Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

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.

We are standing just a few days before Matan Torah. Each of us, individually, is gathering at the foot of the mountain. We have almost completed counting the 50 days since we left Egypt.

But this year, it appears that the count to Sinai has paled in significance to the count of days since the war began. The count of the hostages still held in enemy hands. The count of the those who have given their lives in defense of our land.

Counting is a fraught process. Indeed, the Torah prohibits us from counting Jews.

Assigning numbers to Jews conjures frightening historical nightmares. And yet, we are beginning Sefer Bamidbar – which Chazal refer to as Sefer HaPikudim – the book of Counting (or Numbers). In this Sefer, the very first charge Hashem issues to Moshe is to count the nation.

When is it ok to count? When is it forbidden?

To understand this contradiction, we need to examine the root of the problem: What exactly is wrong with counting?

Chazal (בבא מציעא מב א) explain:

אמר רבי יצחק: אין הברכה מצויה אלא בדבר הסמוי מן העין Rabbi Yitzchak says: Bracha, blessing, is only found in those things that remain hidden from the eye.

Rabbeinu Bachya (שמות ל׳:י״ב) explains that the world is filled with miracles. Small instances when Hashem reaches out to us, and makes things work in our favor.

We’ve all had days or moments that seem uniquely serendipitous.

Sometimes, we make every light while rushing to that important appointment. Sometimes we guess the right answer on the multiple choice test – just enough to score an A. Sometimes the plane is also delayed, as we sit sweating behind a stalled truck on the highway. Sometimes the right person picks up the phone unexpectedly.

Sometimes life seems to have just enough mystery that we can see Hashem's hand. But the moment we insist on measuring, we offer God an ultimatum: Either remove His hand, or perform an open miracle. And not all of us merit open miracles.

By rejecting the urge to measure so precisely, we invite Hashem into our lives. So what if the chances are slim? If Hashem wants it, He'll find a way to make it work. This, of course, is Hashem's bracha to Avraham: Your children will be like the stars of the Heavens – impossible to measure.

Why then, would Hashem instruct Moshe to count us? The opening of our Sefer is perplexing:

שְׂאוּ אֶת רֹאשׁ כל עֲדַת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתָם לְבֵית אֲבֹתָם בְּמִסְפַּר שֵׁמוֹת כל זָכָר לְגֻלְגְּלֹתָם.

Take the sum of all the congregation of the children of Israel, by their families, by their fathers' houses, according to the number of names...

If we are indeed beyond measure and if counting removes Hashem's hand, how could Hashem command such a thing?

This question is addressed by Rashi in his opening comments on the Parsha:

מתוך חיבתן לפניו מונה אותן כל שעה Out of His great love, Hashem counts us at every opportunity.

Rashi is not simply addressing the surprising frequency of censuses in the Torah. Instead, he is offering a rationale behind the concept in its entirety. Hashem is not calculating the total number of discrete individuals in the nation.

There is a difference between measuring and counting. The subtly is not linguistic; it’s a question of intent. The prohibition is to measure. But Hashem is commanding us to count. Measuring seeks to evaluate sum; the size of thewhole. But counting sees each item as an individual.

Whenever the Torah instructs Moshe to count the Jewish people, it is only to educate that each person counts.

The Shela HaKodosh explains: The language of the Torah is beautiful and specific: שאו את ראש – to raise up each head. That is to say, each person is a head, a leader, in charge and in control of our lives. This unique perspective is further educated through the Torah's language of במספר שמות – a count of names. This is a roll-call, not a tally.

This also explains why Hashem, in His infinite knowledge, doesn't simply tell Moshe the total, but instead commands him to count. The purpose here is to make each person feel important, and that can only be done by actively counting, not simply measuring.

The Emunas Yisrael of Grodsisk (the nephew of the Aish Kodesh) teaches that before the Jewish people could receive the Torah, Hashem gathered us by the mountain and told us:

וְאַתֶּם תִּהְיוּ לִי מַמְלֶכֶת כֹּהֲנִים וְגוֹי קָדוֹשׁ And you shall be to me a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation.

