Author: Jonathan Bienenfeld

Woody Allen once said that ninety percent of life is just showing up. This was precisely my intention in attending the mass rally in Washington D.C. this past Tuesday. It was not about direct lobbying or having impassioned conversations with my representatives in Congress. The rally was about being a face in the crowd, just being present, part of a huge scene that would indicate broad, overwhelming support for Israel. Just by showing up.

That was my intention, and I hope I succeeded in accomplishing that mission. That elected officials who believe Israel’s operation in Gaza to be just, now have something to point to when others are attempting to avert their attention to all those who consider Israel to be the villain in this war. “But these are also my constituents, I have to respond to them as well.” I hope it worked.

What hadn’t occurred to me when I decided to attend the rally was that something else altogether might be accomplished. Something that, again, without really doing anything at all could be achieved simply by showing up.

What was that? Nikki Haley summed it up well in a Twitter post: 

Today, ~300K people marched in DC in support of Israel & against antisemitism. No one was assaulted. Nothing vandalized. No one hiding behind masks. Lots of American flags. A stark contrast w/ the pro-Hamas protestors. This is a fight between good & evil, & good will prevail.

None of the behavior that Haley identified as being present at Tuesday’s rally was planned. Nobody set an alarm the night before on their phone to go off at 1 PM with the reminder, “Don’t assault anyone at the rally,” or, “Remember not to vandalize property.” I can’t imagine anyone standing at the coat closet the morning of agonizing over whether or not to bring that menacing-looking mask along to wear on the National Mall. People were just being themselves. They were just showing up.

When you’re an ordinary, normal mensch, there can sometimes be great drama in just showing up. Because more often than not you can count on others to be anything but. Against a backdrop of reprehensible behavior, acting with just a modicum of decency can make you a standout. 

What Nikki Haley described in her tweet is what we’d refer to as a Kiddush Hashem. Demonstrating that living a life dedicated to Jewish values—even when the finer of points of halacha are not necessarily adhered to—means acting in a way that is pleasant, refined, and courteous. 

Which is a more collective expression of another Kiddush Hashem—one accomplished by an individual—that also took place at the rally. When Ishay Ribbo exited the stage, he did so with the simple words, Hashem yishmor aleichem—May G-d watch over you. Words that are remarkable only because of the dearth of G-d-talk throughout the other presentations. Ishay didn’t beat anyone over the head with his religiosity. He just acted himself. He showed up. Read some Tehilim. Acknowledged Hashem. But when the coolest guy to take the stage is also the frummest guy to take the stage—and he’s not afraid to simply be himself—it’s a powerful statement.

We’re often looking for ways to have an impact. Whether it’s a family Chanukah party or an office get-together, we’re often looking for ways to best express our brand of Torah living to those who live otherwise. How do we make it understandable, palatable, normal, impressive, impactful? I don’t think we place enough value on just showing up. Just being ourselves. We may not be Ishay Ribbo, but if we’re liked and respected by peers, colleagues, and family members, we have a platform. And we can use that platform to just be ourselves. To be normal, and pleasant, and charming—and make a bracha before we eat our food, and after our food, and wear modest clothing and yarmulkas. We need not bludgeon everyone around us with our frumkeit, nor be embarrassed to be ourselves. 

If we want to properly showcase our values, we need not overthink it. If you’re a mensch, it will come through. If you’re religious, it will come through. We can make a Kiddush Hashem just by showing up.

Parshas Chayei-Sarah 5784

Avraham insists that a wife not be taken for Yitzchak from the local population. But what if Eliezer can’t find a suitable woman willing to come back from Aram Naharaim? What if the mission is a failure? What if the insistence that Yitzchak be found a bride proves incompatible with the insistence that that wife be from Avraham’s extended family? What if you can’t have both? 

If Avraham had lived today, many would suggest that he not bother to answer that question. Because today you can identify that two values may stand in contradiction and offer no resolution as to how to proceed. Just point out the problem, no solution necessary.

I can understand those who call for the annihilation of Israel. Who believe that the Jewish People essentially have no right to a Jewish state. That Jewish blood is cheaper than Arab blood. Those who believe that the pogrom of October 7 was a great service to humanity may well be evil—but I understand them.

What I cannot understand are those who consider October 7 an abject atrocity, and yet call for a ceasefire in Gaza. Who feel that Israel was wrong for invading, for going to war. For whom the plight of innocent Palestinians getting caught in the crossfire is so horrific that Israel’s continued pursuit of Hamas is unjust.

In every moral war there is the sad reality that innocent people are killed. That sad reality exists in this war as well. That is a problem. So what’s the solution?

Many apparently feel that no solution need be offered. Identifying the problem is sufficient. “Israel has a right to defend itself,” yet, “Allowing civilians to be killed is wrong.” A problem, indeed. So what should Israel do? How can they defend themselves against Hamas without killing civilians? If you’ve brought up the problem, what are you offering as a solution?

In hindsight, we know that Eliezer’s mission to Aram Naharaim is successful. Rivka is every bit the worthy bride of Yitzchak and is gladly consents to the proposed shidduch. Isn’t it odd, then, that the Torah even bothers relating Eliezer’s concern and Avraham’s response to it? Do we really need to know the Plan B, considering that Plan A ultimately worked out just fine?

We certainly do. Because Avraham’s approach to decision making in the face of competing values is a critical model for us to follow, many thousands of years later. And in those intervening millennia, so many who may even view themselves as Avraham’s successors appear to have lost their way.

What happens when the demand to marry Yitzchak off and the demand that his wife come from Avraham’s own family cannot both be fulfilled? To this, Avraham makes a tough decision: Eliezer will be absolved of his responsibility to find Yitzchak a wife. When two values cannot simultaneously be held, one must be dropped.

