Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

#עקב#תשפג

One cold winter day, the Tzadik of Yerushalaim, Rabbi Aryeh Levin was walking outside when he noticed the boys from his Yeshiva playing outside. Towards the end of the game, they ran over to a caretaker, each one buying a cup of hot tea. All but one boy.

Reb Aryeh walked over to the boy, and asked why he wasn’t getting a tea. “Rebbi,” he exclaimed loudly, “I hate tea!”

Reb Aryeh nodded his head slowly and smiled. He walked over to the caretaker, and taking a few coins out of his pocket, he instructed the caretaker to bring a cup over the boy, who, to the amazement of the caretaker, drank it immediately.

The bewildered caretaker turned to Reb Aryeh “The boy said he hated tea.”

“Yes, he did say that” said the Rabbi. “But if only you would have heard him, you would have known that he was really saying “I’m cold and I’m thirsty and I have no money to buy tea. And I’m too embarrassed to ask my friends. So I’ll say that I hate tea instead.””

“My dear friend,” Reb Ayreh continued, “You cannot just listen with your ears...״

The Torah tells us this Shabbos that listening begins with the ears, but doesn't end there:

וְהָיָה עֵקֶב תִּשְׁמְעוּן... (Literally) If your heels will listen

Of course, the common translation of this phrase is that “as a result of listening, Hashem will bless you”... But the simple reading of the Pasuk is telling us something quite different: If “our heels would listen”, then Hashem will shower us with bracha.

Reb Shalom Ber of Lubavitch once told a story explaining this literal translation (A Treasury of Chassidic Tales pg. 498):

“When Reb Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch – later to become the Tzemach Tzedek – was a little boy his grandfather, The Alter Rebbe, examined him on the Chumash which he had recently begun to study. They came to the pasuk עקב אשר שמע אברהם בקולי 'Because (eikev) Avraham listened to My voice.'

Asked to explain it, the child said; “Avraham heard God's command even with his “eikev,” his heel!' [As if to say: So utterly permeated was his whole body with an awareness of the divine spark that animated it, that with his very eikev (heel) Avraham listened to My voice'!]

The grandfather, Reb Shneur Zalman of Liadi, was more than pleased with this answer, and said: 'In fact we find this very command in another verse – וְהָיָה עֵקֶב תִּשְׁמְעוּן (literally: 'And it shall come to pass that if you listen, then as a result ... '. This verse tells us that we should strive to attain a level at which our hells should listen – that even our heel should hear God's command and hasten to fulfill it!'”

Listening is not simply a process by which we absorb information. It's a process of being transformed by the information we encounter.

The need to listen with our whole selves is the goal of Talmud Torah. But it's also essential when listening to each other, and it's just as important when listening to our own needs.

When I started running, the best advice I received was to “listen to my body”. I was told “Pay close attention to how you feel, when you feel differently and analyze the actions and habits that preceded this feeling.” I've been working on doing so ever since. But itequires constant consciousness, questioning how I'm feeling and what it is that made me feel that way.

In every area of life, we ignore the subtleties of the messages around us at our own peril. So much illness, pain and injury could be avoided by listening to the quiet early warning signs in our bodies, families and careers.

But even when we are listening carefully, these critical and soft sounds are not easily heard over the noise echoing in the world around us. So the Yetzer Hara convinces us to focus only on that which is loudest and largest, ignoring the small details that might hold the keys to our future success and happiness.

How can we possibly contend with it?

Practically speaking, there are two ways to ensure that we get better at listening. We can either strain our ears to hear over the noise, or perhaps, a better way is simply to turn down the volume, or move to a quieter spot.

There was a moment in the middle of COVID that someone approached me looking for some assistance on how to deal with his growing anxiety. I asked him what the problem was, to which he explained all of his concerns about the State of the Union and the future of the USA. He confided that it was becoming clear to him that the political damage of COVID would irrevocably lead the world to to a path of violence and starvation. With all of this, he was struggling to sleep at night.

I asked him how his kids were doing. Were they healthy? Were they making it through zoom-school ok? How was his marriage? What about his parnassah?

To all of this, he told me that it was going well. In some cases, even better than before.

“This sounds amazing” I said. “Baruch Hashem you guys are doing so well. I don't understand what the problem is.”

He repeated his concerns about the world and the future of humanity. At this point I asked him simply what might happen if he deleted his news apps and stopped doom-scrolling through social media. He chuckled nervously and agreed, “Rabbi, I think most of these problems would go away...”

Hashem should help us to get better at listening. But at the very least, He should bless us to turn down the noise.

This Shabbos is one of comfort – Shabbos Nachamu, so named for the opening words of the Haftarah: נַחֲמוּ נַחֲמוּ עַמִּי – The Navi is instructing us to be comforted in the wake of the devastation of Tisha B’av. But what is this comfort? What are we supposed to feel?

“Making someone comfortable” means something very different when you hear it in a nursing home. There, the sadness of comfort becomes very real. I can still vividly recall the first time I asked what what “making him comfortable” meant, and since that day, I can no longer feel comfortable with being comfortable.

Comfort, as we know it, is a fairly recent consideration of humanity. For most of our history, life was decidedly uncomfortable. Heat and cold were aspect of nature to contend with, to mitigate if possible. Sickness, ailments, pain and aging, were parts of life.

But in the past century, we have moved beyond mitigating these discomforts. Indeed, with the wonders of modern science and technology, we have all but eradicated the major discomforts of our ancestors. And now comfort reigns supreme. Comfortable beds, shoes, clothes, seats, cars, shuls, schools and couches.

This is a good thing. Without the constant barrage of daily frustration, we now have the time, headspace, and wherewithal to devote ourselves to loftier pursuits on both personal and national levels. Right?

Right?

But if we’re honest, we know know that’s not true.

A number of years ago, a close friend of mine told me the story of his grandmother, a Holocaust survivor who made her way to the United States. With the characteristic perseverance of a woman who would not allow Hitler to win, and despite her poverty, she raised her children with to value life, learning, Torah and the Jewish people.

At some point in the mid sixties, after a number of a years, saving penny by penny, she had finally saved up enough to buy an electric washing machine. On that day, she called her children together and told them, “Now that I no longer need to spend all day at home – we’re going to the library. If we have free time, it’s to be used for learning.”

I dare say that we don’t live that way. I’ve often joked to my Talmidim that if aliens from outer-space would land on earth, they’d see us carrying these glass/plastic rectangular slabs in our pockets. They’ll ask us “what are those?” And we’ll respond “These are smart phones. (Oooooh!) They give us the ability to connect to our friends, and families, and almost anyone on the planet. With these marvelous devices we can access all of human knowledge. We can use them to learn skills, languages, and art.” “Amazing,” they will say. “And what do you all use them for?” “Netflix, Lashon Hara and memes...”

It's a frustrating truth to admit, but we should be asking ourselves: Why do we live our lives with such cavalier disregard for our own values?

We could explain it by a simple lack of commitment, but I think there is more going on here. The constant barrage of influences, celebrities and edutainers have convinced us that the greatest values of our generation is the all impossible goal of achieving a successful and comfortable life. We chase after independence, freedom and the absence of pain as an inherent value.

Aside from the harsh truth that these dreams are often a facade, we know that even if we do manage to emulate these lifestyles, there is still no guarantee that our lives will be pain-free. Regardless, such aspirations are not the meaning of comfort in the Torah.

Rashi (בראשית ו:ו) tells us the meaning of the word נחמה does not mean the removal of pain. Instead, he writes:

נהפכה מחשבתו ... וכן כל לשון ניחום שבמקרא לשון נמלך מה לעשות

A change of mind and perspective... Every נחמה mentioned in the Torah means a reevaluation of what to do now.