This was not a call issued to one person or one group. This uniqueness was gifted to each and every Jew. It’s a powerful weapon in the hands of The Yetzer Hara that whispers that we might not belong. It’s an answer to the voice that says “You didn't get the right education... You weren't born into the right family... You don't have the background, the yichus, the financial means... You don't belong.”

This promise is our greatest defense against the voices that cry “this type of Jew doesn’t count.” Not true, says Hashem: You're all my people. Each and every Jew.

Seferias HaOmer is an exercise in learning how to count. We are learning how to make each day count and how to see that each Jew counts.

So we count the days, we count the weeks. We count the months in tunnels under Gaza, and the soldiers that have fallen. We count them because they count. Because it matters. It all matters, all the time.

This counting does not remove Hashem’s Hand from our lives. On the contrary, by displaying our love, care and concern for each of His children, we are inviting Hashem to play a greater and more revealed role. By taking our days seriously, we are indicating our appreciation of the great gift of time.

Most importantly, we count as a statement of purpose. We need these days; we need these Jews, because Hashem world is incomplete without them. Once again, we will need to stand unified at the foot of the mountain preparing to receive the Torah. But there can be no unity until we see that every Jew counts.

So we keep on counting. Even if we missed a day, we keep on counting.

Even if we misspoke, messed up, and mistreated another Jew. We keep counting each other, so we can count on each other.

Let’s work on becoming the people Hashem can count on us as well.

The American anthropologist, Margaret Mead, was one asked by a student what she considered to be the first sign of civilization in a culture.

Mead said that the first sign of civilization in an ancient culture was a femur (thighbone) that had been broken and then healed. Mead explained that in the animal kingdom, if you break your leg, you die. You cannot run from danger, get to the river for a drink or hunt for food.

You are meat for prowling beasts. No animal survives a broken leg long enough for the bone to heal. A broken femur that has healed is evidence that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has bound up the wound, has carried the person to safety and has tended the person through recovery. Helping someone else through difficulty is where civilization starts.

With Broken Legs

Parshas Bechukosai begins with the condition: אם בחקתי תלכו –“If you will walk in my laws...” The Ohr HaChaim Hakadosh explains that this directive is quite simply, that we make Hashem an important and relevant constant presence in our lives.

What do we get in return for such a life? The Torah continues: Children, health, safety, stability, peace and prosperity. A good life is possible. A good life attainable. And it all begins with what or rather, Who, was are walking with.

But the Torah describes the opposite as well; the world in which things don't go as planned. It happens a personal and national levels. Often without ill intent or malevolence, butn the stress and exhaustion of a daily life it get difficult to push ourselves to walk with Hashem. Our legs begin to tire. Not to mention that the places we have sometimes been going are not exactly the places that we wanted to bring Him along.

This life leads to the קללות, the curses of this weeks Parsha. They detail the end of sovereignty, of security, of peace and prosperity.

We know these curses too well. We have lived them for millennia, and we have experienced them all too palpably this year. The uncertainty, the fear and anti-semitism since October 7th are all part of the curse of living in this broken world.

Putting the Curses Behind Us

One of the lesser known rules of our Torah Reading Calendar, is that Parshas Bechukosai must always be read before Shavuos. (Which is the reason for the many double-parshiyos in Vayikra.) This Halacha originates in the Talmud (Megillah 31), and quite simply, it means that we cannot proceed to receive the Torah on Shavuos without putting these curses behind us.

But how?

We cannot miraculously fix this world. How can we put it behind us with our brave Chayalim still on the front lines, and the hostages still in horrific captivity?

How are we to finish this parsha, yet another Sefer since Simchas Torah, exclaiming חזק חזק ונתחזק – we should be stronger!? How?

We are Worth Saving

The Rebbe of Izbitz, Rabbi Mordechai Yosef Leiner in the Mei HaShiloach (ח”א סוף בחקותי) teaches that our answer is found at the very end of the parsha. It's the lesson of the obscure mitzvah of Erchin:

היינו אחר פרשות התוכחה נתן הש”י מבטח עוז לישראל ונתן להם פ' ערכין, היינו שיוכל האדם לפדות עצמו מכל דבר

After the rebuke and the curses, Hashem gives us powerful confidence in the mitzvah of Erchin; to know that a person can rescue themselves from anything and everything.