Don’t tell Israel to defend itself but also insist that the very nature of defense be transcended. Preventing further acts of terror from Hamas means going to war with them. And war means human casualties. Evacuation notices have been dropped, warning has been given, a safety corridor has been opened. But people will still die. That’s what war looks like.

Given certain realities, you can’t marry off Yitzchak and also keep him away from the maidens of Canaan. Avraham understands this and tells his servant, “If push comes to shove, don’t marry him off.” 

There are tradeoffs in life. You can’t have your cake and eat it too. If you insist that Israel stop killing civilians, have the guts to say what you really mean: Israel doesn’t have the right to defend itself. Hamas should be given the opportunity to rearm. Israel should sit around until it’s wiped off the face of the earth. 

There are surely plenty of bald-faced anti-semites who have no compunction about saying those words. But I wonder how many others have just never grown up. Are still children in adult bodies who haven’t come to terms with the realities of necessary tradeoffs—harsh, brutal tradeoffs—that you sometimes need to make in life. 

Avraham had practice. When told by Hashem to sacrifice his son, Avraham was confronted with his responsibilities as a father on the one hand and his responsibilities as a servant of Hashem on the other. There could be no neat reconciliation of the two. His decision has harsh, brutal, and absolutely correct. The decision to sacrifice Yitzchak was an act of spiritual heroism that continues to pay dividends for Avraham’s progeny to this day.

And that act also positioned Avraham to make a tough decision in giving Eliezer his marching orders. What if Plan A fails? In reality, Plan B never comes to bear; Eliezer’s mission is in fact successful. But Avraham’s consideration of the issue provides a critical model for us to follow. Things won’t always work out as we want. Deeply held values will sometimes butt heads. What happens then? Some shrug their shoulders and keep their heads in the clouds. Others understand you can’t have it all. And they heed the call of making some very difficult decisions. 

Parshas Vayeira 5784

“It is important to also recognize the attacks by Hamas did not happen in a vacuum.” So said United Nations Secretary-General Antonio Guterres in his comments on the atrocities committed against Israel on October 7. And by no means is he alone. Scores of people have called upon the world to consider the context in which the Simchas Torah pogrom took place. 

You know what? Let’s roll with that.

With the arrival of Yitzchak on the scene, Yishmael finds himself in Sarah’s crosshairs. She sees Yishmael behaving in a way that will negatively influence her own son, and insists that Yishmael be ousted from her tent. What does the Torah say about Yishmael’s behavior? Metzacheik—he laughed.

What’s so terrible about laughter? Isn’t Yitzchak himself—that prized child of Sarah—himself named for laughter? Wasn’t “Yitzchak” the name chosen by G-d himself for the boy, after Avraham laughed upon hearing the news that Sarah would indeed conceive and give birth? 

Why is laughter ok for Avraham, but not for Yishmael? This is the sort of unfairness that Queen Rania of Jordan might label a “glaring double standard!” 

The answer is that laughter doesn’t occur in a vacuum. Laughter can be menacing, taunting, maniacal. Or it can be sweet, innocent, thoughtful.

Yishmael’s laughter is laughter of mockery. It’s laughter that occurs in the context of the seriousness of Avraham’s home and makes light of the values that were on display there. Indeed, Chazal connect the term metzachek—Yishmael’s laughter—to other instances of the term used in connection with idolatry, murder, and immorality. Yishmael’s laughter undermines all that Avraham does in the service of G-d.

Avraham’s laughter is not dismissive of G-d, but of the physical world that is so easily bent at His will. Avraham’s laughter is the laughter that happens at the end of a good joke, when the punchline makes you realize you’ve been looking at things all wrong until now. It’s the startling realization that what I thought I knew is misinformed—a woman can have a baby at the age of 90—so long as G-d wills it.

Avraham and Yishmael both laugh, but they are worlds apart.

The IDF and Hamas both kill. But they are worlds apart.

What separates them? Yes, Mr. Secretary-General, how right you are. Context. 

Hamas kills indiscriminately and without warning. In a context of kidnapping and parading victims through the streets. Of raping and pillaging and torturing its victims. Of sadistic taunting and proud phone calls back home letting Mommy and Daddy know how many Jews I killed today. Not military targets or terrorists. Jews. 

And all of that provides the context in which the IDF kills. Having identified pure evil and vowing to expunge it from the earth. In providing fair warning for non-military citizens to move to safe zones away from the fighting. In identifying specific targets and eliminating them. In uprooting evil without feeling the need to violate evil’s wife and daughter, behead evil’s children, or mutilate evil’s body just for kicks.

In the midst of the Cold War, William Buckley once responded to suggestions that the US and USSR employed similar practices. He said, “To say that we and the Soviets are to be compared is to say that the man who pushes an old lady into the way of an oncoming bus, and the man who pushes an old lady out of the way of an oncoming bus, are both people who push old ladies around.” (Hat tip—Phil Dolitsky)

Most behavior cannot be identified as good or evil when examined under a microscope. Fair judgement comes from pulling back and appreciating the broader context in which that behavior is demonstrated. The assessment of that context and resulting judgment is a moral imperative.

Is a laugh profane or pure? Horrific or holy? The Torah insists that it depends on the context.

Torture and mutilation are not rendered acceptable acts by the claim that another nation is living in your land. But torture and mutilation do provide context that make war against those who committed them called for, reasonable, and moral—even when war by its nature assures collateral damage in the loss of innocent lives. 

No, Queen Rania, there’s no glaring double standard. Like a stopped clock twice a day, the Secretary General is actually correct. The attacks by Hamas did not occur in a vacuum. They occurred in a context of barbarism and sadism and depravity. Don’t confuse their bullets for ours. To do so would be laughable. 

