכינה ולשוב אל ה' הנה הם יהיו הדור האחרון כי מיד ושב ה' אלהיך את שבותך ולכך קראם הכתוב הדור האחרון כי אם יעשו כן יושיעם ה' מיד ויהיו הם האחרונים בהגלות

Any generation that will internalize this message, to be pained over the Exile of Hashem’s presence, and chooses to return to Hashem; that will be be the final generation to experience the exile.

Our obligation is not, Chas V’Shalom, to point fingers at others Jews and decry their lack of observance. That is not our Avoda. Rather, Moshe Rabbeinu is challenging us to take stock of our place in this process. To ask ourselves honestly: What could I do better? If the world is not perfect and I am not perfect, then perhaps by fixing myself, I can fix a little bit of the world.

The task is daunting, but perhaps now is the time. Perhaps we are finally ready to become that Final Generation.

If we accept the mission to do so, then we enter into the final stage of the prophecy: וְשָׁב ה’ אֱלֹקיךָ אֶת־שְׁבוּתְךָ וְרִחֲמֶךָ וְשָׁב וְקִבֶּצְךָ – Hashem will return our captives, and have mercy on us, and gather us together. וֶהֱבִיאֲךָ ה’ אֱלֹקיךָ אֶל־הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר־יָרְשׁוּ אֲבֹתֶיךָ וִירִשְׁתָּהּ וְהֵיטִבְךָ וְהִרְבְּךָ מֵאֲבֹתֶיךָ – Hashem will bring us to the Land of our ancestors; He will be good to us. Better than ever before.

May He give us the strength to achieve it. Wishing us all a כתיבה וחתימה טובה and the sweetest year ahead.

Aside from being the first Rebbe of Chabad, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi was also the Ba’al Kriyah of his shul, reading the Torah every Shabbos.

Naturally, whenever he would travel, there was a big tumult who should Lein in his place. And it so happened that one year, the Rebbe was away for Parshas Ki Savo in which the terrible curses are read.

The leining began without a hitch. The Chosid chosen to read was clearly an expert; not only in the grammar and tunes, but his reading and inflections displayed a profundity of understanding of the words he was reading.

But in the middle of the Kriyas HaTorah, there was a sudden commotion: the Alter Rebbe’s son, Rabbi Dov Ber, had fainted.

When he was revived, he was asked what had affected him so much. “I could not bear to hear such curses,” he said.

“But surely this is not the first time you’ve heard them?!” the chassidim asked. “You hear them every year!”

“It’s true that we read these curses each and every year, but the Zohar tells us that hidden in the curses are the greatest blessings. When I hear them from my father, I don’t just hear the words of the curse, I hear the blessings as well.”

In a small way, each one of us has experienced a moment of hindsight induced clarity. We have all experienced the blessings in our hardships.

We can all relate to stories of the job offer that tragically fell through, which enabled us to get the much better job later on. We all know stories of the house, or business deal or shidduch that didn’t work out, only to lead to much better opportunities just when we thought it was impossible.

Countless stories abound of missed trains and planes which ended up saving lives. Or painful invasive surgeries that unwittingly and miraculously revealed hidden diseases.

There are times when we are fortunate to see the blessings in the curses. But oftentimes we cannot.

We cannot see the brachos hidden in the tragedies of October 7th. From our perspective, there is nothing good about the deaths of hundreds of young chayalim; thousands more injured. I am not the Alter Rebbe; I can’t see the goodness hidden in these horrors.

Reb Shlomo of Krasna explains that perhaps it is for this reason that we read the Tochacha, the curses, softly. Because the ability to hear the Brachos in the horror and tragedy is a secret. And secrets must be whispered.

For most of us, however, these curses will not provide any mystical revelations of blessings. They will not even be whispered as deep secrets. Instead, they will be rattled off quickly and quietly in order to ensure that we are fulfilling the obligation of reading the Torah. After all, we’re up Parshas Ki Savo and we’ve got to get through the Torah.

What exactly are we supposed to gain from these harsh and traumatic pesukim?

It seems that there’s a piece missing from our understanding.

Even if we weren’t reading Ki Savo this Shabbos, Ezra instituted that we read these curses before Rosh Hashana every year (מגילה לא ב), and this institution predates our custom of completing the Torah on Simchas Torah every year.

תַּנְיָא, רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן אֶלְעָזָר אוֹמֵר: עֶזְרָא תִּיקֵּן לָהֶן לְיִשְׂרָאֵל שֶׁיְּהוּ קוֹרִין קְלָלוֹת ...שֶׁבְּמִשְׁנֵה תוֹרָה קוֹדֶם רֹאשׁ הַשָּׁנָה. מַאי טַעְמָא? אָמַר אַבָּיֵי וְאִיתֵּימָא רֵישׁ לָקִישׁ: כְּדֵי שֶׁתִּכְלֶה הַשָּׁנָה וְקִלְלוֹתֶיהָ.

It is taught in a baraita: Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar said: Ezra instituted that the Jewish people should read the portion of the curses that are recorded in Sefer Devarim before Rosh HaShana. The Gemara asks: What is the reason for this? Abaye said, and some say that it was Reish Lakish who said: In order that the year may conclude together with its curses.

Somehow, the reading of the curses in our Parsha is supposed to help us conclude the curses of this year. But how?

To understand this we need to consider why the Torah contains these curses in the first place, and to this end, the Talmud instructs us in peculiar Halacha: The Baal Kriyah is not allowed to stop in the middle of the curses in the Tochecha.

The Avnei Nezer (שם משמואל ראה) explains: The whole purpose of this Tochecha is to encourage a person to see that our actions have consequences. The Tochecha is a long Mussar Schmooze, where the Torah tells us to take responsibility for our actions and our inactions, and realize that we are here for a purpose.

The Torah demands from us that we live up to our God given potential. But also requires that we do not live isolated ascetic lives. We are commanded הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך – you should surely rebuke your friend. Each and every one of us has an obligation to use our influence on other Jews to bring them closer to Hashem. Sometimes, that means we need to have uncomfortable conversations. Sometimes, we need to point out weaknesses that we’re rather overlook. Of course, we are only obligated to give mussar if we believe it will work. There’s no mitzvah to make another Jew upset with no positive outcome.

Most often, we probably err on the side of avoiding our own discomfort. But if we truly care about each other, and we truly care about Hashem, then we wouldn’t only worry about our own Ruchniyus. We’d care about each other as well. That’s the mitzvah of Tochacha.

R’ Yaakov Yosef writes (בן פורת יוסף, דרשות שבת תשובה א׳), however, that the obligation to give Mussar to each other does not apply on Rosh Hashana. In fact, the opposite is true:

מבואר בכתבי האר”י זלה”ה שלא להזכיר שום חטא בראש השנה, שלא יהיה פתחון פה למקטרג וכו'. ואם הוא עצמו אינו רשאי לפרש חטאו, אשר בזה אמרו (משלי כח, יג) ומודה ועוזב ירוחם, מכל שכן שאין המוכיח רשאי לפרש חטא הדור

The Arizal writes that we do not mention any of our sins on Rosh Hashana. And if one is forbidden from mentioning their own sins, how much more so that we are forbidden to mention the sins of our generation.