Nechama is an invitation to look at ourselves, the world and our circumstances with a fresh perspective. Rather than becoming stuck in our pain, or seeking to avoid it, Nechama grants the possibility of transcending it.

This is true on a national level as well as on a personal level.

Moshe Rabbeinu tells each of us this Shabbos: וְאַתֶּם הַדְּבֵקִים בַּה׳ אֱלֹקיכֶם, You, who stick to Hashem your God, חַיִּים כֻּלְּכֶם הַיּוֹם, are all alive today.

Rabbi Moshe Yechiel Epstein, the Ozharover Rebbe explains this strange phrase (באר משה – דברים עמ׳ נג):

The Yetzer Hara tries to persuade us that there is no way for us, regular people, to achieve closeness to Hashem in this world. After all, we are bound by the needs and pressures of the body. Any attempt is ultimately futile and predestined to fail. Perhaps there are great tzadikim who can overcome their desires and natural inclinations – but that's certainly not me.

“Not so”, says Moshe Rabbeinu. “You – everyone – can, and must, connect to Hashem. This is the meaning of your life today, here, now, in this world, in this moment.”

In the deepest sense, Moshe Rabbeinu is talking is us when we are feeling most stuck. He tells us that life itself is earned, discovered and enjoyed in the pursuit of growth and Godliness. It is achieved when we are brave enough to face discomfort head on and push ourselves to become better today.

Our desire for comfort does bring us a mixture of resilience and acceptance. But at it’s core, this kind of comfort is about resignation and a loss of sensitivity. We paper over our pain by saying “it doesn't matter anyway.”

Nechama, on the other hand profoundly and boldly demands responsiveness and responsibility. Nechama asks us to live with the tension of navigating a broken world, while never capitulating to a broken reality. Or in the words of Dylan Thomas, Nechama asks us to “Rage against the dying of the light.”

In Oros HaTechiyah (פרק ה׳) Rav Kook explains that there really is no other way. Our basic nature, as Jews, demands that we live up to our potential:

גדולים אנחנו וגדולות הנה משוגותינו ובשביל כך גדולות הן צרותינו, וגדולים גם תנחומותינו

We are so great and therefore our meshugasim (our insanities) are great as well. And because of this, our pain is great. Just imagine how great will be our eventual Nechama...

Hashem has given our generation a level of material comfort that humanity has never seen before, and we dare not waste it on “making ourselves comfortable.” Tisha B’av should leave us with deep discomfort, but not despair. Hashem should help us to begin changing our reality. This the true meaning of Shabbos Nachamu: Be comforted with the knowledge that you can fix this. But please, don't get comfortable.

This past week on Monday night – around 2am – I was quasi awakened to find our toddler, Yudi, with his head burrowing into my neck, running a fever while tossing and turning in discomfort. Needless to say, neither Aliza nor I got much sleep over the next 48 hours.

Baruch Hashem, Yudi is doing much better. Turns out – as the pediatrician told us – there was nothing wrong with him. (Which is a great thing, I guess...) His daycare, of course, has chosen to differ with the doctors on this point (yay Science?), which means we spent a few days playing “who's holding the screaming baby”.

To be completely honest, it's not exactly a fun game. It's made less fun when the other cars on the road don't know that it's your turn to play, and that Florida rain has already thrown the game into overtime by 45 minutes.

None of this is news to anyone trying to raise a family. We all know those desperate calls and texts “ETA? I need you home asap!”

Truthfully, of course, we're all in good company. Moshe Rabbeinu himself seems to have the same problem. As he relates the trials and tribulations of forty years in the Midbar, he tells our ancestors this Shabbos:

לֹא־אוּכַל לְבַדִּי שְׂאֵת אֶתְכֶם... ה' אֱ-לֹקיכֶם הִרְבָּה אֶתְכֶם... And I said to you at that time, saying: 'I am not able to carry you by myself alone. Hashem, your God has multiplied you, and, you are this day as numerous as the stars of the heavens.

The meforshim grapple with pinning down the exact event that caused Moshe to complain. When did he crack? The Meraglim, the Misonenim, the Egel? Or perhaps when Yisro suggested that Moshe appoint judges?

The Meshech Chochma (דברים ד״ה ואמר), however, suggests an entirely different interpretation, arguing that Moshe wasn't complaining at all. In fact, he was expressing his deepest gratitude!

לדמיון, כאשר יש לאדם ברכה מופלגת בעושר ובנים, ויש לו טורח הרבה מגידול בניו, ממניקות ושפחות וכיוצא בזה די סיפוקן, אז יאמר: מה גדלה עלי הטורח מכם, יתן ה' כי כן יהיה לכם מבניכם ובני בניכם טרחות כאלה, וטורד כזה לא יופסק מכם! כן משה רועה נאמן אמר: ה' הרבה אתכם, והנכם ככוכבי השמים בריבוי ובמעלה מופלגת על דרך נסיי, אמר שכן יאמרו רועי ישראל ומנהיגיהם ונביאיהם תמיד עליכם ויתלוננו תלונות כאלה! וזה שאמר “ואמר אליכם בעת ההיא לאמר” – שכן יאמרו תמיד עליכם, כפי אשר אתם במצב העת הזה, רועי ישראל ישעיהו וירמיה וכיוצא בזה.

Moshe was like a person who has been blessed with much wealth and children, and therefore has to work hard to support them. Sometimes he'll say “Wow, this is hard work, please God, I should always have these problems!” Likewise, Moshe continues, “Hashem has made you so numerous, Please God, may all Jewish leaders have these kinds of problems.”

Sometimes, says the Meshech Chochma, the greatest Bracha in the world, is calling your spouse and saying “I need your help here. Hashem has given us so much, it's too much for me to handle alone.” Please God may we always have these problems.

Two Ways to Look at The World

But as anyone listening to the Kriyas HaTorah this week will hear, we don't read Moshe Rabbeinu's words as gratitude. We read his words with the tune of Eicha – the tune of lament and mourning:

אֵיכָה אֶשָּׂא לְבַדִּי טָרְחֲכֶם וּמַשַּׂאֲכֶם וְרִיבְכֶם: Oy! How could I myself alone bear your issues, your burden, and your strife?

The question of course, is: If there are two ways to understand Moshe's words, why is our minhag to read Moshe's words as complaints?

The Shem Mishmuel (דברים תרע״ט ד״ה איכה אשא) explains:

We mourn this pasuk to recognize that not only did we fail to utilize our great strengths and brachos for good, we channeled them into negativity and animosity. From the privileged vantage of being Hashem's people, we expressed our dissatisfaction with Hashem's brachos, with Moshe Rabbeinu, and with a Torah lifestyle. All the tragedy of אֵיכָה comes from failure to look at the greatness of our lives with simcha and gratitude.

The Ben Ish Chai wrote a commentary on Megillas Eicha, called נחמת ציון. In it, he explains how we'll read Eicha when Mashiach comes: איכה ישבה בדד – How amazing is it that the Jewish people managed to survive all alone throughout history! We really are an incredible people. But we don't always feel that way now.

Likewise, Moshe's words: איכה אשא לבדי – How incredible that one person could handle all the complaints and issues of an entire nation – what an amazing leader! What a special group of people! But we don't always feel proud of our Jewish brothers and sisters, or our leaders.

The tragedy of Eicha is that we do not interpret our own lives with optimism and gratitude. We hear frantic phone calls to come home and help with the kids as intrusions, not as brachos. We see the hard work and effort that goes into raising a family and making a living as aggravating – as if we somehow deserve that life should be easier.

We forget how good our lives are; how Hashem has showered our generation with such tremendous prosperity. We don't always realize that the things which cause us so much stress and anxiety are indicative not of Hashem's absence, but His continued presence in our lives.