Parshas Lech-Lecha 5784

How can they possibly have so many rockets? You’d think this relatively small group of terrorists would surely have run out by now. But they just keep coming and coming in seemingly endless supply. 

This was one of the first questions I fixated on in the initial days of the war. Of late, I’ve turned to another: How can they possibly have so many people? 

Hundreds of thousands have taken to the streets of London, New York, and elsewhere to protest Israel’s right to defend itself, or, in other words, its right to exist. How can there possibly be so many people dedicated to such a warped and unjust cause? Where did they come from?

Avraham Avinu bursts onto the scene of history with feat after impressive feat, each a public spectacle that surely would have grabbed the headlines of the day, should any have existed. 

Over the course of barely more than one parsha, Avraham is miraculously saved from being burned alive, is gifted with vast wealth by the king of Egypt, and wages war almost completely on his own against a mighty axis of four powerful kings.

By the end of this week’s parsha, Avraham is wealthy, famous, and a known miracle worker. One can only imagine the platform that coalesces around him from which he can preach his cause and spread monotheism to the masses. 

Indeed, the Torah makes clear that Avraham was fully engaged in this sort of work. At the beginning of parsha in noting his relocation to Israel along with “all the souls he made in Charan.” Rashi quotes the well known interpretation that the souls he made were those individuals he and Sarah convinced to join the ranks of his burgeoning band of monotheists. 

It is against the backdrop of all that goes on in this week’s parsha that makes a comment in next week’s parsha so striking. In Parshas Vayeira, Hashem decides to inform Avraham of His decision to destroy Sodom, and does so because “כי ידעתיו—for I have known him,” (18:19) which Rashi interprets as an expression of love. Hashem loves Avraham and feels compelled to share otherwise classified information with him. What is the reason for this special bond? The pasuk continues, “לְמַעַן אֲשֶׁר יְצַוֶּה אֶת־בָּנָיו וְאֶת־בֵּיתוֹ אַחֲרָיו וְשָׁמְרוּ דֶּרֶךְ ה׳ לַעֲשׂוֹת צְדָקָה וּמִשְׁפָּט—Because Avraham will instruct his children and his household after him, and they will abide by the path of G-d, to do what is righteous and just.”

For all of Avraham’s highly public exploits, for all his efforts in promoting the path of G-d to the masses and proclaiming monotheism from the rooftops, Hashem’s love for Avraham is born out of something else entirely. It is not the public preaching that makes Hashem so enamored with Avraham, but the private instruction he offers his own family. That Avraham will direct his own children toward the path of G-d is what creates an everlasting bond of love between Hashem and Avraham. For all the efforts made in the public sphere, it is those made within the home that are most significant.

It is interesting to note that of the billions of monotheists who have graced the earth between Avraham’s time and today, none trace their lineage back to the “converts” that Avraham brought with him to Israel from Charan. None claim as their ancestor a traveling merchant or vagabond who chanced upon the doorstep of Avraham and Sarah and was convinced by their arguments to adopt a lifestyle of ethical monotheism. The monotheists of today trace their descent back to Avraham directly. They claim Avraham, and his children, and their children, as their forebears. It was not Avraham’s public preaching, but the instruction he provided to his own children in his own home that ultimately changed the face of humanity.

Perhaps Hashem is so taken with Avraham’s dedication to instructing his own family in the ways of G-d because, over the course of many generations, it is far and away the most effective means of creating systemic change. Make a scene in public and make a splash. Teach your children and change the world.

How did we end up with 100,000 people on the streets of London calling for jihad in the face of Israel’s inhumanity? A birthrate that far outstrips the rest of the population and the indoctrination of those children with jihadist dogma. The minds of these 100,000 people were not shaped by public sentiment, but by instruction from their own parents and communities. It is the dark side Avraham’s accomplishments, of what made him beloved to Hashem.

In pursuit of our own cause, public demonstrations, marches, and petitions certainly have their place. But they are stopgap measures, intended to keep Israel from being completely steamrolled in the court of public opinion and giving them enough cover to fight the war that must be fought. These are not the sort of efforts that change the world fundamentally, the sort of efforts that give Hashem the sort of nachas provided by Avraham. 

What can we do for the war effort in Israel? There are physical responses—chayalim risking their lives to defend the Jewish People, mass volunteer efforts, and donations of money and goods. There are spiritual efforts—increasing our Torah, tefilah, and faith in Hashem. These are efforts that will aid the Jewish People in the here and now, providing immediate safety and security through physical defense and spiritual merit.

But there’s a long-game we mustn’t forget. We have the ability to change the face of the Jewish People, even the world, through the instructing of future generations. When we inculcate values of serving Hashem and of keeping His Torah and mitzvos in our children, we are having an oversized impact on what the world will look like generations from now. We can only produce so much light on our own, but if our children become inspired to bear the same torch, in but one generation we’ll have increased the light by an order of magnitude.

If we’re taking our Torah more seriously, our tzedakah more seriously, let’s also take the chinuch of our children more seriously during this time of need and distress. Don’t just spend time with your children—or your grandchildren, nieces, and nephews—teach them, learn Torah with them. Talk to them about the importance of mitzvos, about the transience of material comforts, and the eternal value of spiritual pursuits. Have meaningful conversations about what life is truly about and what it is not. Teach them about emunah and bitachon, about developing a personal relationship with Hashem, and drawing more of His Presence into the world. We have a war to win not only now, but in future generations as well.

Parshas Noach 5784

If you were in shul this past Shabbos afternoon, or the Monday or Thursday morning thereafter, or have simply been reviewing this week’s parsha and gotten as far as the first the first three pesukim, you likely had the wind briefly knocked out of you:

וַתִּשָּׁחֵת הָאָרֶץ לִפְנֵי הָאֱלֹקים וַתִּמָּלֵא הָאָרֶץ חָמָס׃

^{(בראשית ו:יא)}

And the earth became corrupt before G-d. And the earth was filled with Hamas (lawlessness).