After we read of the tragedies that will befall the Jewish people. Every curse and calamity that we might suffer; that we have suffered, that we are suffering, the Torah teaches us about Erchin.

What is Erchin? It’s the service by which a person donates their own value, their fields, or animals to the Beis HaMikdash. The Mei HaShiloach explains: No matter what happens us, we never lose our intrinsic worth. Each person is inherently valuable to Hashem and to the world.

The Rebbe continues: The Torah is also declaring here that one person can donate the value of another person to the Beis HaMikdash. Which means that even if one Jew is struggling to find their value, another Jew can help them, elevate them and value them.

The clearest way out of the curses is to look at ourselves and each other, wounded, broken, exiled and in pain, and say: “I will stay here with you. You are worth saving.”

In Crown Heights, there was a Jew, Yankel, who owned a bakery. He survived the camps. He once told the story, You know why it is that I’m alive today?

I was a kid, just a teenager at the time. We were on the train, in a boxcar, being taken to Auschwitz. Night came and it was freezing, deathly cold, in that boxcar. The Germans would leave the cars on the side of the tracks overnight, sometimes for days on end without any food, and of course, no blankets to keep us warm, he said.

Sitting next to me was an older Jew this beloved elderly Jew – from my hometown I recognized, but I had never seen him like this. He was shivering from head to toe and looked terrible. So I wrapped my arms around him and began rubbing him, to warm him up. I rubbed his arms, his legs, his face, his neck. I begged him to hang on.

All night long; I kept the man warm this way. I was tired, I was freezing cold myself, my fingers were numb, but I didn’t stop rubbing the heat on to this mans body. Hours and hours went by this way.

Finally, the night passed, morning came, and the sun began to shine. There was some warmth in the cabin, and then I looked around the car to see some of the other Jews in the car. To my horror, all I could see were frozen bodies, and all I could hear was a deathly silence.

Nobody else in that cabin made it through the night they died from the frost. Only two people survived: the old man and me. The old man survived because somebody kept him warm; I survived because I was warming somebody else.

When you warm other peoples hearts, you remain warm yourself. When you seek to support, encourage and inspire others; then you discover support, encouragement and inspiration in your own life as well.

As the summer arrives, Hashem is asking us to ensure that we spend our time resting, recovering, and taking care ourselves. But not to the exclusion of walking with Him. Not to the exclusion of walking with each other.

And so long as we do, He promises that He’ll walk with us as well.

As kids, they told us “it’s not about winning or losing, it’s how you play the game.”

But if we’re honest, beneath that shallow veneer of politeness and false humility, everyone plays to win. “How you play the game” is a sentiment reserved only for losers. For winners, it has always been about winning.

Emotionally, when there’s no chance that we’re gonna win, we don’t want to compete. And why should we? The humiliation of losing stings. Why risk the pain and the shame?

The unspoken secret of success, however, is that it winning is far more rare than we’d like to believe. We usually only know about the winners and their wins. There are few people who publicize their failures – unless, of course, it’s part of that great story explaining how they arrived at success.

But in the deepest recesses of our hearts, we fail far more often than we’d ever want to admit. We fail at living up to our commitments, our hopes and our dreams. We fail our families, our friends and ourselves. We forget, we get distracted and we run late. We miscalculate and misstep. We give up and give in to our impulses.

None of these failures will ever make it into the grand retelling of our life story. Even the most impressively successful people lie in bed from time to time ruminating on the failures that they’d never share in a TED talk.

Most often, we try to avoid those mental places of shame, humiliation and regret. When the memories arise, we run from them, we hide from them, we distract our minds from them. But if they exist, as they universally do, then this too must be part of Avodas Hashem.

The secret of this work is revealed this week of Sefiras Ha’Omer – the week of “Hod”.