These disparate interpretations of reality are at the root of the Churban. Do we look at our lives and say Eicha! How amazing! Or Eicha, how awful!

Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky once ran into a talmid and inquired about how he was doing. The young man gave a krechtz, explaining that his child had kept him up several nights in a row. He then shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “I guess it's all part of Tzaar gidul banim – the pain of raising children”. The great gadol turned to his talmid and said, “That is not tzaar gidul banim, the pain of child rearing, it is simply gidul banim, child rearing.”

Imagine a World

Today, we yearn for a world of Mikdash. A world without anti-semitism. A world where the Jewish people are held in high esteem. A world, like Chazal describe, without hatred or bigotry, without infertility or miscarriages. A world where the rains, and stock-markets, come at just the right time, where everyone has a parnasa – and more! – and people are fulfilled in their work, and in their marriages.

This world existed once upon a time in Yerushalayim – the עיר שלם – the city of feeling complete and whole. But without appreciating it, without gratitude, Hashem took it away.

Our challenge then is still our challenge today. Chazal tell us that any generation in which the Beis HaMikdash is not rebuilt, it is as if we have destroyed it. Like in generations of old, the choice of how to interpret the “Eicha” of our lives is in our hands. Do we look at our world and say “It's amazing!” or do we kvetch and complain?

I've often noted to new parents that Hashem gives everyone sleepless night, and all we can ask for is that they are sleepless for good things. In those bleary eyed moments, nose to the grind, we shouldn't be so blind as to ignore that this is the sleeplessness with which Hashem has blessed me.

If we truly wish to see Yerushalayim restored, perhaps we should work on the emotions that will keep it that way. Hashem should help us to view our brachos as brachos, with humility, generosity and gratitude.

In the early twentieth century, a machlokes erupted between to giants of Torah; Rabbi Eliezer 'Leizer' Gordon of Telz and Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik of Brisk.

The subject of the controversy was whether or not to produce a religious Jewish newspaper.

The Tezler Rosh Yeshiva was adamant that the newspaper should be created and supported to ensure that Yeshiva students got their news from a kosher source. It was obvious that the only way forward was an exclusively religious publication.

Reb Chaim countered that it was impossible to produce a newspaper that didn't contain Lashon Hara and secular or other questionable material – unless the editorial committee was made up by Gedolei HaDor; none of whom had the time or interest to play such a role.

The machlokes reached its apex when Reb Leizer proceeded with the publication despite Reb Chaim's protests. All of this led to an uncomfortable moment when Reb Laizer Gordon was not invited to the wedding of Reb Chaim's son, Rav Moshe Soloveitchik to Pesha Feinstein. (The parents of the Rav.)

In “The Soloveitchik Heritage”, Shulamith Soloveitchik Meiselman tells the story of the morning of the wedding (pg. 18):

Soon an uninvited guest, one of great distinction, appeared: Reb Eliezer Gordon, founder of the Telser Yeshiva... Reb Ele (Feinstein) was delighted by Reb Eliezer's sudden appearance in the hall and embraced him with open arms. Later, he approached Reb Chayyim and said, “Since Reb Eliezer is the oldest rabbi here, and since he is the founder and leader of one of the greatest Yeshivos in Eastern Europe, I must honor him with the most important blessing in the ceremony.” Reb Chayyim understood and did not object.

A number of years ago, one of my Rabbeim told me that when they asked Reb Laizer why he decided to attend, despite the obvious lack of invitation, he responded: Good friends don't need an invitation.

It's a thought and a value system which we are often too shy and/or too proud to embody. We are so easily insulted that we bristle at any critique, and we write off anyone who doesn't conform to our truths and perspectives. But that's not how friendship works; and we desperately need to reconsider how it does work:

As of 2021, a mere 13% of US adults reported having more than ten friends, while 12% reported having no friends at all. This, of course, is all the more troubling as the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services explains:

The physical health consequences of poor or insufficient connection include a 29% increased risk of heart disease, a 32% increased risk of stroke, and a 50% increased risk of developing dementia for older adults. Additionally, lacking social connection increases risk of premature death by more than 60%.

To address this painful reality, let's consider how Chazal describe one of the most painful and lonely experiences in all of Torah: The case of the inadvertent killer in our Parsha. This person has accidentally ended the life of another, and must now flee from his home and community; seeking asylum in a City of Refuge. There he must build a new life – a life of remorse, regret and reevaluation. But the goal is ultimately to rehabilitate this broken soul; to provide them with the means to a meaningful existence once again.

To this end, Chazal (מכות י׳ א׳) explain:

תלמיד שגלה מגלין רבו עמו שנאמר וחי עביד ליה מידי דתהוי ליה חיותא... א”ר יוחנן הרב שגלה מגלין ישיבתו עמו

In the case of a student who was exiled, his teacher is exiled to the city of refuge with him, so that the student can continue studying Torah with him there, as it is stated: “And he shall flee to one of these cities and live,” from which it is derived: Perform some actions for the unintentional murderer so that life in the city will be conducive to living for him... Rabbi Yochanan says: In the case of a teacher of Torah who was exiled, his Yeshiva is exiled with him.

The centrality of Torah to a person's life insists that a student is not abandoned by his Rebbe, nor a Rebbe by his students. If we want a person to live, we cannot deprive them of their Torah community.

But with these values so firmly rooted in our understanding of failure, rehabilitation and Talmud Torah, there is a peculiar and glaring omission in the Gemara.

Nowhere – in all of Shas – is a friend commanded to go into exile with the inadvertent killer! A Rebbe must go, a Talmid must go. But the Chavrusa? Why should he be allowed to remain?!

Chazal certainly understand the great importance of friendship as Rava (תענית כג א׳) tells us: אוֹ חַבְרוּתָא אוֹ מִיתוּתָא – Either friendship or death. So why not obligate a person to accompany their friend into exile?

The Pnei Menachem of Ger explains: The Torah does not need to obligate a friend to go along. If you are a good friend, you'll go – whether or not there is some formal obligation. And if not, there's nothing to obligate – you're simply not a friend. Good friends, real friends do not need obligations or invitations. They come when they are needed.

This Shabbos we will be announcing the beginning of Chodesh Av – the most challenging month of the year. But our custom is to call it Menachem Av – which literally means, “Comforting our Father”, because there is nothing that comforts Hashem more than knowing that His kids are getting along with each other. The Avoda this month is to pick up the phone, make a call, send a text. Show up to help, to comfort, to celebrate. That's how we comfort Hashem.

Hashem should help us to be there for each other, with the hope and the tefillah that He will soon comfort us as well.

A number of years ago, I was teaching Hilchos Purim, discussing the halacha of when to read the Megillah if you’re traveling between Yerushalaim – a walled city – and anywhere else – unwalled cities.

At one point, a student raised their hand and asked: “What happens if you don’t read the Megillah?”

“Um...I don’t know,” I responded. “I guess you didn’t do a mitzvah.”

“But Rebbe, what happens?” It's a good question, but I was at a loss. “I have no idea. I don’t know how Hashem deals with that – it's up to Him.”

The student replied, “No, that’s not what I meant. I want to know, if I miss the Megillah – I didn’t hear it all of Purim – is there a make up date? Is there anyway to fix it?”

As far as the Halacha is concerned, the answer of course is no. Amongst the harshest realities of our existence, in almost every aspect of our lives, we don’t get do-overs.

The Baal HaTanya in his Igeres HaTeshuva (פרק א׳) writes that one can never fully atone for failure to perform a positive mitzvah, much like one can never catch a bus that they missed. (For this reason עשה דוחה לא תעשה). You can always get another bus, but that first opportunity is lost forever.

As the American author Kurt Vonnegut once said:

“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, “It might have been.”