^{(Bereishis 6:11)}

If you missed the pasuk in any formal study of the Parsha, social media likely complied in bringing it to your attention. The Torah refers to lawlessness (or violence, or perhaps thievery) with the Hebrew word, Hamas. Not only is there the recognition that the earth had become filled with Hamas, but just two pesukim later, Hashem tells Noach that as a result, it must be destroyed.

It is chilling reading these words as the Jewish People find themselves ramping up for war with a group of the same name.

In this pasuk, G-d speaks in very broad and general terms. The entire earth was infected with Hamas. Every human being other than Noach and his family were beset by this unusual strain of depravity. G-d can make this sort of statement. Because He’s G-d. We need to remember that we’re not.

What existed in the time of the Flood is unique in world history. The notion that every human being on earth sunk to a state of abject moral destitution is not something we’ve known since that horribly wayward generation. Ten generations later, Hashem sets His sights on Sodom, Amorah, and the outlying areas. These cities also suffered from moral bankruptcy and the populations therein needed to be wiped out. 

But such broad, sweeping characterizations of huge throngs of people is a job that needs to be left to Hashem. Sometimes evil becomes so pronounced in action that it can be easily identified. We can readily make that sort of assessment about Hamas, now more than ever. What troubles me are the assumptions some are willing to make about all those standing in the background, the “extras” in the drama in which Hamas terrorists play the leading role. What we know is that terrorists who commit atrocities against innocent people are evil. What we don’t know is that the two million people they rule over are equally so. Broad characterizations of that nature are for G-d to make, not man.

Why do we go this route?  Because it’s easier to go to war against an enemy that is purely evil than one that is partly evil. It calms the nerves to believe that every casualty of this war is no less guilty than the terrorists who infiltrated Israel and carried out inhumane atrocities against our people. I feel more justified in calling for a war in which many people will be killed if every one of those people is actually a monster in hiding.

But do we know that that’s the case? Do we have any proof that the average civilian in Gaza is as contemptible as bona fide terrorists?

Israel must go to war. The blessing of military might that Hashem has endowed Israel with is the ability to uproot enemies that pose a threat to the Jewish People. The cold, hard reality of war is that achieving that goal means collateral damage. It means people who should not be blamed for the war will nevertheless perish in it. 

What, then, is the great difference? If war is inevitable, if it must occur, if it is the only means to the desperately needed end of safety and security for the Jewish People, who cares how we choose to characterize our enemies in that war? I think there are at least three differences.

Firstly, it means restraint. I don’t mean the sort of restraint that is sometimes imposed on Israel by other countries, by the media, or by popular opinion that hampers its ability to adequately protect itself and see evil fully uprooted before demands are made that it pull back. But the sort of restraint that is the hallmark of humanity, of not giving oneself carte blanche to attack anything and everything in sight because “they’re all evil anyway.” The sort of restraint that considers the snuffing out of a human life to be something of such magnitude that it can’t be spoken of in a cavalier manner and acts in way that attempts to limit the carnage of war while still fulfilling the stated objectives of war.

Secondly, the difference is one of honesty and truth. In a Beis Medrash, one doesn’t tolerate claims and assertions not based on fact. When we begin to paint millions of people in broad strokes, based on emotional stirrings and leanings, we’re violating a basic middah that Hashem demands of us. What is infuriating about the way the media reported the hospital explosion in Gaza is that it parroted information that various outlets wanted to be true, but had no proof that it actually was. That is an abhorrent way of operating, one that we must be above. What proof can be offered about the thoughts and feelings of two million people living in Gaza? If we have none, we can’t jump to conclusions.

Finally, giving ourselves license to make assumptions about the character of others has a cascading effect. “Everyone in Gaza is evil,” lies on the same continuum of “Everyone hates us,” and “Every non-Jew is an anti-semite.” It’s untrue and it’s unfair. So many people far beyond our own ranks have stood up and spoken up for Israel and the Jewish Nation these past two weeks. They have denounced terrorism, barbarism, and anti-Semitism, without the need to contextualize the beheading of babies against the backdrop of Israeli colonialism. There are many good and decent people in this world, and they’re not all Jews. They deserve our adopting a mentality that isn’t quick to paint people as evil out of convenience.

The Torah describes that in unleashing the Flood upon the earth, Hashem tore open all the springs of the “תהום רבה—the great deep” (7:11). Rashi notes that this punishment was measure for measure, for the people of the earth had sinned in a manner of “רבת רעת האדם—greatly evil was man’s wickedness” (6:5). The key term, the one the comparison is based upon, is “רבה” or “great”. The people sinned excessively, and Hashem punished them with excessive water.

Water can be the greatest possible blessing to mankind. In proper measure, rivers swell and produce fertile farmland, streams carry freshwater inland to make it possible to cultivate more fo the earth. But in overabundance, water is disastrous. Indeed, it can drown the whole earth. From the punishment, we can infer the crime. This was a generation of excess, that went all in on their desires, interests, passions and acted without restraint. Hashem showed them that even that which is a blessing in proper measure, becomes catastrophic when not reigned in.

We need to exercise judgment when called for. We cannot be afraid to identify evil, decry evil, and even wipe it off the map. But we also need to exercise caution in applying that label too broadly. War is oftentimes the only means a nation has at its disposable to protect itself. It may be necessary, but it’s not pretty. Let’s not make ourselves feel better about it by being less than honest.