Rosh Hashana is the day we approach the King of Kings on the day of His Coronation. Pointing out the faults of any His subjects is not just bad form; it’s frighteningly dangerous for you and them!

In the days leading up to Rosh Hashana, our love of the Jewish people demands that we take the time to help each other correct our actions. That way, when the new year enters, we will see no flaws in each other.

Chas V’shalom that anyone of us should mention or point out anything negative about any Jew on Rosh Hashana. We have plenty enemies who are trying to exploit any weakness we might have, and we dare not join them on the day when Hashem is judging us.

All of this is to say, that when Ezra told us to read the Tochecha this Shabbos, he was telling us: “Take a moment now to hear what you’re doing wrong. Accept the Mussar now, because we don’t want to call you out on Rosh Hashana.”

In the deepest way, “the year and its curses will end”, because this year, we will finally stop cursing each other.

Our goal is to arrive at the Yom HaDin with a united front. We will stand before the Melech Malchei HaMelachim with unity and dedication, advocating for each other. We will present our case that the year and its curses must finally end.

Hashem should give us the strength to become the greatest people we can be, and when Rosh Hashana comes, to see only that greatness in each other.

This Elul feels strange to me.

Every year as the summer ends, and Elul begins, I get excited. I love Elul. I love the energy, the drive, the possibilities and preparation.

As Rosh Hashana draws closer, the air is filled with meaningful conversations about personal growth and deeper connections. Friends and family begin reaching out to each other, trying to mend relationships and bridge gaps.

We invest time and resources in trying to break bad habits and work on creating new positive practices.

But this year feels different. We’re a third of the way through the month of Elul and, perhaps it’s just me, but I think we’re all still gasping for inspiration.

On the surface, it seems strange that not more “into it” this year. After all, the stakes have never been higher and the future of Klal Yisrael is so obviously hanging in the balance. If there was ever a time to overcome our complacency, it should be now.

The war. The hostages. Antisemitism. Iran. Hezbollah.

Our own religious aspirations and standards should be demanding a significantly heightened Elul experience this year. We should all be on fire with new commitments; with Teshuva, Tefillah and Tzedaka. We should be pounding on the gates of Heaven with our words and deeds.

And yet, we’re tired. It’s been a hard year for the Jewish people.

Perhaps we’re playing the long game, taking it slow, preserving our energy. We know that Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur are coming. We know that this year, the trepidation does not end with the Shofar at the conclusion of Neilah. The Yamim Noraim this year will continue through Shmini Atzeres and Simchas Torah. These days will not be filled with the same exuberant relief as before. Somehow, joy and celebration will need to be coupled with the complexity of brokenness and loss. Somehow we’ll be creating a new holiday of intensity and emotion.

But even if all of that is true, I’m still concerned. I’m worried that there is something more sinister and depressing at work here. Maybe our lack of motivation right now is not simply pacing ourselves for a season of real work and growth.

At our core, the reason we’re feeling demotivated is that we’re questioning the meaning and purpose of Chodesh Elul this year.

There’s a piece inside of us that’s wondering whether it actually makes any difference if we work on not speaking Lashon Hara. Will that bring the hostages home?

If we say brachos with care and kavana, will it help the soldiers that haven’t seen their children for weeks and months? Will it make their lives any better?

Will an extra hour of learning convince Hezbollah to stop firing rockets at Jewish homes in the north?

More than any other year, we are contrasting the smallness of our own Avoda with the enormity of the challenges we face. When we weigh them up, it doesn’t feel like there’s anything we can do that will create any kind of meaningful change. After all, what hasn’t been done already?

Of course, we know that Hashem can fix the world. We know that He can make it all better. But more and more, we’re becoming convinced that we cannot.

This feeling of inability and inadequacy is a powerful demotivator; in other words it’s a Yetzer Hara. It’s a voice inside dissuading us from propelling ourselves forward as individuals and as a nation.

This is yet another element of our perpetual war against Amalek which we read once again this shabbos. Amalek is the one who originally “cooled us off” on our journey – אשר קרך בדרך.

The Mei HaShiloach (ח”א בשלח ד”ה ה’ ילחם לכם) explains that Amalek is not like the other nations in the world. Other nations try to replace Hashem. They deny the existence of an all powerful, almighty infinite God, and in His place they insert powers of their own choice and making.

But Amalek is not an atheist. He doesn’t deny Hashem’s existence; rather he denies our ability to make any meaningful change in the world. Amalek believes in God; he doesn’t believe in man.

This Yetzer Hara is seducing us to become weak willed and angry. It preys on our frustrations and failures until we do little more than sit on the couch, grumbling at the news. We are reduced to reposting in our echo chambers and pointing fingers at politicians and pundits.

But all of this despondency is an illusion.

The Torah describes the creation of Mankind in the Image of God. On this, the Nefesh HaChaim (שער א ג׳) writes that each person is entrusted with the Godly controls of their Universe. Quite literally, Hashem gives us the ability to change the world through our thoughts, speech and actions.

שכמו שהוא ית' שמו הוא האלקים בעל הכחות הנמצאים בכל העולמות כולם. ומסדרם ומנהיגם כל רגע כרצונו כן השליט רצונו יתברך את האדם שיהא הוא הפותח והסוגר של כמה אלפי רבואות כחות ועולמות עפ”י כל פרטי סדרי הנהגותיו בכל עניניו בכל עת ורגע ממש כפי שרשו העליון של מעשיו ודבוריו ומחשבותיו כאלו הוא ג”כ הבעל כח שלהם כביכול.

Just as Hashem is the Master of the powers found in the totality of all the worlds, and organizes and governs them each instant per His will, so too did He rule that man should be the enabler and disabler of many multitudes of powers and worlds via all of the detailed patterns of his large scale behavior, in every situation, literally in every instant and moment, according to his supernal root, which includes his actions, speech and thought, as if he too is the master of their power, as it were.

But if this is true, then why is it that we don’t always see it and feel it? And why do we feel that nothing we do is making a difference?

The truth is, we do see it and we do feel it. But we never see it immediately. In all of our great attempts at building and developing ourselves, success is never apparent at the outset.

We never lose weight on the first day of a diet. We never build muscle on the first day at the gym. No one ever built a fortune by saving that first dollar. No-one ever finished Shas after the first daf. But it has to begin somewhere.

The changes we make are tiny and incremental; they’re imperceptible and invisible to the naked eye. But they are as real in the world as they are in us. The compounded affect of our Avoda changes us and shapes the world around us.

There are two ways that we can approach Rosh Hashana this year. Either we will scream out to Hashem that enough is enough and it’s time for Him to save us. But we would much rather scream out to Hashem that we are a new Jewish people who are working towards a different world.

We can only utilize this second option if each one of us is actually a little different; even if the changes are too small for our eyes to see.

This perspective is not theoretical. Indeed, the Rambam (הל’ תשובה ג:ד) codifies it l’halacha, telling us that we should always see that world is hanging in the balance.

עָשָׂה מִצְוָה אַחַת הֲרֵי הִכְרִיעַ אֶת עַצְמוֹ וְאֶת כָּל הָעוֹלָם כֻּלּוֹ לְכַף זְכוּת וְגָרַם לוֹ וְלָהֶם תְּשׁוּעָה By performing one mitzvah, one tips their balance and that of the entire world to the side of merit and brings deliverance and salvation to themselves and others.