Each week of the Omer is a chance to work on a particular character trait. (As evidenced by the words next to the count if the day in every Siddur.) Some of these ideas are well understood and well developed in contemporary society. We know how to work on Chessed. We give, volunteer, think of others and judge people favorably. Gevura is also discussed quite openly. Gevura is the world of structure, discipline and self-control.

But by this fifth week of Sefiras HaOmer, we have far fewer intuitions about how to work on “Hod”. On the one hand, Hod is beauty, radiance and illumination, as the pasuk (תהילים קד) tells us: הוֹד וְהָדָר לָבָשְׁתָּ – Hashem is clothed in glory and majesty.

On the other hand, Hod is also gratitude, acquiescence, admission and confession. (As in the words for מודים and ווידוי.)

Somehow, the same word simultaneously conveys radiance and defeat; and these two worlds and words collide on Lag Ba’Omer, the fifth day of the fifth week, the day of Hod She’B’Hod.

Hod She’B’Hod is the bottom of the barrel. It’s weakness within weakness, defeat within defeat. Abject failure. This Midah is the point in which humility gives in to humiliation, where the shame and pain and blame become unbearable. It’s the place of damaged lives and broken relationships. It’s the world of irreparable loss.

So where is the beauty? Where is the greatness?

Perhaps it is best understood by a Halacha in Parshas Behar – the laws of Yovel. The Torah tells us that every fifty years, land which has been sold is returned to the its original owners. Of course, the pesukim explain, this radically alters the real estate market, and “buying” property is little more than a temporary mandate to use it until the Yovel year.

But Reb Shlomke of Zhvill explains that this Halacha is transformative for every family and for society as a whole. Yovel means that even if you failed so miserably that you were forced to sell your ancestral homestead, this does not define your legacy. Even the most egregious mistakes in life and business can and will be undone. Your grandchildren will not need to suffer your failures.

Likewise, in the Yovel year, even slaves who willingly gave up their freedom re-enter the Jewish community as free men. Even someone who cowardly chose a life certainties and securities in subservience is reinstated as a self-determining citizen.

Rav Kook writes that Yovel offers restoration, return and restitution even for a person who hasn’t done Teshuva. It’s the promise of Hashem that one day, you will return.

Yovel is the world that transcends all failure; the place where it doesn’t exist any longer. At the core of our existence, being a loser is never systemic; it is always an accident.

Yovel teaches us that there is something about us, something inside of us that not even we can destroy. And given enough time, everything around it will heal; eventually that magnificent part of who we really are will shine. Everything else is simply incidental; it’s not who we are.

This is expressed by The Rama MiPano who teaches us that every prohibition in the Torah is written ambiguously. For example, when the Torah says לא תגנוב – “Do not steal”, it could also be saying “you wont steal.” In the deepest way, both are true. You are not allowed to steal, and the part of you that is really you will never steal. “Real You” couldn’t and wouldn’t; it’s simply not possible.

Sometime, this profound truth can only be understood when we arrive at our lowest points of failure. From that vantage cam we clearly see and state “this is me, and this is my failure; and they are not the same thing.”

Lag Ba’Omer, the day of Hod She’B’Hod is the day we celebrate Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai; the one who taught and carried the tradition of the greatest secrets of the Torah. Where did he discover these secrets? In a cold, dark, lonely cave. In a world of starvation, poverty and persecution.

Indeed, in the Piyyut for Lag Ba’Omer we sing: בִּמְעָרַת צוּרִים שֶׁעָמַדְתָּ, שָׁם קָנִיתָ הוֹדְךָ וַהֲדָרֶךָ – In that rocky cave you stood, there did you acquire your “Hod” – your radiance and beauty.

Since October 7th, we have been living Lag Ba’Omer. In the places of pain and failure and loss and confusion, as we question Hashem, and try to find meaning and purpose and unity, there is a so much beauty to discover.

When the world falls apart, when nothing makes sense, when there are Jews chased and persecuted in caves once more, when friends become enemies, and we have failed ourselves and each other... Even then, Hashem is still here with us.

That’s what Rabbi Shimon discovered in that cave. For thirteen years Hashem was there with him.

May the lights of Lag BaOmer illuminate His presence for us and for all of Klal Yisrael as well.