While I try to use this space for thoughtful and cohesive comments on the Parsha and what’s going on in the world, I’m having a very hard time producing anything cohesive right now. I hope to at least be thoughtful. What follows are scattered thoughts from a confused mind during disorderly times.

We’re Supposed To Be Sad

It was just a couple weeks ago that I was speaking with community members in advance of Yom Kippur, discussing their specific medical concerns and whether or not they could and should fast. In nearly every conversation, I noted the importance of differentiating between discomfort and an acute medical need. Fasting is uncomfortable and difficult. It is supposed to be uncomfortable and difficult. Eating on Yom Kippur is for those to whom fasting poses a threat to their health, not to their comfort.

I think that a similar rubric is required now as well. For some, sadness spirals too quickly into depression, and they will need to take heavy precautions in insulating their emotional and mental state from the realities of these dark days. But most of us should be sharing in the national mourning of the Jewish People. The discomfort thereof is not an exemption from this obligation.

At the time of writing, the death toll from the Hamas attack on our People exceeds 1,200. 1,200 funerals. 1,200 shiva homes. Tens of thousands of mourners left to cope. Yes, unity means tehilim and tzedaka and care packages and volunteering and activism, but it also means simply feeling the pain of our brothers and sisters. Both because it lends greater urgency and meaning to the above activities we undertake on their behalf, but also simply to hold their mourning and grief alongside them and to allow our tears to mix with theirs.

If you are sad, if you’ve been crying, if you’re distracted throughout the day, you’re probably right where you should be. Sadness is uncomfortable, but it is the emotion we’re called upon to feel right now.

Sometimes people need to eat, even on Yom Kippur. But most of us just need the reassurance that we’re going to be hungry, it’s ok to be hungry, and we’re supposed to be hungry.

Most of us are going to be sad, it’s ok to be sad, indeed, we’re supposed to sad. This is what it means to be a caring, feeling Jew right now. 

On Civilians and Soldiers

Israel is now at war with hundreds of thousands of soldiers in tow. May Hashem watch over and protect every one. But should there be any casualties, Rachmana l’tzlan, be on guard. Such deaths will be reported as those of soldiers, not civilians. Don’t fall prey for one moment to terminology that makes those deaths seem any more legitimate or any less horrific and offensive. 

What is the difference between a 30 year old father of three killed in his home and a 30 year old father of three killed in Gaza who is there only in an attempt to uproot the sort of evil that will kill a 30 year old father of three in his home? 

The 300,000 Israelis who were called up to fight are computer programmers, accountants, and rebbeim. They are not bloodthirsty pirates looking to rape and pillage or expand borders or achieve personal glory. They are civilians who have been called upon to uproot terror and protect their People and Land. 

Putting on a khaki-green uniform may change the technical application of an international war crime. But it does not alter truth or dilute morality. There are not 300,000 soldiers itching to fight, there are 300,000 civilians who have no other choice.

“Your Departure Is Too Difficult”

Shemini Atzeres is something of an add-on holiday. It belongs to the holiday season stretching from Rosh Hashana to Sukkos, and yet has little character of its own. It is not until we put down the arba minim and exit the sukkah that we celebrate it. Where did this day come from and what is its purpose? 

Rashi on Chumash (Vayikra 23:36) explains that “Atzeres” should be interpreted as a “stop” or “halting.” Hashem tells the Jewish People that after all this time we’ve spent in such close quarters throughout the Yamim Tovim, “Kasha alai preidaschem—Your departure is too difficult for Me.” Hashem holds onto us for just one more day because He cannot bear to see us go.

It was this day, the day when Hashem says I cannot bear your departure, that hundreds of Jews were mortally wounded, ultimately departing this world altogether. 150 departed their homes at knife and gunpoint, carted off into captivity. Three hundred thousand were called upon to depart their families and homes to join the fight to defend the Jewish Nation and Homeland. 

I don’t know what this means. Hashem’s ways are beyond human comprehension. But what I’ve done with this realization is to turn it into a tefilah. “Hashem, You Who cannot tolerate a premature departure of Your People from Your embrace, were robbed of an Atzeres, a day we stay with you and do not depart Your company. You are owed a day when Your children can finish their tefilos, can finish their hakafos, can finish their celebrations of Yom Tov in Your company. Bring them home soon, in safety and security, so they may finish the Atzeres they started.”

Shemini Atzeres 5784

If you’re sitting down to work in one location for a while, it’s a good idea to keep your phone or laptop plugged in. If you’re stationary, why bother draining the battery? Ultimately, you’ll need to get up and go, and it’s worth making sure that the battery is fully charged while you can.

The Torah refers to Shemini Atzeres in highly particularistic terms: “ביום השמיני עצרת תהיה לכם—On the eighth day, it shall be a gathering for you.” Every Yom Tov is observed exclusively by the Jewish People, yet on Shemini Atzeres there is an emphasis placed on the holiday being for you—for the Jewish People specifically.

The Sfas Emes explains that during this time of year, the entirety of Creation receives an infusion of novelty. Rosh Hashana marks the judgment day of the universe and all its inhabitants—Jew and non-Jew, man and animal—and this process continues through Yom Kippur and into Hoshana Rabbah, the final day of Sukkos. The entirety of the universe benefits from the judgment and relaunching of the cosmos during this period of year. Upon its conclusion, at Shemini Atzeres, the Jew is highlighted as having processed this time of year in a unique manner.

The Sfas Emes notes that whenever a person receives a present, he benefits in two ways. The first, is from the gift itself and whatever function it serves. The second, far more profound way, is the gift within the gift, the very relationship that has been strengthened through the bestowing of the present. 