Rebbe Nachman tells us that when Moshiach comes, he will turn to each one of us and tells us the story of our lives. He will show us how our actions fit in to the great story of Jewish history.

Don’t give up on yourself. Don’t give up on Hashem. Klal Yisrael needs us this Elul. Pick an Avoda – It’s up to us to make a difference.

Every Friday night since October 7th, just before we make Kiddush, my family and I turn to face the Shabbos candles (שו”ע או”ח רעא:י בהג”ה) and join together in Tefillah.

We ask Hashem to keep our soldiers safe, and to grant them a swift and conclusive victory. We ask Him to heal all of our brothers and sisters who have been injured in this war.

We ask Hashem to bring the hostages home.

Right next to the Shabbos candles, my wife placed a digital photo screen. It doesn’t have pictures of our vacations or celebrations. It’s a slideshow displaying the faces and names of the hostages.

They’ve become part of our family. We see their faces as often as we see our own, and every Friday night, we daven for them together. Our kids sometimes ask us how they're doing; if they have been rescued and when they're coming home.

Hersh. Eden. Almog. Ori. Alex. Carmel.

These are the ones who are not coming home this week.

But there are still more than a hundred that we are all waiting for.

Our family has chosen to daven for them just before we make Kiddush because Chazal teach us that when we make Kiddush, we are partnering with Hashem in the recreation of the world. The Yesod Tzadik of Zhevill explains therefore, that this is the best time of the week for us to ask Hashem to make changes in our lives. After all, partners are allowed to negotiate the terms of a deal before proceeding.

The Ohr Hachaim HaKadosh writes that the world was only ever created to last for six days at a time. On Shabbos, every Shabbos, Hashem renews the lease on the world.

Tragically, last week, our requests were denied; and our world has been smothered by a suffocating darkness as Klal Yisrael attends the funerals and listens to the heart wrenching eulogies.

The Sod Yesharim of Izhbitz explains that we have a term in Halacha for this overwhelming sadness – it’s called Tumas Meis – the impurity of death, which has been forced up us. It’s the most severe and debilitating form of impurity, holding us back from coming closer to each other and closer to Hashem.

As individuals and as a nation, we are feeling sullied, violated and broken. And from this place of pain, for the first time since October 7th we, the Jewish people, seem to be falling apart.

Naturally, the news outlets have been all too excited to report the size of the protests that have erupted in Tel Aviv and the strikes around the country.

The brutal murder of six innocent hostages last week is threatening to reignite the divisiveness that we have all been desperate to avoid. Jews are blaming Jews for this horror and the political rifts appear to be widening.

A friend of mine in Israel told me that this week that it’s starting to feel like October 6th again. That’s a frightening thought, because there is no-one that believes we will be more successful if we’re divided. And yet, we can’t seem to help ourselves.

On one side, there are families of hostages who are fearing for the lives of their loved ones still held captive by merciless terrorists. They want a deal now.

On the other side are soldiers, reservists and grieving families who have risked their lives and paid the ultimate price to defeat Hamas. They want to finish the war.

I am not a politician and I am not an expert on the strategies of warfare. I will not pretend to know what the State of Israel should do to resolve all this pain and heartbreak.

But regarding these divisions that are threatening to unravel us Rav Kook (אורות התחיה כה) has a perspective that I’ve been clinging to, as we mark 89 years since his passing on 3 Elul.

סמוך לעקבא דמשיחא מתרבה סגולת האחדות באומה, המעשים הטובים והדעות והאור האלהי הנמצאים בצדיקים פועלים על קדושת הכלל יותר מבשאר הזמנים. טמונה היא סגולה זו במטמון של קטיגוריא ומריבות, אבל תוכו רצוף אהבה ואחדות נפלאה, שמעוררת הרגשה כללית לצפיה לתשועת הגוי כולו.

Close to the time of Mashiach there will be an overwhelming increase in our national unity. The positive actions, thoughts and Godly light that are usually found in the lives of Tzadikim are activated throughout the nation at these times. This beauty is, however, hidden behind a veil of accusations and arguments. But inside there is only love, and wondrous unity that awakens the collective desire for national redemption.

Can you see it?

These painful fights erupting in Israel are not about religion or secularism. Beneath it all, they are not about right wing or left wing politics.

Of course, on the surface, we cannot agree on how to act. Despite the best of intentions, our thoughts are clouded by ego, affiliations, and frustrations that predate October 7th.

But Rav Kook is opening a window into the soul of our nation. At our core, Klal Yisrael is deeply united on the existential need to destroy our enemies; and at the same time, the obligation to save every Jewish life.

Sometimes, when we cannot see the depth of our shared destiny, our enemies remind us. The Megillah tells us that when Haman hatched his plot to murder Klal Yisrael, he claims: “ישנו עם אחד מפוזר ומפורד” – “There is one nation, scattered and divided...”

In his notes on Purim (מאמרי הראי”ה עמ’ 155), Rav Kook notes that this contradiction is central to our national legacy:

באמת מפוזר ומפורד הוא העם האחד אבל בכל זה עם אחד הוא ושמא תאמר איך יתכן שיהיו שני הפכים אחד עם אחד מצד אחד ומפוזר ומפורד מצד השני אל תתמה על החפץ ישנם פלאים בעולם והעם הזה שכל עמידתו בעולם מרופדת היא בפלאי פלאות הוא מראה בהוייתו גם כן את הפלא הזה ובמהותו העצמית הרי הוא עם אחד למרות מה שהוא מפוזר ומפורד

Indeed, we are are both “scattered and divided” and still “One Nation.” Don’t be surprised by this; there are wonders in our world. The Jewish nation’s entire existence is always hanging in the balance, and yet, somehow, we continue to survive. That same infinite nation can be both divided and united at the same time.

Our essence is to defy the odds; to defy the rules of nature. Somehow, in the infinitude of Jewish existence, there is still a way to bring the hostages home and defeat Hamas. It’s all still possible, with different Jews each holding up the values of a different side of battlefront. While no single person can see the way forward, Klal Yisrael can.

This perspective is not simple conjecture; it’s a bonafide obligation in our Parsha:

כִּי־תֵצֵא לַמִּלְחָמָה עַל־אֹיְבֶךָ וְרָאִיתָ סוּס וָרֶכֶב עַם רַב מִמְּךָ לֹא תִירָא מֵהֶם

When you go out against your enemies, and see horses and chariots — forces larger than yours — have no fear of them...

The Vilna Gaon (אדרת אליהו שם) notes that the Torah could have dispensed without telling us that we go to war “against our enemies.” But the Torah is cautioning us: Even though you come from different tribes, fight your enemies, not each other. Then you will have nothing to fear.

This Shabbos, as we raise our Kiddush cups, we will once again have a chance to partner with Hashem in Creating the World. Our avoda, as we look into the light of the Shabbos candles, is to see ourselves and each other a part of something much bigger; sparks of a much greater light.

In turn, Hashem should grant us the ability to see beyond the veil of politics and pain to the victory and unity that is inside of us, waiting to be revealed.

Last Shabbos, one of the cherva approached me and asked if it was appropriate for him to Daven for the results of the US elections to go the way he wants them to go.

(Don’t worry, I definitely did not say it depends on who he’s voting for...)