Missed Opportunities in Jewish History

The tragedy of missed opportunities is intensified and compounded when their is so much greatness latent in the moment that is missed. These days are commemorated in our calendar, at this time of year.

The day we call the 17th of Tammuz was the day that the Roman legion breached the walls of Yerushalayim, signaling the beginning of the end for a Jewish Capital city for almost 2000 years. Yet Chazal tell us that the tragedy of the day began many centuries earlier:

When the Jewish people were getting ready to build the golden calf, Aharon HaKohen tried to delay them. As the calf was completed, he stalled the people saying “חג לה׳ מחר” – Tomorrow will be a festival for Hashem. Seemingly, his hope was to delay so that Moshe would return in time, and the festival for the calf would be cancelled.

Rav Chaim Vital writes (ליקוטי תורה כי תשא ד״ה ויאמר חג) that:

Aharon HaKohen meant exactly what he said. The next day should have been a Chag for Hashem. On that day, Moshe was to descend with the Luchos – the symbol of the eternal relationship with God and His people. That was the power and uniqueness of the day. It was a moment that should have been commemorated as one of the greatest in the Jewish calendar. And one day it will be.

The power of the 17th of Tammuz, and indeed, these three weeks, returns to challenge us in each generation.

The Walls Were Always Coming Down

Chazal (פסיקתא רבתי א׳) explain that one day Yerushalayim will expand throughout Eretz Yisrael, and that Eretz Yisrael will expand throughout the world. In this way all of humanity will be able to experience the Kedusha of Yerushalayim.

Perhaps this is challenging to imagine practically, but at the very least, Chazal are describing a world where the walls of Yerushalayim have come down. A world where Yiddishkeit is not so defensive and apologetic; where Torah is celebrated and shared.

The Imrei Noam of Dzikov (מועדים ח״א ר״ח תמוז) explains that the walls were always going to come down in Tammuz. The only question is what happens when they do. Do we allow the enemy to invade, or do we reach out with confidence and conviction? Do we expand Jewish life, or shrink it?

The Greatest (and scariest) Opportunity in History

As Torah observant Jews, we are often quick to bemoan the “openness” of our generation. Walls that were so obvious and clear throughout human history have come down. People can think, speak and do things that were impossible to consider in previous decades. It feels like the walls have been breached.

But we should not forget, there are other walls that have fallen as well. The walls preventing Klal Yisrael from returning to Eretz Yisrael has all but disappeared. We can finally return home. The walls of language, skill and access to Torah have been pulverized with a proliferation of Seforim and online shiurim. We can learn more, and in greater depth than ever before. And the vasts distance between friends and family are closed with the press of a button – a call, a text, a conversation on FaceTime. We are more able to build and maintain relationships than ever before.

In the deepest way, the walls between us and Hashem have never been so easily traversed.

The Baal Shem Tov explained pasuk in Eicha: כל רודפיה השיגוה בין המצרים – All her pursuers reached her in the narrow places.

משיג השכינה ביותר בימים אלו Anyone who wants, can find Hashem's Presense even more in these days.

If we are more vulnerable, then our access to Hashem must be easier as well.

Whether we like it or not, Hashem has placed us in a generation in which all the walls have come down. Which means that He is asking us one simple question: Are we expanding Yerushaliyim outwards, or cowering behind the rubble hoping the enemy doesn't find us?

The Aish Kodesh in his personal diary (צו וזרוז ז׳) writes about the challenge of spiritual growth in a world of openness. He explains that when one is standing in a raging river, there is no option of standing still.

בלתי אם יאזור את מתניו תמיד בתורתו ועבודתו להוסיף ולעלות, לא ינוח ולא ישקוט, רק אל על יסע. The only way to grow is to strengthen ourselves in Torah and Avodah – relentlessly. Not to relax and be quiet, but to continue moving upwards and onwards.

Make no mistake, these are the only two options. Either we conquer our world with Kedusha, or risk being overrun by the alternative. When the walls come down, there is no option of pretending things are the same. They are not.

Our most destructive Yetzer Hara is to continue from day to day procrastinating important activities and decisions. Wasting hours, failing to harness great moments, not taking advantage of that which is in front of our eyes. But these moments will not return.

We daven every Shabbos before taking out the Sefer Torah that Hashem should rebuild the walls of Yerushalayim:

הֵיטִיבָה בִרְצונְךָ אֶת צִיּון. תִּבְנֶה חומות יְרוּשָׁלָיִם:

Do the good that You desire in Zion. Build the walls of Jerusalem...

We are anxiously waiting for the day that Hashem returns boundaries and borders to all things sacred. But in our generation, today and especially in these three weeks, we have the chance today to reach across all the boundaries – personal, interpersonal and spiritual. The walls are down. The gates are open. Now is our chance to make a move.

In the years when pirates would roam the seas preying off unsuspecting merchant ships, people learned to fear men wearing an eye patch. Today we assume that this image was due to pirates losing eyes in fights, but recent ophthalmological research yields another answer:

Dr. Jim Sheedy, a doctor of vision science and director of the Vision Performance Institute at Oregon's Pacific University explains:

The eyes adapt quickly when going to the light—emerging from a tunnel into the sun, say—but going to the dark “requires the regeneration of photo pigments, and that takes some time to reach full dark-adaptation.” Adjusting to the dim light next to your bed should only take seconds. But when going from bright light to maximum darkness, studies have shown, eye sensitivity continues to change for up to 25 minutes.

Pirates would historically wear eye patches to ensure that one of their eyes was not exposed to light. That way, when they moved quickly from the sunshine to below the deck, from sunlight to near total darkness, they would uncover the “dark eye”, and not need to wait for their vision to acclimate to the darker environment – thus giving them an advantage over their victims.

This phenomenon can be observed in the spiritual world too. Rabbi Yaakov Yitzchak Horowitz, the Chozeh of Lublin, was known to have the ability to “see” more than what meets the eye. Chassidim tell many stories of his capacity to discern a person's history, motives and thoughts simply from glancing at their face. His many followers were often nervous of visiting their rebbe, for fear that he would read them like a book, peering into the recesses of their souls.

It happened once, that the chassidim asked their Rebbe – how is it that he possessed such tremendous insight and vision? The Rebbe responded that it was no supernatural gift. “When I was younger, he explained, I would walk through the market place with my eyes covered so as not to see anything that I shouldn't. I can see what your cannot because eyes are simply more sensitive than yours.”

There's an uncomfortable question which researchers in psychology have been attempting to address for decades: What is the effect of repeatedly exposing ourselves to images of violence, cruelty, negativity and promiscuity on screens large and small?

The effects of personally experiencing something shocking or horrifying can result in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD. This condition is well known and documented – it can severely hinder a person’s ability to function in a normal and healthy way.

But what of our consumption of bite-size trauma? Dr Jessica Hamblen from the VA writes that:

Research generally finds an association between watching media coverage of traumatic events and stress symptoms. However, most studies cannot answer the important question of whether watching television of the event makes people worse or if people who have more severe stress reactions are the ones who choose to watch more television coverage of the event.

Of course, exposing people in controlled experiments is unethical – so research is inconclusive.

If we're honest with ourselves, we know that once we've seen something or heard something, it's hard to un-see or un-hear it. As our consumption of media becomes both more immersive and more frequent, we are risking our ability to think and dream without the intrusions. But perhaps the most significant damage is the dulling of our sensitivities – the more we see, the less we feel about anything.

This insight is expressed in a strange debate of translation in our parsha:

Bilaam refers to himself as ”הַגֶּבֶר שְׁתֻם הָעָיִן”. What exactly does this phrase mean? Chazal (סנהדרין ק״ה א) explain: סומא באחת מעיניו היה – He was blind in one of his eyes. The Targum Unkelus, however, renders the phrase as גַּבְרָא דְּשַׁפִּיר חָזֵי – one who sees very well.