Sukkos is the celebration of being invited into Hashem’s space—The “צילא דמהימנותא,” or, “Cover of Faith” as it’s referred to by the Zohar. As a present in of itself, the sukkah is a far cry from the penthouse of a posh hotel. But we do not rejoice in the sukkah because of its physical trimmings. We do so because Hashem has chosen to share His abode with us, and there can be nothing more meaningful or flattering than that reality.

Shemini Atzeres is the celebration of having a unique relationship with Hashem that no other nation enjoys. It is the culmination of this entire period of the year, one that greatly benefits all of humanity, but is unique to the Jewish People in terms of the relationship that exists behind it. It is that relationship we celebrate and that relationship that makes Shemini Atzeres “לכם—just for you.” 

On Shemini Atzeres we transition from the Sukkah back into our homes, an experience that bridges the Yom Tov season with the lives we live the rest of the year. As we exit the sukkah, we are leaving Hashem’s home and entering our own. What happens when one leaves the home in which He is hosted? The halacha is clear; the host must escort the guest out. The Sfas Emes beautifully describes that this is exactly the phenomenon we enjoy on Shemini Atzeres. Hashem does not send us out of the sukkah unceremoniously; He escorts us a host escorts his honored guests. The unique relationship we enjoy with Hashem is on full display, and Shemini Atzeres becomes a holiday that is “לכם—just for you.” 

The Yamim Tovim charge our spiritual batteries by making major deposits into our relationship with Hashem. Ultimately, we can’t stay plugged into the wall. Our year-round responsibilities don’t permit the rigorous schedule of shul-going, seudah-prepping, and other elements of the season of Yamim Tovim. But as this time draws to an end, it’s critical that we take a bit of time to reflect of how much Hashem has invited us into His space and how much time we’ve spent there. Our relationship is real, it is deep, and it can withstand the vicissitudes of the rest of the year, even as life transitions back to “normal.”

How do we best ensure that the relationship stays healthy and strong? How do we best ensure that the battery not die on us? The answer is embedded into the very way we’ve come to celebrate this upcoming Yom Tov. For Shemini Atzeres has morphed into a day with a different title altogether: Simchas Torah. The Sfas Emes suggests that we have come to associate Shemini Atzeres with Simchas Torah because it is the Torah that contains all the blessings—all the enhancements to our relationship with Hashem—that we’ve come to enjoy throughout the Yamim Tovim of the past few weeks.

When we daven, we speak to Hashem. When we learn Torah, Hashem speaks to us. A relationship doesn’t last when only one side gets a turn to speak. If we’re serious about holding on to the relationship we’ve developed with Hashem over the past few weeks, we need to give serious thought to how often we allow His voice to reverberate throughout our lives. Where can we open up another space for limud Torah in our lives? Where can we engage in a deeper conversation with Hashem throughout the year?

Simchas Torah is the natural conclusion of the couples’ retreat we’ve enjoyed with our Beloved for the past few weeks. How do we ensure that the joy of Torah is woven into the fabric of our lives all throughout the year? How can we ensure that we the conversation, the closeness, and the relationship with Hashem is not something only felt a few weeks of the year?

Sukkos 5784

My grandmother was the most frugal person I’ve ever known. When she was over, she’d always busy herself with housework, lending as much of a helping hand as possible. And when she did the dishes, it was not uncommon to find disposable cups that had been washed and left to dry alongside the real glasses. A once-used plastic straw would occasionally lay upright next to the drying forks and knives, and even the paper towels that were used to wipe the rim of the sink would be laid over the top of the drying rack, anticipating a second lease on life. 

The world has changed, as have people, and that degree of frugality can no longer be found. But there is something beautiful about it—about the recognition that there’s far usability in so many of the things we’re quick to discard. And while it may not be worth our time to rinse and reuse plastic cups and straws, we should at least be willing to rinse and reuse elements of our own character that we may have prematurely earmarked for the trash bin.

In locating the time for celebrating Sukkos, the Torah tells us that it should be done, “באספך מגרנך ומיקבך—When you gather from your threshing floor and from your wine press” (Devarim 16:13). The Gemara in Sukkah 12a understands these words not only as instruction for when to celebrate Sukkos, but how to do so. Specifically, that when we gather the plant matter that remains after threshing our grain and pressing our grapes—the discarded stalks of wheat and grape vines now bereft of their fruit—we are holding in our hands that which should be utilized for the s’chach of the sukkah. 

There is something about this description that makes the sukkah seem almost like an afterthought. Indeed, in describing the materials that Torah references as befitting for s’chach, the Gemara states, “בפסולת גרן ויקב הכתוב מדבר—The verse speaks of the refuse of the threshing floor and the wine press.” As Jews engage, on the one hand, in the pursuit of the most beautiful specimens of the four minim that money can buy, they simultaneously gather materials that the Gemara considers “refuse” in fulfillment of the other great mitzvah of Sukkos. Why is the s’chach referred to in such harsh terms?

Much is made of the relationship between Sukkos and the holidays that so closely precede it, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. It of course is no accident that we’re barely given time to get our needs for Yom Tov in order before we are commanded to pivot directly from the Aseres Y’mei Teshuva to celebrating Sukkos. Perhaps as we emerge from this season of teshuva, the materials we gather for the sukkah is helping us make the appropriate transition to life in our renewed, repented state.

If you took the teshuva process seriously, you undoubtedly identified areas of your own character and personality you’d prefer to be without. If my jealousy, impatience, and lust could simply be exorcised from within me, how many fewer transgressions would I have committed? How much more easily could I have become the person I truly wish to be? 

To this, the Torah tells us no. Do not believe that the teshuva process has identified parts of your very self that ought to be discarded. For it is the p’soles—the very waste of the harvest—that is actually used to construct the sukkah, the shared space you’ll enjoy with the Shechinah. Sins can be spoken of in strict black and white terms. Middos, on the other hand, lay on a continuum. If a portion of your character has heretofore churned out underwhelming outcomes, it can nonetheless be repurposed redirected towards more positive results.