My immediate reaction was that he most certainly should. After all, Moshe Rabbeinu tells us this Shabbos that we are all children of Hashem – בָּנִים אַתֶּם לַה’ אֱלֹקיכֶם.

From this pasuk, Rebbe Nachman (שיחות הר”ן ז׳:א) teaches that we can and should ask Hashem for anything in the world:

טוֹב מְאֹד מִי שֶׁיָּכוֹל לִשְׁפֹּךְ שִׂיחוֹ לִפְנֵי הַשֵּׁם יִתְבָּרַךְ בְּרַחֲמִים וְתַחֲנוּנִים כְּבֵן הַמִּתְחַטֵּא לִפְנֵי אָבִיו. כִּי הֲלֹא הַשֵּׁם יִתְבָּרַךְ כְּבָר קְרָאָנוּ בָּנִים כְּמוֹ שֶׁכָּתוּב: “בָּנִים אַתֶּם לַה' אֱלֹקֵיכֶם” (דְּבָרִים י”ד). עַל־כֵּן טוֹב מְאֹד לְפָרֵשׁ שִׂיחָתוֹ וְצַעֲרוֹ לְפָנָיו יִתְבָּרַךְ, כְּבֵן שֶׁקּוֹבֵל לִפְנֵי אָבִיו בִּתְנוּעוֹת שֶׁל חֵן וְרַחֲמִים (שֶׁקּוֹרִין פְּיֶעשְׁטְשֶׁין).

It is very good to pour out your thoughts before God like a child pleading before his father (Ta'anis 19a). God calls us His children, as it is written, “You are children to the Lord your God” (Devarim 14:1). Therefore, it is good to express your thoughts and troubles to God, like a child complaining and pestering his father...

But before responding to the question, I paused. Because there is another approach. The Mei Hashiloach (ח”א פ’ אמור) explains that when we stand before the Ribono Shel Olam in Tefillah, we should be reticent to declare that we know what He should or should not do with His world. After all, while we are certainly his children, we are also His servants.

כי תפלה הוא שהש”י יאיר עיני האדם במקום שאין ידו מגעת The essence of Tefillah is that Hashem should illuminate our vision in places that we cannot grasp.

Tefillah by its very nature demands a sense of bitul. It requires a deep sense of dependence on Hashem, and an understanding that we are addressing the Infinite Creator of All Things.

Naturally, this tension is not exclusive to praying about the US elections. It is central to our entire concept of davening, and whether we are conscious of it or not, we have all made these types of choices before. “Should I daven for this deal to go well? Do I really deserve it? Can I ask Hashem for this refuah? Or perhaps that’s too audacious...?

Our approach to solving this conundrum however, might be hiding in plain sight this Shabbos.

The Talmud (ברכות טז ב) tells us that at the end the Shmoneh Esrei every day, Rav would say a unique Tefillah.

We do not say this Tefillah daily, but many communities have co-oped this text as the prayer before announcing Rosh Chodesh on Shabbos Mevorchim: (שערי אפרים י:לה)

רב בתר צלותיה אמר הכי: ״יהי רצון מלפניך ה׳ אלקינו שתתן לנו חיים ארוכים, חיים של שלום, חיים של טובה, חיים של ברכה, חיים של פרנסה, חיים של חלוץ עצמות, חיים שיש בהם יראת חטא, חיים שאין בהם בושה וכלימה, חיים של עושר וכבוד, חיים שתהא בנו אהבת תורה ויראת שמים, חיים שתמלא לנו את כל משאלות לבנו לטובה״.

May it be Your will, Lord our God, that You grant us long life, a life of peace, a life of goodness, a life of blessing, a life of sustenance, a life of freedom of movement, a life of dread of sin, a life without shame and disgrace, a life of wealth and honor, a life in which we have love of Torah and reverence for Heaven, a life in which You fulfill all the desires of our heart for good.

It’s certainly a beautiful Tefillah, but its placement in the siddur is questionable. There are many siddurim which do not include it, with Poskim raising the concern of making additional requests on Shabbos. But even for those who do uphold this custom, we might wonder why this is the prayer to say before announcing Rosh Chodesh.

Rav Yonasan Eibeschitz (תשית לראשו עמ’ שמג) explained the connection, noting that this Tefillah contains precisely eleven requests for חיים – life; one request for each Shabbos Mevorchim of the year. (The month of Tishrei is not announced on the Shabbos preceding it.)

It follows that when we consider our hopes and dreams for the month ahead, we already have the template illustrating the life we should be yearning for during the upcoming days and weeks.

The month of Elul is centered around the request for חיים שתמלא לנו את כל משאלות לבנו לטובה – a life in which You fulfill all the desires of our heart for good.

The Klausenberger Rebbe wondered why we add the final word here: “for good”. Surely when we ask Hashem to fulfill the desires of our hearts, we are already asking Him for good?

The Rebbe explains this additional word with an insight that could only be gleaned in Chodesh Elul:

As the year begins to draw to a close, we look back on our successes and failures, our triumphs and disappointments, our achievements and our unfulfilled dreams.

An honest retrospective, by definition, offers us a certainly humility that we could never have anticipated.

None of us could’ve predicted the life changing events of this year. None of us knew how this year would transform our lives on a personal or national level. In hindsight, were we to know anything of what was to come, our tefillos last year would certainly have been radically different.

Last Elul we were preoccupied by a litany of wants and needs. We committed to improving ourselves in the hopes that Hashem would answer all of our tefillos for health, wealth and happiness.

But the truth is, a year ago, we had no idea what we might actually need. We had no way of knowing what lay ahead. In the deepest recesses of our souls, can we ever ask anything of Hashem with the full confidence that it’s the best thing for us?

To this end, the Klausenberger Rebbe writes: We ask Hashem that He fulfill all of the requests of our hearts for good. The kind of good that only the Omnipotent, All Knowing Master of the World can guarantee.

Effectively, we are adding a massive disclaimer to the entirety of our davening. “Please Hashem, give me all the things that I need and want... But only if it’s actually good for me. I trust You to know what I need far more than I trust myself. And if I’m wrong, then don’t listen to me. Instead, give me what you know I need most, painful as it might be...”

A number of years ago, Rav Shachter told us that Rabbi Soloveitchik cried many nights in Europe. He begged Hashem that he would not be forced to take a position in the USA – the “treifeh medina”.

It’s at this point in the story that Rav Schachter began crying. “Imagine if Hashem would’ve listened to his Tefillah. Imagine if Rabbi Soloveitchik had stayed in Europe. He would have been murdered along with everyone else.”

Perhaps the greatest lesson of the past year has been the recognition of our own limitations. As David HaMelech (תהילים קכ״ז:א) tells us: אִם ה’ לֹא יִשְׁמָר עִיר שָׁוְא שָׁקַד שׁוֹמֵר – If Hashem doesn’t watch over the city, the guard has watched in vain.

In the past year, we have witnessed tragic and devastating gaps in Israeli security. In the US, we looked on in shock and horror as all the might and prowess of our political connections were rendered useless in the face of campus anti-semitism.

Our generation has enjoyed enormous achievements, but this is no time to rest on our laurels.