It appears that we a contradiction. Was Bilaam endowed with unique visual capacities or was his vision severely limited?

The Ba'al Shem Tov (בלק ד׳) explains: Both are true. Bilaam’s blind eye was the only part of him pure enough to truly see.

וזאת ידוע דלמעלת הנבואה היו צריכין קדושה יתירה, והנה האדם יש לו ה' חושים, חוש הראייה וחוש השמיעה וחוש הטעם וחוש הריח וחוש המישוש, וכנגדן יש לו חמשה חושים רוחניים כמו שכתב (קהלת א׳:ט״ז) ולבי ראה הרבה חכמה, (מלכים א ג׳:ט׳) ונתת לעבדך לב שומע, (ישעיהו י״א:ג׳) והריחו ביראת ה', וכן יתר החושים (כמבואר במדרש רבה קהלת א׳:ט״ז בפסוק דברתי אני עם לבי) וצריך האדם לטהר ולקדש את החושים החיצונים הגשמיים, ועל ידי זה חלה הקדושה על חושים הפנימיים הרוחניים, ותחול עליו רוח הנבואה, אכן בלעם הרשע היה היפך מזה, כי טימא את החושים ההחיצוניים, כמו שאמרו רבותינו ז”ל (סנהדרין דק”ה) שבא על אתונו, ועוד היה מעונן ומנחש ומכשף וקוסם קסמים, והאיך היה יכול לשרות עליו רוח הנבואה, ולא היה זה אפשר מצדו כלל, אבל ההכרח היה עצום מאוד לעשותו נביא,

This, you must know: Achieving prophecy requires heightened Kedusha. Each person has five senses; sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch. Correspondingly, there are five spiritual senses, as we see in Tanach. A heart that sees wisdom (קהלת א׳:ט״ז). A heart which can hear (מלכים א ג׳:ט׳). The ability to smell with fear of Hashem (ישעיהו י״א:ג׳), as well as the other senses. By purifying our physical senses, Kedusha rests on the internal spiritual senses as well. But Bilaam was an unrepentant, habitual sinner. How then could he achieve prophecy at all? Let alone the level of prophecy that rivaled Moshe Rabbeinu?! It must be then, that his prophecy was achieved through his blind eye – the only part of his body which had not been sullied with impurity.

Chazal tell us that while prophecy has ceased in our day, children can still experience it – they are more responsive to the subtleties of the world – they can still hear Hashem’s voice.

In many ways, Judaism’s entire mandate is to bring a person to a point in which their body is attuned to it’s highest purpose: Ratzon Hashem.

When we shield our ears from hearing Lashon Hara, we might become sensitive enough to hear the pain and suffering of someone in need. When we refrain from overeating, we can enjoy the taste of Shabbos without guilt or resentment. Of course, when we keep tabs on what we are watching, avoiding mindless scrolling and damaging content, we train our eyes to see a little further.

All of this is to say that if you are feeling a little desensitized, overexposed, and sullied by the constant assault on our senses, this summer might be a good opportunity to consider a some kind a detox. Hashem should help us to find the “eye-patch” for whichever senses need the protection; with the tefillah that we should get a little closer to each other, and a little better at feeling Hashem in our lives.

I am not a prophet, and I’d like to believe that I am an optimist. But I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t worried about the next few months in the USA.

Mind you, I’m not concerned about who will or wont end up running for president. I am also not so concerned about who will or who not be found guilty of whatever crimes they are accused of. These details are certainly not in my control, and I must confess that I don’t find them particularly interesting.

That said, I am not trying to dissuade you from playing an active role in politics. We owe it to ourselves to get involved in politics in whatever way will be most beneficial to our families, communities and to the USA.

The cause for concern, however, is what US politics have done, and might continue to do, to the unity of Klal Yisrael.

The most recent election cycles have revealed deep divides in the American public, perhaps even irreconcilable differences. Naturally, the Jews on either side of the divide feel strongly about the correctness of their opinions, and feel equally strongly about the incorrectness of those who disagree.

I am well aware that there is little that I, or anyone else, can say or do to change these facts. But I’d like to offer a little perspective, and a few thoughts that might help to preserve Jewish unity in a world that is ever more fragmented.

On Disagreements

In the introduction to Chidushei Sridei Aish, the editor – Rabbi Avraham Abba Weingrot – tells a personal story of his visit to the Bostoner Rebbe, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Horowitz. The Rebbe occupied a unique space in Jewish life. On the one hand he was a staunch traditionalist, but on the other, he opened his heart and home to Jews from all walks of life; providing comfort, advice and conversation without judgment.

Rabbi Weingtot's question was simple: How do we bring Jews back to Yiddishkeit? The Rebbe replied: There is no singular way… But I can offer you the following perspective to building connections:

When the Torah introduces us to Korach, we are treated to his entire Yichus – his family tree. Or rather, almost his entire Yichus, a fact about which Rashi is sensitive.

וַיִּקַּח קֹרַח בֶּן־יִצְהָר בֶּן־קְהָת בֶּן־לֵוִי – Now Korah, son of Izhar son of Kohath son of Levi, took himself…

The missing link, of course, is the next generation: “…The son of Yaakov.”

Rashi explains: The pasuk does not make mention of Levi being “the son of Yaakov”, because he (Yaakov) prayed that his name should not be mentioned in connection with their machlokes.

At first gloss, it appears that Rashi is teaching us that Yaakov Avinu took care to disassociate himself from Korach. He wished to disown this troublesome personality. But removing his name from the list seems performative at best. Everyone knows that Yaakov is the father of Levi; and indeed, Rashi himself notes that in Divrei Hayamim, Yaakov is listed as Korach’s ancestor. What then is the point of the omission here?

The Bostoner Rebbe explained: Yaakov knew that there would be many “Korachs” in the future of Klal Yisrael. There would be many Baalei Machlokes – some with legitimate arguments, and others with egotistical and even nefarious intent. There would be those who would rebel against the Torah, the authority of the Chazal, and even against Moshe Rabbeinu himself. But Yaakov davened that no matter how deep the rebellion might be, it should never reach the core; it should never rip apart the identity of a “Ben Yaakov/Yisrael”.

If we can see beyond the points of disagreements to understand that a Jew is a Jew, no matter what, then we stand a chance at not devolving into resentment and contempt.

How to Stay Ahead

It's important to know what we're fighting against. Animosity is contagious and rage is profitable… so long as you’re a news network or a social media company. If you’re a Yid trying to be an Eved Hashem, it’s worth noting that we are and will be encouraged to be outraged. We will be tempted to view other Jews as working against the best interests of Klal Yisrael, and we will feel charged to fight against this destruction at all costs. It is encumbered upon us to resist these urges.

Resisting emotional urges, however, is insufficient. So I’m going to recommend taking proactive steps now to inoculate yourself and your family from the waves of hatred that are coming our way. Here are a few suggestions:

1. Practice empathy and humility actively. We should take the time to upgrade our Ahavas Yisrael. To see the good in others is not always easy or obvious; but it is a skill that we can get better at. Mori V’Rabbi, Rav Blachman told me that Rav Simcha Zissel Brodie once gave him the assignment to get onto a Jerusalem bus at rush hour, and sit there until he had observed and learned something from each and every passenger. When we train ourselves to think of others as sources of wisdom, we are far less likely to act dismissively and disparagingly.

2. Make time to Learn and work on Mussar and Middos. The goal of mussar work is ultimately to train our character to become sensitive to needs to of others and vehicles through which Hashem’s transcendent presence can be felt in the world. It’s the process of practicing “doing right” rather than “being right.” In this vein, the rage and rhetoric of politics should be seen as a training ground for honing our Middos; specifically, holding onto the dialectic of “this is my opinion”, and “I still love you, even though you disagree.”Specifically, whenever we feel the urge to get upset with someone else, we could pause and ask “is this emotion truly the best expression of the person I am trying to become.”