The person who wishes he could crush his impuosity may actually have the fire in his belly to launch immensely worthwhile projects. The person frustrated by his predisposition towards laziness may actually be blessed with tolerance and the ability to be still and considerate without getting antsy. Who we are at our very core should not—and, frankly, cannot—be discarded. It is this very “waste” or “refuse” that can become the stuff of which our abode with Hashem is constructed.

It is easy to be dismissive when it comes to unwanted aspects of our own personalities. Indeed, identifying parts of who we are as objectively “bad” lets us off the hook, doesn’t it? Hashem made me this way, after all, which means I’m just doomed to failure. And He can’t possibly hold it against me.

What is far more difficult is to turn those middos over a few more times and consider, “How can I use this?” This nugget of my character that caused so much trouble this past year, that left a laundry list of “al chet’s” in its wake—how can it be redirected towards more desired results? It’s easy to identify refuse, to see something as useless and pointless. But as we sit under roofs of p’soles, we should consider how we can wash and clean those aspects of ourselves we’d initially choose to just be without. How can we be more frugal with our very middos? What is the p’soles of our lives that can be rediscovered for the immense value hidden within?

Parshas Haazinu 5784

“Helicopter Parent” is a pejorative term. It refers to the incessant presence of a parent who just won’t go away, won’t give their child the space to independently grow and develop. A micromanager. A bubble wrapper. It seems that Hashem is a hovering parent, too. But He keeps just enough distance.

In one of the most beautiful allegories in all of Tanach of the relationship between ourselves and Hashem, Parshas Haazinu describes:

כְּנֶשֶׁר יָעִיר קִנּוֹ עַל־גּוֹזָלָיו יְרַחֵף יִפְרֹשׂ כְּנָפָיו יִקָּחֵהוּ יִשָּׂאֵהוּ עַל־אֶבְרָתוֹ׃

^{דברים לב:יא}

Like an eagle rousing its nestlings, he hovers above his young, he spread his wings to take them, to bear them upon his pinions.

^{Devarim 32:11}

The pasuk sounds like it’s describing Hashem as a helicopter parent. But  Rav Tzaddok Hakohen explains that the intention of this metaphor is actually not to convey how close Hashem is, but how distant. 

The reality of the hovering bird, explains Rav Tzaddok, is that its wing will briefly graze the body of the baby, but then retreat the very next moment. There is a constant back-and-forth, or up-and-down, that the bird hovering above the nest is engaged in. We touch the parent’s wing one moment, but in an instant it departs.

Rav Tzaddok notes that this is the fundamental state of Hashem’s interaction with the world He created. So much so, in fact, that we find the notion of His hovering presence referred to as early as the very first stages of the creation of the universe. In just the second pasuk of the entire Torah, we read that, “ורוח אלקים מרחפת על פני הים—The spirit of G-d hovered upon the surface of the water.” 

There is a natural ebb and flow in the connection we will feel with Hashem, and it’s critical that we be aware of that from the outset. The nature of an omnipotent being interacting with a finite world means that there will be distance, that being acutely conscious of Hashem’s presence will be sporadic at best. 

What difference does that all make? A colossal one, actually. How often do we feel that we’ve sensed Hashem, became fully aware of His presence in our lives, only to find that that feeling has dissipated but a moment later. And where does that leave us? At best frustrated that we couldn’t hold onto the feeling, that there must be something wrong with us. And at worst, doubting if the experience was even real in the first place. It departed so quickly, was I just imagining the whole thing? 

We can begin to question our own spiritual aptitude and ability to properly connect with Hashem at all. And if we’re so bad at it, why bother in the first place?

It is crucial that we realize that this is just the way it is. That it is meant to be this way. The reality of our relationship with Hashem—by its very nature—is that one moment will feel His feather upon our cheek, feel the air from His beating wings upon our face, and the next moment we can’t detect Him at all. If we start to define the health of our relationship with Him by the constancy of feeling His presence, we’ll soon feel disheartened. 

We must always be of this mindset and have this awareness about our interaction with Hashem, but even more so during this time of year. The Gemara in Rosh Hashana 18a notes that the ten days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur is the period of time referred to by the pasuk in Yeshaya (55:6), “דרשו ה׳ בהמצאו קראוהו בהיותו קרוב—Seek out Hashem while He may be found, call out to Him while He is close.” This is a time of year when Hashem is closer—more accessible—than any other time of year.

Have you felt that? Have you felt Hashem’s hand upon your shoulder, guiding you towards teshuva, towards a better path, giving you opportunities for spiritual growth that have come more easily than they usually do? Have you felt His embrace while davening on Rosh Hashana, convinced that you were closer than ever?

Consider yourself fortunate if you have. There’s nothing more blissful than feeling close to Hashem—it is quite literally a taste of Paradise here on Earth—but know that it won’t last. It can’t last. It’s the nature of the world Hashem Has constructed—He hovers, but He doesn’t land. If you believe that you’ve reached a new plateau in your relationship with Hashem, when the earth gives out beneath you you’ll be completely unprepared for the landslide that follows.

The key is to find those things now that will keep your feet planted even when the rug is swept out from beneath you. Define your relationship with Hashem by the mitzvos you perform, the Torah you learn, and the sacrifices you make, not by feelings alone. Feelings are fleeting. They’re supposed to be. It’s part and parcel of the system He devised.