We have been thrust into a moment in history where the stakes have never been higher. Throughout the world Jewish communities are suspended precariously in the space between Redemption and annihilation. Perhaps from our vantage point, neither option seems likely in the immediate future; but then again, what do we really know?

The only Tefillah we can offer this Elul is this: All that we really want is what You want. We have our prayers, our designs and desires. But ultimately, Hashem please do what You know is good.

Another week, another failed round of negotiations.

Despite the deep desire of the State of Israel to bring the hostages home, our nation is left negotiating with terrorists and murderers. Our enemies have proven, once again, that their goals have not changed. They have no interest in peace, safety, security or liberty; not for their people or for our ours.

It’s a heart wrenching predicament when the lives of our loved ones are in the hands of people who want us all dead.

Tragically, this is not the first time in Jewish history where we have found ourselves at the mercy of our tormentors. Indeed, it is paradigmatic of our experience in exile. Throughout the generations this story has repeated itself: Regardless of our wealth, wisdom, political affiliations and connections, we have been held back from taking the reins and directing our own future.

The pain and frustration of our current situation, however, might be greater than ever before. Simply put, as a nation, we are more capable today than anytime in the past two millennia. Hashem has given us a State, an army, and access to wealth and technology on a scale that we have never enjoyed before. But all of this success does nothing to mitigate the frustrations we feel being stuck as we are right now. If anything, it only exasperates our anguish.

So we resort to bickering and nitpicking with each other. We argue about the nuances of politics, policies and parties. We read and write and post and share about who or what might carve out a little bit of light in this darkness.

But perhaps we are looking at this the wrong way; because the path to success in negotiating our national crisis was charted centuries ago...

Let’s take a step back to understand where are right now.

There are seven weeks between Tisha B’av and Rosh HaShana. Seven weeks to take us from the brokenness of exile to declaring Hashem as the King over us and all humanity.

Recognizing the distance that we need to travel, Chazal paved the way for us to bridge this gap; and encoded it in the Haftaros of these weeks, the Shiva D’Nechemta; the seven weeks of comfort.

Calling these “weeks of comfort”, however, minimizes the intensity of the conflict in which we are about to engage. Comfort was the theme of last week. As we emerged from the smoldering rubble of Yerushalayim, Hashem sends the Navi to comfort us – נחמו נחמו עמי, with the knowledge that we are still His nation (as we explained last week).

What is our response this offer of comfort supposed to be?

The Abudraham (סדר העיבור, סדר הפרשיות וההפטרות) explains that this Shabbos the Haftara begins audaciously with our rejection of Hashem’s terms: ‘וַתֹּאמֶר צִיּוֹן עֲזָבַנִי ה – And Tzion says “Hashem has abandoned me!”

We send the Navi back to Hashem with a simple message: we don’t want messengers of comfort. We want the real thing, not a prophet offering condolences. It’s simply not enough. Comfort doesn’t rebuild the Beis HaMikdash. Comfort doesn’t bring the hostages home. Hashem, Your terms have been rejected.

In the words of the Abudraham: איני מתפייסת מנחמת הנביאים – I cannot be appeased with the comfort of the prophets.

But the conversation does not end there.

Next Shabbos (Re’eh), the Navi returns to Hashem to relay our rejection: עניה סוערה לא נוחמה – This impoverished and stormy people will not be comforted.

Hashem takes our response seriously. Once the Nevi’im have failed in comforting the Jewish people, on the following Shabbos (Shoftim), Hashem tells the Navi that He, Himself will be taking over: אָנֹכִי אָנֹכִי הוּא מְנַחֶמְכֶם – I, Myself, will comfort you.

So the Navi returns to us (Ki Seitzei), convinced that his message will be well received. He declares: רני עקרה לא ילדה – “It is time to rejoice, even though you are now childless”.

In our series of Haftaros, this announcement is the only one that gets no response. We stonewall the prophet who tells a grieving mother that it’ll be ok. It’s not ok.

Finally, in the Navi returns (Ki Savo) telling us קומי אורי כי בא אורך – “It is time to rise up, your Light is finally shining”. Hashem is coming now. The pain is coming to an end and the world will make sense.

Ultimately, only in the final days before Rosh Hashana (Nitzavim-VaYelech), when we feel Hashem’s presence return, we will raise our heads exclaiming שׂוֹשׂ אָשִׂישׂ בה’ – I will rejoice in Hashem... כִּי הִלְבִּישַׁנִי בִּגְדֵי־יֶשַׁע – for He has given me clothes of salvation.

That’s the plan. Or at least, that’s the possibility presented to us each year.

This entire exchange, however, seems strange. Doesn’t Hashem want us to be redeemed? Doesn’t He want us to return to Yerushalayim? Why does He force us to plead and negotiate when both parties want the same thing?

Of course we all do.

But in the deepest way, Hashem does’t want us to be comforted by anything less than the Geulah Sheleima. The end of the war is not enough. The safe return of the hostages is not enough. The total defeat of Hamas, Hezbollah and Iran is not enough.

None of this is to say that we won’t accept these victories; we certainly will. We should do everything in our power to assist our leaders and soldiers to continue fighting daily to achieve them. But it’s not enough.

Hashem wants us to truly comprehend that we are negotiating with the Master of the World. And it’s about time that we ask for what we want: תִּתְגַּדַּל וְתִתְקַדַּשׁ בְּתוֹךְ יְרוּשָׁלַֽיִם עִירְךָ לְדוֹר וָדוֹר וּלְנֵֽצַח נְצָחִים – You should be made great and transcendent in Yerushalayim, Your city for all generations and for all eternity.

The question to us is devastatingly simple: Are we sure that we do want what Hashem wants? Perhaps we are not quite there yet. Perhaps, if given the option, we would settle for less and move on with our lives. A little peace, a little tranquility. Is that all we want? Or are we still dreaming of so much more.

These weeks, and this entire year have reminded us that once, long ago, we lost sight of the real vision and purpose of Yiddishkeit, so the Mikdash was taken from us and we have endured the years and terrors of exile.

The Nevi’im are coming to us, offering Divine comfort, and we are firing back: We don’t want your comfort. Not this time.

On the long road from Destruction to Redemption there have been far too many of us who have settled. Time and time again we have gotten comfortable. That’s the pitfall, the trap we must refuse to fall into this time.

This Shabbos, the real negotiations begins.

They will take place inside the hearts and minds of every Jew. They will happens around our Shabbos tables, on our walks to Shul, and during our schmoozes with friends and family.

In this great debate with Hashem and ourselves, we need to be sure that we want the same thing He wants. When He asks us what are we willing to accept, it is time that we should know how to answer.

This Shabbos, Jews throughout the world will wrap up our Sifrei Torah. We will make a bracha on the Haftara, thanking Hashem for sending us his great prophets. And then we will turn to Him to announce that we are rejecting His “compromise”.

This time, we don’t want comfort. We want You.

Bring them home. Bring us all home.

The dark clouds of the three weeks have finally lifted. Meat and wine have returned to the menus, and music fills our homes and cars. The laundry that has piled up is finally getting washed.

With Tisha B’av behind us, the Halacha instructs us to move on.

The Maharil writes that on this Shabbos, Shabbos Nachamu, one should celebrate and enjoy. Doing anything less represents an insufficient Emunah in the coming of Mashiach.