3. Tell the Right Stories to Yourself and Your Children. There’s a well known practice to tell stories of Tzadikim on Motzei Shabbos. This is not exclusively a Chaddishe minhag – the custom prevailed in Brisk and in the home of the Chasam Sofer as well. In our family, it’s become a staple every week following Havdalah, and my kids look forward to it. There are many mystical reasons for telling stories of tzadikim, but perhaps the most profound purpose is to establish firmly: Who are our heroes? What are our values? Politics has a way of making some or another candidate the central focus of our lives – and that’s a tragedy. We have far better stories to tell, far more important values to inculcate into ourselves and educate to our children.

All of this is to say, that we can and should resist the urge to become enraged. We should fight the urge to follow every detail of every story, and consider putting that time and attention into the more consequential pursuits of our lives. At the very least, we need to avoid the temptation to view other Jews are anything other than our brothers and sisters.

The Tefillah of Yaakov – ever for Korach! – should certainly apply to each other. That Hashem should help us to see how each and every Jew is infinitely connected, every Jew is a child of Yaakov Avinu.

“Rabbi, where am I going wrong?” That was the beginning of our second follow-up conversation. (Shared here with permission.)

It all began when he came to speak about his struggles with food. He described all of the usual suspects: over-eating, guilt, indulgence, Shabbos and Yom Tov.

For better or worse, I have some experience in these areas. Baruch Hashem, I've had some success, and this fellow wanted to understand what had worked for me.

We began by discussing the nature of this Yetzer Hara, noting that all such desires are similar. The same principles that enable us to control of our desire to overeat can also be used to make progress in other areas. Ultimately the mental-muscle that we are trying to develop is self-control. But that's never the whole story, because, as we all know will power can only get us so far.

The major work comes in learning about ourselves, and creating healthy habits. We need to start noting our triggers (stress, anxiety, exhaustion etc...) and actively making changes so as to avoid the spaces, places and circumstances where we fall into our most negative habits.

We spoke about personal accountability and the importance of resisting the urge to blame others for our failures.

Most importantly, we spoke about how to contend with failure, and the need to practice forgiveness. Long term, this is the area in which we are most likely to trip up. Everyone is convinced that they will be able to conquer their Yetzer Hara – until the first time that we fail.

In that moment, all bets are off. We risk spiraling into patterns of guilt, hopelessness and negativity. All of this leads to further diminishing of our will-power and self confidence. The more we fail, the more difficult it is to get up again.

To this end, as much as we are working on our challenges, we need to be working just as hard on self-compassion and forgiveness. Shlomo HaMelech in his wisdom summarizes the roller coaster of growth and failure in one Pasuk (משלי כד:טו):

כִּי שֶׁבַע יִפּוֹל צַדִּיק וָקָם -Tzadikim fall seven times, and (still) get up.

The Jew that I was speaking to was well aware of all of these points. He was ready to do the work, and ready to pick himself up again when he failed...

But weeks has gone by; weeks of struggling, ups and downs, and yet, he felt that no progress had been made. The numbers on the scale showed little change, and more importantly, he felt that he had not developed any greater self control.

He told me that he had begun to track his caloric intake. He pulled out his phone and showed me the app. His records were detailed and accurate, which is when he looked at me exasperated and said “Rabbi, where am I going wrong?”

It was then that I noticed something curious. Every few days, there was nothing recorded in his app. I asked him what that was about. He told me with a strange mix of sheepishness and pride that those were the days that he had failed; “but” he added quickly “I never let it get me down! The next day, I made sure to get back on track!”

That was the missing link. In that moment we both knew that he was suffering from toxic positivity.

A positive mindset ensures that we can get over failure and recommit ourselves to our goals. Toxic positivity, on the other hand, is an attempt to pretend that failure never happened. In fear and concern for getting trapped in our failures, there is a Yetzer Hara that convinces us not to think about it at all. “Hashem loves me no matter what! I'll do better next time.”

This attitude is as admirable as it is destructive. Forgiving ourselves is essential to growth; but we can only forgive ourselves if we acknowledge our shortcomings, analyze the causes and commit to implementing meaningful change.

Toxic positivity is a new(ish) term, but the challenge of dealing with the deep discomfort that we feel when working through our problems is as old as humanity. Indeed, it plays a central role in our Parsha.

In the aftermath of the Meraglim, Moshe announces that tragically, the entire generation is doomed to perish in the desert. The had spurned the Land of Israel, and in turn, they would not be able to enter it.

As they heard the news the nation wept. They could not accept that their dream since Yetzias Mitzraim would never be realized. A group of soldiers arose early the next morning, they scaled the cliff overlooking the Land of Israel and declared:

הִנֶּנּוּ וְעָלִינוּ אֶל־הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר־אָמַר ה' כִּי חָטָאנוּ -“We are prepared to go up to the place that Hashem has spoken of, for we have sinned!”

But Moshe cautioned them:

וְהִוא לֹא תִצְלָח. אַל־תַּעֲלוּ כִּי אֵין ה׳ בְּקִרְבְּכֶם... -This will not succeed. Do not go up, Hashem is not in your midst.

The endeavor did end well. Those Jews went defiantly to battle, while Moshe and the rest of Klal Yisrael remained in the camp. The armies of Amelek descended upon the fighters and crushed them. Forever more, they are known as the Ma'apilim – the defiant ones.

But there is something strange about this story. These Jews should be viewed as heroes and role models! Once they heard the terrible and devastating curse of the Meraglim, they committed to fixing it. “We do want to enter Eretz Yisrael! We will fight for it with Mesiras Nefesh!” Not only were they willing to charge into battle, but they did Teshuva: כִּי חָטָאנוּ – we were wrong!

Why did Hashem not accept the Teshuva of these brave souls? Why did Moshe not advocate for them? Why did Hashem abandon them to the enemies?

Thirty-eight years later, when Moshe Rabbeinu relates this story to the next generation, the Alshich (דברים א׳:מ״א) explains the depth of the issue:

You imagined that it would be simple to fix the problem. You should have cried, and prayed, and pleaded with Hashem. But instead, you said simple declared כִּי חָטָאנוּ – we messed up. This is not Teshuva. There was no humbling, no acquiescence nor acknowledgement as would be fitting for one who is doing Teshuva in earnest.

This “Teshuva” was the ancient equivalent of the modern fake-apology: “My bad.” It's the Teshuva of a one kid yelling “I said I was sorry!”, while still holding their sibling's toy (and the sibling is crying on the floor.) This is the Teshuva of “I don't really want to deal with it or even think about it. I'm annoyed that this has gotten in the way of life, and I wish it would all go away.”

There is no room for real growth without real regret.

The Sfas Emes (שלח תרנ”ג) explains even deeper, that toxic positivity hinders our capacity for actual positivity. These Ma'apilim didn't want to face the root of their failure, and thus powered on with an attitude of “we'll succeed or we'll die trying,” which is tragically, exactly what happened.

At this point we should ask what was the root cause of all the failure in the desert? Each event seems so different, yet there is a single thread that connects them all from the Misonnenim to the Meraglim and the Ma'apilim. The Chidushei HaRim explains: רק כל החטא הי' מה שחשבו שהוא לרעתם – Their sin was in thinking that the entire process was to their detriment; that Hashem wasn't doing this for their ultimate benefit.

Perhaps, we could argue, they never fully recovered from the abuse of their Egyptians overlords. They never graduated from slaves to children; and could never offer themselves compassion when they struggled. In turn, they never granted Hashem the benefit of the doubt when He challenged them.