And what if you haven’t experienced those feelings? If you haven’t felt Hashem’s wing brush your side? Not every baby in the nest necessarily will. Hashem’s presence is constant, but the feeling is elusive. Did you daven on Rosh Hashana in earnest? Are you using the Aseres Y’mei Teshuva to develop better habits and put more distance between yourself and the bad ones? Then you’re close. Very close. Staying in the nest is a win, whether you feel the father bird or not. And, by the way, the longer you stay in the nest, the more likely you’ll feel Him at some point.

On this note, there’s one more startling observation Rav Tzaddok HaKohen makes. When we recite a bracha, we vacillate between referring to Hashem in the second person and the third person. We begin a bracha with “Baruch Atah—Blessed are You,” speaking with Hashem as though He is directly opposite us. But it immediately devolves into “Shehakol nih’yeh b’dvaro—For everything was created by His word.” Not “Your word,” but “His word”! This, explains Rav Tzaddok, is just how quickly we can go from feeling Hashem’s Presence to not, from sensing Him palpably to not. From the beginning of a sentence to its end, we can see Hashem before our very eyes, to not being able to discern Him through the haze.

If we know this, we can act accordingly. We can cut ourselves slack for not always feeling the way we believe holy and spiritual people are supposed to feel. Indeed, for not always feeling how we ourselves felt during moments of intense spiritual clarity. We can operate with the knowledge that Hashem hovers just above our heads, even if we don’t always feel it. 

Parshas Nitzavim-Vayeilech 5783

A number of years ago, my family and I were winding our way through Ben Gurion Ariport, about to make the return flight home from Israel. Posted on the wall between security and the terminal was a poster I won’t soon forget. In bold text were the words, “בחו׳׳ל, המדינה זה אתה! ייצג אותנו בכבוד!—In the diaspora, you are the State of Israel! Represent us honorably!”

There is much truth in that sign. On many occasions, I’ve been stopped by a complete stranger who took my yarmulke as license to share their thoughts about Israeli politics and policies—whether enthusiastically for or virulently against—as though it was a badge connoting my position of ambassador on behalf of the Jewish State. 

It is, perhaps, for similar reasons, that the Jewish People rose to their feet as Moshe Rabbeinu wound down his final instruction to his beloved nation, poised to send them off into Eretz Yisrael without him at their head.

In the first pasuk of this week’s double-parsha, Moshe comments, “אתם נצבים היום כלכם—You are all standing here today.” Why is it of any consequence that the Jews were standing, rather than sitting? Why make specific mention of their physical posture in addressing them?

It is interesting—telling, really—that Moshe uses the word נצבים rather than עומדים. While the latter would be the term used to describe that one is neither sitting nor lying down, נצבים, bears the connotation not only of standing, but standing for. Related to the word נצבים is the word מצבה, a monument—a stone or other item that marks a location as being significant. That the monument itself stands erect is irrelevant; its purpose is to call attention to what lays behind or beneath it. 

This, then, is the charge that Moshe is giving his people. They must remember that they stand for something greater than themselves. Living a life of mitzvos is about more than just fulfilling an abstract collection of items on a checklist; it is about serving as a representative of Hashem by leading a life reflective of His ideals and values. 

The State of Israel wants every Israeli—indeed, every Jew—to be conscious of the role they serve in representing the State. Moshe Rabbeinu wanted every Jew passing into Israel to be conscious of doing more than just appeasing G-d by observing His mitzvos, and then getting down to the business of building a comfortable life and realizing their own personal goals. A Jew is a representative of G-d, and there can be no greater responsibility, nor more sublime privilege, than that.

It is worth noting that a מצבה—a single-stone monument erected in service of Hashem—is actually forbidden by the Torah. Though the Torah records such stones being placed by the Avos, they were deemed forbidden in the formulation of the Torah given to the nation at Sinai. Rav Moshe Feinstein explains that a מצבה cannot be used as an expression of our serving Hashem because, being comprised of but one stone, it is static. A Jew’s avodah, on the other hand, must be dynamic, ever growing and developing as he or she advances in age. 

I’ve long believed that this is the reason behind the custom of placing small stones on the headstone when visiting a grave. Being that a grave marker is comprised of but one single stone, we may give the impression that the legacy of the individual whose remains are buried under that stone are fixed. But memory doesn’t work that way. As we remember those who impacted our lives, their example continues to shape our actions long after they’ve passed. We add stones upon paying a visit to their grave to indicate that their legacy continues to expand and grow, even without their physical presence.

אתם נצבים—you are all standing, or rather, you are all monuments. Every Jew serves as a representative of Hashem’s Torah, values, and ideals. And as such, every Jew must be mindful of the Torah’s prohibition against a מצבה, and its inherent pitfalls. We must demand of ourselves not only that we grow in mitzvos, exercising greater care and caution in observance of halacha as we grow older, but also that we serve as better representatives of Hashem with each passing year. 

The Baal HaTanya comments that the day Moshe gathered the People at the beginning of the parsha was none other than Rosh Hashana. “אתם נצבים היום כלכם—You are all standing here today” suggests an especially important day, namely, the first day of the year. 

As Rosh Hashana approaches, it is of particular importance that we consider how we’re advancing as representatives of Hashem’s values. Was this past year better than the previous one? Will this coming year be better still? Have we become more refined, more polite, more friendly? Are we more responsible, honest, and caring? Are we quicker to offer a smile and a compliment than we’ve been in the past? Do people who cross our paths feel uplifted, energized by being in the presence of someone living with G-d?

If you wear a yarmulke, or any other Jewish trapping, strangers may well assume that you represent the State of Israel. They’re also likely to assume that you represent the Jewish People and its understanding of Hashem’s principles and values. Be sure to act the part. The totality of mitzvos we fulfill, halachos we perform, and middos we perfect should combine to create a state of being ever conscious of Hashem’s presence. See the privilege in serving as a monument on G-d’s behalf, and continue to add to its size and grandeur.