We are to leave Tisha B'av with the hope, faith and yearning that, Be'ezras Hashem, this was our last Tisha B'av. Indeed we find that no communities continue the mourning of Av beyond the 10th day of the month.

But all of this is true for a normal year.

During a normal year, the invitation of the Navi to be comforted on Shabbos Nachamu is a welcome change of pace and focus.

Not this year; this year is different. The horrors of October 7th have not ended. The wounds of war are not only fresh, they are still being inflicted upon the hostages, the Chayalim and so many families from North to South.

On a national level, Klal Yisrael cannot be comforted. The pain is not yet behind us. Like Rachel Imeinu, thousands of Jewish mothers refuse to be comforted רָחֵל מְבַכָּה עַל־בָּנֶיהָ מֵאֲנָה לְהִנָּחֵם עַל־בָּנֶיהָ כִּי אֵינֶנּוּ – Rachel weeping for her children. She refuses to be comforted For her children, who are gone.

As the fleishic restaurants reopen, as the music blares once again, as we read Nachamu Nachamu Ami, we wonder whether comfort is really achievable.

Tragically, while this question is new to our generation, it has bothered our ancestors for far longer.

The Sfas Emes (ואתחנן תרנ”ו) broaching these exceedingly difficult emotions, explains that the comfort offered by the Hashem is not an attempt to move on at all.

Instead, Hashem is giving us the tools to continuing moving through:

נחמו נחמו עמי יאמר אלקיכם פי' שיש די באלקותו ית' לנחם בזה על כל הצרות שעוברין עלינו תמיד Be comforted, says Hashem, in the knowledge that you are Mine and I am with you. And in this connection there is comfort for the pain that we are moving through.

It is true, that there is a certain comfort in knowing that the pain is behind us. But there is a different type of comfort that comes with knowing we are not alone; that Hashem is still with us.

This is the comfort that Sapir Cohen spoke about on Tisha B’av when she described Hashem being with her in the tunnels under Gaza. Somehow from the horrors and terrors of Hamas captivity she emerged stronger, empowered and connected to Hashem.

Her incredible Emunah reminds me of story that Chassidim tell about Reb Shmuel Munkis, a chassid of the Baal HaTanya.

It happened that a fire broke started and before anyone could stop it, Reb Shmuel’s home was engulfed in flames. As his family rushed to safety, Reb Shmuel watched all of his worldly possessions consumed by the fire.

When the smoke cleared, he began digging through the rubble, trying to salvage anything that remained, and from everything he owned, all he could find was one bottle of vodka.

He ran to the Beis HaMedrash and called everyone to make a l'chaim with him as he danced around the shul singing “She'lo asani goy – Thank you Hashem for making me a Jew.”

His friends and colleagues assumed that he had gone crazy.

“No,” he explained, “You don’t get it. If I were not Jewish, Chas V'Shalom, and my home burned down, then my idols, my gods, everything I valued would have burned along with it. But Hakadosh Baruch Hu is everywhere. I still have Hashem.”

Shabbos Nachamu is not coming to mitigate or manage our national trauma, it comes to strengthen us by showing us who we are, and Who stands beside us.

When Tisha B'av takes everything away, we can still find HaKadosh Baruch Hu in our live.

On Tisha B'av morning, we don't wear tefillin, we don't learn Torah, we don't even greet each other. We are forced to ask ourselves: Without my external displays of Judaism, my rituals, practices, community and friends, do I still have a relationship with Hashem?

The answer, נחמו נחמו עמי, is that the essence of who we are, the most irreducible part my being, is that I am a Jew. No one can take that away from us.

Thus Moshe Rabbeinu explains in our parsha, that even in the most difficult times, during exile and hardship:

וּבִקַּשְׁתֶּם מִשָּׁם אֶת־ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ וּמָצָאתָ But from there you will seek the Hashem your God; and you will find Him...

The Yid HaKadosh of Pshischa would explain that Hashem hands a “Shtar-Chov”, a promissory note, to each and every Jew. On it, it reads: If you look for HaKadosh Baruch Hu you'll find Him, no matter where you are, no matter what is happening to you or around you.

A number of years ago, man wrote to the Lubavitcher Rebbe about his concern for his young granddaughter who was flying from London to New York.

He decided to request the Rebbe’s blessing for the child, who was “traveling as an unaccompanied minor.”

In response, the Rebbe simply crossed out the prefix ‘un’ in the word “unaccompanied” and added the phrase “...by Hashem.”

The man’s note was returned to him, now stating: “My granddaughter is traveling accompanied by Hashem.”

This is the comfort of Shabbos Nachamu for a nation that cannot be comforted. Hashem is promising us that He’s not going anywhere; He’s here with us, ready and waiting to dry our tears and take us home. May we merit to see it soon.

Following the news this week is a bizarre experience. All of humanity is in the middle of a story right now; a story that that we are writing and reading simultaneously. Analysts, pundits and talking heads, of course, are trying to make sense of it all, as if they’re looking from the outside in. Each one trying to predict the next moves by explaining some underlying motivations.

But with all the creative conjectures, there is little possibility of objective analysis. Each suggestion is based on personal perspectives, political agendas and partisan vantage points.

People are talking about proxy wars between the West and Russia. Trade wars between the US and China, control of shipping lanes and the cost of oil. Perhaps, some argue, it’s all ultimately about the future of the dollar as a the world's principal reserve currency.

I have no doubt that all of these arguments have merit. Maybe the war between Israel and Iran is indeed just a pawn on some massive international chess board.

Even in Chutz La’aretz, oceans away from our homeland, we feel the pain, stress and tension of our brothers and sisters. Our war, the one our nation is fighting right now, is far greater than any news outlet or podcast could imagine.

But it doesn’t feels that way to us. Since October 7th we have been oscillating between the worst horrors of antisemitic persecution, and the greatest hopes of national redemption.

The news stations cannot possible imagine the depths of these emotions; these fears and these dreams. If nothing else, the past ten months has confirmed that we are different.

Explaining and understanding that difference is not always easy but it all starts with children.

It’s no secret that “The West” is steadily shrinking. Women in affluent counties are having fewer and fewer children. In the United States, the total fertility rate was 1,616.5 births per 1,000 women in 2023. In fact, the only “western country” currently to have a fertility rate above replacement is Israel (OECD data).

There are many contributing factors to this sharp decline in family size. But as a society, the reason that people are not having children is simply because raising kids is hard. Couple this truth with the rampant cynicism about the planet and humanity as a whole, and one quickly arrives at the conclusion that there is little benefit to bringing more children into the world.

More than ever before, the choice to raise a family is the choice to believe that there is more to this world than the latest narcissistic hedonism trending on social media.

This is why Jews have children. It is not just the fulfillment of a religious obligation. We believe in the possibility and positivity of humanity. We believe that the best is yet to come. We believe that even if we don’t get to see it, perhaps our children will.

A secular life might be wonderful, enjoyable and personally meaningful to an individual. But it cannot, and does not inspire the desire to perpetuate and grow. Ultimately, the long term results of secularism is the end of secularist society.

But the Islamic world is also growing.

Islam is expanding because they too believe in a future for humanity. Their vision for the world, however, is radically different to ours.

And this is the war that no one is talking about.

At its core, Klal Yisrael is not simply fighting for the safety and security of the State of Israel. And we are not simply campaigning for the end of anti-semitism. The real war is for the future of the world and our place within it.