In their pain and anguish, they thought Hashem was being cruel to them. They imagined that when life got tough, it was because they deserved to be punished. Thus, the root of their sins was ultimately their inability to see that all of their challenges were really Chasdei Hashem.

If we look at the pesukim carefully, we find that the Ma'apilim didn't ever do Teshuva for thinking that Hashem hated them. They simply dug in deeper and said “we must try harder to impress Him! We must convince Him that even if Eretz Yisrael is terrifying, we will fight for it!” There is no greater recipe for failure. When Moshe Rabbeinu told them not to go, they saw this too as further encouragement: “We must prove ourselves!”

There is profundity and nuance in the tragedies of our parsha. The Torah is teaching us that the resilience offered by toxic positivity is barely even a thin veil for the negativity it tries to conceal. In truth, Hashem wants us to be able to face our failures bravely, and know that the challenges that we have are part of the process of growth. Of course, we should never get stuck in them, but we ignore them at our own great peril.

There is, however, a very simple fix to all of this, and I suggested it to the Yid with the food journalling app: Simply begin recording everything – the good days and the challenging ones. Take note of them. Ask the tough questions: Why did I fail today? What can I do better next time? Ask Hashem to help you understand and succeed. And then try again.

“Baruch Hashem”, he tells me, “things are going a lot better.”

That's all Hashem is looking for from us: To face our failures head on, know that it's all part of His process, and ask Him for help.

No doubt, some of you have you experimented with ChatGPT. If you haven't yet, I'd recommend it. It's exhilarating, terrifying, impressive, confusing and humbling all at the same time. These emotions and reactions will no doubt increase as our Artificial Intelligence technology careens forwards into an unknown future.

With all of the hype and hysteria, it's hard to know how far this will go. It's hard to know whether this is the beginning of a new era of prosperity for humanity, or perhaps the beginning of our demise. Or maybe, the hype is entirely unwarranted, and AI will soon reveal itself to be little more than an impressive party-trick.

However it might turn out, the questions it raises now are worth considering. A few weeks ago, one of my Talmidim asked if I thought that there was still any reason to practice English composition. “Now that ChatGPT can write better than I can, why should I have to write essays in schools?!”

This question is more than a student trying to get out of doing homework; the question is meaningful, and the consequences of our approaches here will have major ramifications. I personally wondered if AI will be able to replace me in answering Halchik questions.

This week, I asked ChatGPT: “Could you act as a Rabbi and offer a halachik response?” It took less than five seconds to produce the following reply:

Yes, I can provide general information and explanations of halachic principles based on the knowledge I have been trained on. However, please keep in mind that I am an AI language model and should not be considered a substitute for a qualified human authority, such as a rabbi, when it comes to making halachic decisions. Halachic rulings require consideration of specific circumstances, personal factors, and the application of nuanced legal reasoning, which are best addressed by a knowledgeable and experienced human rabbi. If you have a specific halachic question, I can try my best to provide relevant information, but I strongly encourage you to consult with a trusted rabbi for a comprehensive and authoritative response.

I followed up with a classic Kashrus question, and asked if I could put cheese on pasta which was cooked in a meat pot, to which the AI responded:

In the specific scenario you described, where you cooked pasta in a meat pot, it would generally be advisable to refrain from adding cheese to that pasta. Since the pot was used for cooking meat, it is considered to have absorbed meat flavors, and adding cheese to the pasta could be seen as mixing meat and dairy.

However, there are some leniencies and exceptions in certain cases. One such exception is the concept of “nat bar nat” (lit. “the taste of the taste”). According to this concept, if the pot was completely clean and the pasta was cooked in water without any meat residue or flavor, some authorities allow adding cheese to the cooked pasta. This is because the taste of the meat that may have been absorbed by the pot would be considered so diluted and minimal that it is deemed insignificant.

It's important to note that individual practices and customs may vary within Jewish communities, and some individuals may follow stricter guidelines regarding the separation of meat and dairy. To obtain a definitive halachic ruling for your specific situation, I recommend consulting with a qualified rabbi who is familiar with your personal circumstances and can provide guidance based on your specific dietary practices and community norms.

That’s pretty good. But let’s take a step back, and a deep breath, and realize that ChatGPT is still in its infancy. This particular AI has been extensively trained and censured to ensure that it does not impersonate human beings, or take any level of responsibility for human decisions. Of course, that might not always be the case for future AI's in the coming months and years.

Even so, what might our world look like if everyone had instantaneous access to supremely accurate information about everything? What happens if (or when) a perfectly accurate AI is available on phones, in our ears and embedded into our glasses? What would that do to human achievements and accomplishments?

This all seems so new and daunting, until we realize that we've already dealt with this situation – on a national level. Back then, the superhuman intelligence was not a computer plugged into all of human knowledge. It was Moshe Rabbeinu, plugged into a direct line with the Creator of the Universe. Moshe Rabbeinu who was somewhere between man and angel; not requiring food, drink or sleep.

Imagine having any question about Hashem, Halacha, or the nature of reality, and being able to ask it, and get a verified response from Hashem! This literally occurs in our parsha:

As the second Pesach in Jewish history approached, A group of Jews who were impure approached Moshe asking: לָמָּה נִגָּרַע לְבִלְתִּי הַקְרִב אֶת־קָרְבַּן ה׳ בְּמֹעֲדוֹ בְּתוֹךְ בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל׃ – Why must we be excluded from bringing Hashem's Korban (Pesach) at its set time with the rest of the nation?”

Moshe's response: עִמְדוּ וְאֶשְׁמְעָה מַה־יְצַוֶּה ה׳ לָכֶם – “Stand by, and let me hear what instructions Hashem gives about you.”

That's incredible. Instantaneous Divine response.

For forty years in the Midbar, there were no Roshei Yeshiva. There was no Mashgiach. There were no Chiddushim and no machlokes in Halacha. All we had was Moshe Rabbeinu with the clearest prophetic vision in all of human history. We had access to everything.

With this in mind, we might ask: What was the point of our lives in the Midbar? We lived in a world where all of our material needs were provided miraculously – food, water, clothing, shelter and protection – all granted freely by Hashem. Surely life was not simply an endeavor to learn more Torah? Moshe Rabbeinu provided all the answers.

At this point, we must concede that our assumption of purpose is flawed. If we conflate human purpose with human utility, then we might indeed find ourselves outpaced by AI and technology in the near future. But we're not here to be useful for the sake of being useful – we're here to elevate ourselves.

The Torah tells us that Hashem places Adam in Gan Eden לעבדה ולשמרה – To work and guard it. What is this “it” that is the object of this work and safeguarding?

The Seforno (בראשית ב׳:ט״ו) explains:

לעבדה – לעבוד את נשמת חיים To work it: ie. To perfect his own personality.

Self improvement is not a drasha. It's the P'shat of the purpose of humanity since our Creation. The world that Hashem has placed us in is the training ground for this personal perfection.

The Ohr HaChaim Hakadosh (שם) elaborates:

The entire description of Gan Eden is to serve as an example of a spiritual environment. The Torah wanted to illustrate that just as a physical environment such as earth requires “Avoda” – toil, planting, irrigation, etc. in order to produce man's food supply, and “Shmira” – protection against harmful substances that damage the plants, the same applies to our spiritual development.

No amount of access to knowledge can do the work of transforming ourselves into Godly people. No external intelligence – artificial, supernatural or biological can make a mensch out of person who isn't working on themselves.

All of this is to say that our technology might well be moving us towards a world that has more in common with Adam and Chava in Gan Eden, or Moshe and the Dor HaMidbar, than it does with the shtetl of our great-grandparents. Now, in this arena, Hashem is asking us the question: “If I gave you access to infinite wisdom, unmatched physical comforts and the ability to know right from wrong with the press of button, what will you do with that knowledge and those abilities? What will you do with your life and time?”