Truthfully, however, these are two distinct battle fields and two separate fights. But these are not new challenges; they are as ancient as Jewish history itself.

Our fight with the West is answering the question “Why should anyone care at all?” It was Esav who first coined this challenge: הִנֵּה אָנֹכִי הוֹלֵךְ לָמוּת וְלָמָּה־זֶּה לִי בְּכֹרָה – As he says to Yaakov, “I am going to die anyway, so of what use is my birthright to me?” Why should you care about anything more than the here and now?

To win this fight, our Avoda is to continue doing what Jews have done for generations; defiantly investing our future. We raise families, teach Torah, build communities, and we work to creative a better world for our children.

Our war with Islam however, requires a different and bolder approach.

Chazal (רש”י על בראשית כ״א:ט׳) tell us that Yishmael was banished from the house of Avraham because he lifted his bow and took aim at Yitzhak. Rather than share the future with his brother, Yishmael sought to take it all.

Yishmael’s argument with Yitzchak, then and now, is all about the future. Most importantly: Who will control it? It’s a fight about the legitimate heir to legacy of Avraham Avinu, and which nation will rule Eretz Yisrael. Ultimately, it’s a debate over who will unify the world in recognizing and serving One God.

This war is being fought with missiles, planes, tanks and soldiers. It’s fought with snipers, espionage and counter-intelligence.

But make no mistake, this war is not just about who has a better army. It’s about determining whether the future of humanity will operate with the value system of Yitzchak or the value system of Yishmael.

If you listen to the rhetoric of our enemies, it’s clear that they know what they are fighting for. Over three thousand years later, they echo the same sentiment; still seeking to murder us rather than share any piece of the land of Israel, or indeed the world.

To truly win this war, it is not enough for us to daven, fight, and provide support to our heroes in Tzahal. All of these things are important and essential. To win, however, we cannot hunker down and wait a generation or two for it to be over.

In these worrying and tense days, our Avoda is to rededicate ourselves to demonstrating the values that we wish for our children, the same values that define us as the true heirs of Avraham Avinu.

The task ahead is as simple as it is profound, as Hashem Himself explains: לְמַעַן אֲשֶׁר יְצַוֶּה אֶת־בָּנָיו וְאֶת־בֵּיתוֹ אַחֲרָיו וְשָׁמְרוּ דֶּרֶךְ ה’ לַעֲשׂוֹת צְדָקָה וּמִשְׁפָּט – Avraham is the one who will instruct his children and his home to keep the way of Hashem by doing what is just and right.

The Malbim (באור המילות על ישעיהו א׳:כ״ז) crystalizes this charge: Righteousness means our working on our relationship with Hashem; Justice means looking out for each other.

As people and as a nation, this is our greatest weapon: The confidence to know what we are fighting for and the commitment to build a world according to Ratzon Hashem. From there will come our safety, security, honor and prestige. But it starts with each of us and the work that we are willing to do.

As the Navi promises us this Shabbos: Tzion will be redeemed with justice, and those who return, with righteousness – צִיּוֹן בְּמִשְׁפָּט תִּפָּדֶה וְשָׁבֶיהָ בִּצְדָקָה.

There are two versions of our immediate future: One where this Tisha B’av marks another year of tears and morning. Or perhaps, we will finally merit the end of our pain, and the fulfillment of our national destiny.

That choice, however, will not made by politicians. It’s given over to me and to you. In a world of total uncertainty it is us who decide what the next few days will bring.

Hashem should give us all the courage to imagine the future He wants it to be; and the strength to spend our lives working to make it happen.

In Zalman Jaffe’s diary, “My Encounter with the Rebbe,” he records a casual remark of the Rebbetzin regarding the schedule and worth ethic of the Lubavitcher Rebbe:

The Rebbetzin disclosed to us that the Rebbe would be enjoying a few days’ “vacation” during the upcoming week, when he would be able to catch up on his reading, including my diary.

“Where is the Rebbe going on vacation?” I enquired.

“Oh,” replied the Rebbetzin, “he is not going anywhere. Instead of retiring to bed at 3:00am or 4:00am in the morning, he will be able to do so at 1:00am!”

These almost tangential words stand as a testament to the Rebbe’s superhuman commitment to his mission. They have burrowed their way into my mind, and forced me to examine my own discipline and commitment. More than ever, as we enter this vacation season, these thoughts have resurfaced.

For the Rebbe, it was clear that anything more than this meager allowance was a frivolous indulgence. Famously, in over five decades of leadership, the Rebbe barely ever left Crown Heights.

Perhaps you might be thinking “that’s not healthy”, “there’s no way that I could live like that” or “Hashem doesn’t expect that of you or me.” And you’d probably be right. Such a life is exceeding rare. These were the Rebbe’s personal standards; standards to which he did not hold his Chassidism or even his Shluchim.

Nevertheless, the Rebbe’s example gives us the opportunity to challenge ourselves: What are our standards? How much vacation do we need? What are we trying to achieve when we take a break? Are we even trying to achieve anything?

For most of the Western World, these questions themselves are missing the point. Vacations are designed, advertised and celebrated as a chance to rest, relax and recharge. There are no goals, no “achievements” other than to not be working.

Vacation is touted as the reward one earns in exchange for the months or years we have been working. Depending on one’s expendable income, the capacity to relax and enjoy might be enhanced by delicious and exotic foods, getting pampered in luxurious accommodations and enjoying memorable experiences. At the very least, our vacations are supposed to allow for some kind of escape from our daily responsibilities.

If we’re being honest, I think that this is exactly what we’re all looking for as well. These are our vacation aspirations.

Practically, this presents us with a problem, because it means that our dreams and aspirations are in stark contradiction with our often stated position that “there is no time off from Avodas Hashem”.

I don’t doubt that you agree with this sentiment. None of us think that we should take off time from being Avdei Hashem. Perhaps, you’ll argue, one can certainly rest and relax as an Eved Hashem! On a fundamental level, I don’t disagree, but things have quickly become more complicated than we’d like to admit. And without some serious consideration, there are pitfalls that we are guaranteed to encounter ourselves as Bnei Torah, and certainly regarding our kids.

Let’s talk about kids first.

As caring and committed parents, we know that a break from carpools and homework should never translate to a laxity in Torah and Mitzvos. But this is easier said than done.

During the school year we outsource many of aspects of chinuch and parenting to our wonderful Rebbeim, Moros and Schools. They take care of davening, learning, reading, practicing skills, wearing tzitzis, tefillin and attending minyanim.

Barring some obvious problems, we aren’t always great at keeping tabs on our children’s religious performance and growth. This naturally leads to a reality where, as the summer begins we aren’t always aware of where our kids are holding. How much of davening do they know? How connected are they to the words of Tefillah? What do they enjoy learning?

“It’s cool, my kid loves parsha!” But what exactly do they do in parsha class? How do we replicate some part of that experience? Do we know how to learn with our children?

And without clear guidelines of how to do it, we are reluctant to schedule any of our precious vacation minutes on these tasks.

When we don’t know how teach the parsha, most often, we concede: “I have no idea what to do here. But it’s ok they’re going to camp in a week or two. Not such a big deal if we don’t do so much davening and learning this week. After all... it’s vacation!”