Were we to ask this question to Moshe Rabbeinu, I know what he would tell us. Indeed, he tells us this Shabbos:

וּמִי יִתֵּן כָּל־עַם ה' נְבִיאִים כִּי־יִתֵּן ה' אֶת־רוּחוֹ עֲלֵיהֶם

If only all of Hashem's people could become prophets, that Hashem would place his Ruach on them.

Moshe's greatest desire was: “If only I was not the only one... If only every Jew could know, understand and speak to Hashem as I do... What a world that would be!”

The advent of AI might soon force us to reconsider our lives and purpose. But the truth is that we should be doing it already; and if we're not, perhaps it's time we begin.

The Sfas Emes (בהעלותך תרמ״ג) makes the point sharply and succinctly:

וכי הרצון לבוא לעלמא דקשוט בכרס מליאה מש”ס ופוסקים?! רק להיות הלימוד בדחילו ורחימו.

Do you really think that Hashem wants you to arrive at the World of Truth with a belly filled with Shas and Poskim?! He wants our life and learning to be with Love and Fear of Hashem.

In the final week of Halacha Shiur this year, I asked my talmidim for some feedback on which topics they enjoyed, what they felt they learned and what we could've done better.

One of the guys, with perhaps a little too much honesty, told me that he loved all of our discussions. He enjoyed our philosophical conversations, our side tangents and debates. But learning Halacha itself? “Rebbe, it's just a lot of rules. That's so boring.”

It's not a very Rabbinic thing to say, but I empathize with his sentiment. The truth is, there are many parts of Torah and Yiddishkeit that are boring. Though, we should note, boring is a relative emotion. We feel most bored when there is a more exciting alternative activity. The obligation to Daven the same text multiple times daily is boring; and it's made more so by the ever present draw of our screens. Yom Tov is boring, when compared flashy cruises and vacations, and learning Chumash is boring when compared with reading Harry Potter.

Rabbis, Teachers and parents are well aware of this truth: It's getting harder and harder to motivate people to do anything important, meaningful or productive in a world where sitting on a couch doing nothing is designed and engineered to be more exciting.

Our natural instinct here is to attempt to compete, and by all standards we are doing pretty well, all things considered. We prepare and produce exciting Torah programs and classes, leibedik musical Tefillah, and themed shiurim paired with food and drink. We'll try almost anything to enable a temporary escape from the reverie of an entertainment induced semi-coma.

All of this has worked with a modicum of success; a series of incentives that (hopefully) works its way up to more serious commitments.

But it's getting harder. Our attention spans are steadily shrinking as we doom-scroll through social media, and content creators and online algorithms are becoming ever more adept at tailoring our experience to ensure that we stay hooked on their platforms.

Long term, it's hard to imagine that learning Halacha will continue to compete – or even rank as exciting in the coming days and years.

Is there a way to solve the issue? I believe so. But it doesn't involve upping the ante of Torah excitement. Nor does it require draconian measures to withhold technology.

The simplest solution is to realize that to some extent, we've been going about this a little backwards. Sure, there is a purpose in learning and teaching in an enjoyable and engaging manner. Were it not for the love, attention, and excitement of our own teachers and Rabbeim, none of us would want to engage in Torah any further. But perhaps the greatest lesson that we've been failing to educate and practice is that boring is not bad. In many ways, “boring” is the point.

Our culture spends a lot of time promoting excellence, creativity and excitement; but in any endeavor, it's simple, boring competency that is far more accessible, useful and compelling.

In some ways, the single most valuable skill for living a meaningful life is the ability to stick with “boring”, rather than giving up. Consider the road to success in business, art, music, marriage or raising children. The vast majority of the things that we do to create the lives we wish to enjoy, are not exciting. Professional musicians play thousands of hours of chords and scales long before fame and fortune. Athletes drill repetitive skills for years, and Talmidei Chachamim study Halacha.

Rather than viewing boredom as something to cure, perhaps we should be teaching it, encouraging it and practicing it as a skill-set to learn. This is not simply to force people into embracing suffering – far from it. When we focus all of our attention on ensuring that Torah is interesting and exciting, we miss out on developing the skills necessary for competency. There are many teens and adults caught in this trap: Their enjoyment and excitement has resulted in a deep love of Torah, but they cannot make sense of a text independently. Many people love davening, but struggle to navigate through the siddur or the machzor unaided. It's a profoundly frustrating place to be.

But it's not all about dry skills. Sure, embracing the boring is the only way to gain competency and expertise, but paradoxically, it's also the surest way to achieve creativity and meaning.

This point is made clear in the our parsha in the most unambiguous manner: Almost without parallel, parshas Naso is the most repetitive and “boring” parsha in Chumash. On each of the days of the inauguration of the Mishkan, a different Nasi, a Prince, from a different tribe brought their contribution. Each one literally identical to the day before. But rather than listing the gifts of the Nesi'im as “this is what they each brought,” the Torah copies-and-pastes the same paragraph twelve times. Aside from the names of the Nasi and tribe, there is no difference at all in the text.

This seemingly unnecessary repetition is discussed by the Medrashim and Rishonim. The Ramban explains:

כי לכל אחד מהנשיאים עלה במחשבה להביא חנוכה למזבח ושתהיה בזה השיעור Each of the Nesiim brought their offering with a different thought and idea.

Each of them brought exactly the same thing – but their thoughts were quite different.

The Medrash Rabba offers an incredible array of intentions for each part of the gifts. Consider the pasuk: כַּף אַחַת עֲשָׂרָה זָהָב – “one gold ladle of ten golden shekelim.”

Yehuda, the lineage of royalty, brought this gift to symbolize the ten generations from Peretz until David, who were all tzadikim: Ten people in one category. Yissachar who championed the study of Torah thought of the כף (which also means a “hand”) as the “Hand” of Hashem writing the Ten Commandments. Zevulun, the sea-faring tradesmen imbued their gift with thoughts of נהרות ימחאו כף – the rivers clapping their hands (תהילים צ״ח:ח) in awesome celebration of the Presence of Hashem. Reuven's כף harkened back to his moment of bravery; when he saved Yosef's life by telling his brothers “Don't lay a hand on him.”

The Medrash continues in this fashion, and explains each and every detail of each of the gifts.

Rav Simcha Zissel Broide (שם דרך נשא, הביורים יא) writes that the fundamental, underlying principle of the Medrash and the Ramban is that the same act, with a different intention is, in fact, a completely different action: “כל המעשה נחשב מעשה אחר, והמעשים הם כשתי מצוות נפרדות”.

In other words, when the action is identical and boring, the meaning and significance is generated by the person, and not the action alone. Perhaps the highest forms of creativity are found within the limitations rather than by attempting to escape them.

To the casual reader of the Pesukim, the Parsha seems exceedingly repetitive. But to the Nasi and tribe that was actually there, bringing that offering to the Mishkan on their designated day; nothing could be more elevated, exciting or creative. It's the feeling of creating a brand new dish from the same ingredients.

This is the secret sauce to a meaningful existence: Most of life is as boring and as limiting as a blank canvas. But it is specifically from within the boring confines of a blank canvas that the greatest creativity, beauty and purpose arises.

Halacha might well be boring from the outside. But learning it, practicing it, and embracing it is effectively building the foundation upon which we move from being consumers of Jewish life to being producers. Within the confines of rules, restrictions and laws we are obligated to achieve competency, and invited to experience and enjoy creativity.

This is out great Tefillah for the Shabbos after Kabblas HaTorah: ותן חלקנו בתורתך – that Hashem should help each one of us to find our unique place in His Torah.