The next time we blink, our kid is in camp, slowly developing the understanding that Avodas Hashem is a school or camp endeavor. Home becomes a place devoid of religious commitment.

And what about us as adults?

When pressed to choose between Avodas Hashem and relaxation, which are we inclined to pick?

It’s an uncomfortable questions, but we should ask it. Does more time on vacation means more focused Tefillah and more iyyun in the Daf? Are we using the time to be more intentional with our chessed and more attentive in our relationships? Or perhaps the moment we are outside of our regular schedules and environments, we tend to rationalize our laxities? “...After all, don’t we deserve a vacation as well?”

I am by no means trying to pass judgment for the way you choose to spend your summer. If anything, this is a public self-critique; an observation I had about my own Avodas Hashem.

Throughout the year, with the pressures of school, events, schedules and deadlines, my focus during davening is not always where I want it be. It’s an area where I want to do better. Of course, what better time to work on it than when things slow down and the summer arrives? But even in the past three days I’ve caught myself cutting a little too much slack. “It’s been a tough year, after all...”

This week it hit me: if I rationalize my lack of kavanah “because it’s vacation now”, then there will never be a time for me to improve.

The same concern is true regarding the chinuch of our children and the attention we give our spouses. It applies equally to our relationship with Hashem and observance of His mitzvos. It applies to every aspect of our personal, religious, and emotional growth and our general wellbeing.

Once we notice the pattern, it becomes easy to spot the Yetzer Hara lurking around the corner.

Have you ever decided to get back on a healthy diet and excursive routine when the summer arrives? Despite these best intentions, perhaps you’ve also found that the temptation of delicious foods and inconsistent schedules makes it embarrassingly easy to rationalize another delay? “I’ll start when we get back home... As soon as the kids are back in school.”

My point here is not, Chas V’Shalom, to demonize vacations, but simply to demonstrate that the summer offers us the unique opportunity to honestly audit our excuses.

The Torah tells us this Shabbos that Aharon kindled the Menora as Hashem had instructed Moshe. Rashi, quoting the Medrash explains that this was high praise:

לְהַגִּיד שִׁבְחוֹ שֶׁל אַהֲרֹן שֶׁלֹּא שִׁנָּה This is stated in order to tell the praise of Aaron — that he did not deviate from God's command.

But how is this praise? Do we really expect that Aharon HaKohen would disregard any aspect of what Hashem told Moshe?

The Mei HaShiloach explains: Rashi is telling us that Aharon never ever deviated from his commitment and never lost the excitement that he felt on that first day. He never made excuses, got bored, or passed up the opportunity to light the Menora.

The Ramban writes that Aharon’s sons could certainly have filled in. Despite this, Aharon lit the Menorah himself for the rest of his life.

He never took a break, because he didn’t want to.

That was the secret to the Rebbe’s vacation schedule. When you truly believe in the value and importance of your Avoda, there is nothing greater than ensuring that you can and will always do it.

Perhaps that’s our Avoda this summer as well.

Take the time to examine, discover and decide what it is that you could never take a vacation from. No matter when, where or how, what’s your mission? What’s your Menorah?

The Rama (או”ח תצ”ד ג) writes in Shulchan Aruch that:

ונוהגין לשטוח עשבים בשבועות בבית הכנסת והבתים זכר לשמחת מתן תורה

We have the custom to spread out grass/flowers on Shavuos in the shul and in houses, to recall the happiness of the receiving of the Torah.

The commentaries explain the origin of this custom: The Medrash tells us that when Matan Torah occurred, Mount Sinai blossomed and grew grass and flowers.

The source for this Medrash is derived from the Pasuk commanding the Jewish people to ensure that their cattle and sheep shouldn't graze on Mount Sinai. If the cattle need to be prevented from grazing, it must mean that there was something to graze.

All of this is to say that our custom of placing flowers in Shul and at home seems to be, at best, a tangential detail.

Adding to the peculiarity, there is a single chapter in Shulchan Aruch dedicated to the laws of Shavuos, and in that chapter the Rama makes only two comments regarding Shavuos customs: We have a custom of eating milk products, and decorating with grass and flowers.

Taking a step back, we could be forgiven for assuming that there are far more significant events that occurred during Matan Torah: The fire, lightening, smoke and awe inspiring revelation of Hashem’s presence. This great festival of the giving of the Torah might best be captured by communal Talmud Torah, or perhaps by unique Tefillos. Of course, over the generations the customs of Tikkun Leil Shavuos have indeed become standard. Yet, in the Shulchan Aruch, it is this obscure Medrash and practice that takes center stage.

The Chidushei HaRim notes, however, that there is a far older connection between Shavuos and grass and flowers.

The Torah tells us that when Moshe Rabbeinu was born, his mother tried desperately to hide him at home. Yet, by the end of his first three months she could no longer guarantee his safety. She prepared a small basket and placed him inside.

That little basket was then hidden in the Nile river:

וַתָּשֶׂם בָּהּ אֶת־הַיֶּלֶד וַתָּשֶׂם בַּסּוּף עַל־שְׂפַת הַיְאֹר׃ She put the child into it and placed it among the reeds by the bank of the Nile.

For a few tense hours, those reeds hid Moshe from prying Egyptian eyes, until Pharaoh’s daughter would find him them.

Moshe Rabbeinu was born on the seventh of Adar. The day he was placed into river Three months later, was the seventh day of the month of Sivan, and exactly 80 years later, Moshe Rabbeinu ascended Har Sinai to receive the Torah, as the mountain bloomed with the grass and flowers that had saved his life.

We, the Jewish people, owe our exodus, our salvation and Matan Torah to those reeds.

Decorating our homes and shuls is an expression of our great Hakaras Hatov, our gratitude and humility. This explains the reason for the custom, but it still does not explain the centrality of it.

Perhaps was could suggest that reason we have taken on this practice is hinting at hidden truth, all too relevant to our lives today.

Matan Torah was, by all accounts, terrifying. There was fire, lightening and the sound of the Shofar, as the nation trembled in the camp. Moshe begins to ascend this mountain of fire. In this moment, Klal Yisrael is being bound to our eternal destiny, with all of the pain and pleasure that being Jewish will entail for all time.

And in that moment, Hashem reminds Moshe and us that beyond the fear and the fire, He has never stopped holding his hand. “Do you remember when you were a baby. Do you remember that terrifying day when you cried alone in the river? Do you remember how I held you then until you were saved? I’ve never stopped holding you.”

“See Moshe, I don’t need a river to grow those flowers. See here in the desert, I can do the same thing. Even in this place of desolation, I’m here for you.”

The great secret of Matan Torah is that hidden beneath all of the fire, smoke, noise and lightening of the Torah, is beauty and growth.

That's what Hashem wanted to show us at Mount Sinai, and what we aim to show our children and ourselves. Hidden beneath the awesome challenges and demands of the Torah is an immeasurable sweetness; a kaleidoscope of colors and beauty.

Hashem should help us to receive His Torah this Shavuos; with all of the details and demands, the rules and requirements. But within that, to see His blossoming flowers, His grass growing miraculously in the desert. Indeed, its the first word He said to us: אנכי – I am giving My Soul to You.

We should feel His hand holding ours, keeping each of us safe until we are all finally free.