Parasha Insight

We read in Parashat Hayeh-Sara the famous story of Abraham sending his trusted servant, Eliezer, to his hometown of Aram Naharayim for the purpose of finding a suitable match for Yishak. The Midrash, cited by Rashi (Bereshit 24:39), reveals to us an astounding detail about this story, one which sheds Eliezer's character in an entirely new light. Eliezer, the Midrash tells, had a daughter, and he very much wished that she would marry Yishak. He wanted nothing more than to join the distinguished family of Abraham Abinu. This is why, the Midrash adds, Eliezer asked Abraham what would happen if the suitable girl in Aram Naharayim did not want to move to Eretz Yisrael to marry Yishak. Eliezer used the word "Ulai' – "perhaps," imagining the situation of the girl refusing to leave her hometown, but this word is spelled like the word "Elai" – "to me." Eliezer posed this question with ulterior motives, hoping that Abraham would at least allow for the possibility of Eliezer's daughter marrying Yishak. However, the Midrash teaches, Abraham dismissed this possibility. He explained to Eliezer that as a descendant of Ham, Noah's son whom Noah had cursed, he cannot join the family of Abraham, which received a special blessing from Hashem. Remarkably, this rejection had no impact whatsoever on Eliezer's mission. He proceeded to faithfully discharge his duty in the best way possible, doing everything he could to convince Ribka's family to allow her to leave and marry Yishak. Eliezer harbored no feelings of resentment, and felt no envy. He was the exemplar of a faithful, loyal servant, fulfilling his obligations to his master at the expense of his personal interests. The Midrash concludes by telling us that Eliezer eventually transformed his status of "cursed" to that of "blessed." When he arrived at Ribka's home, Ribka's brother, Laban, greeted him by exclaiming, "Bo Beruch Hashem" – "Come, he who is blessed by G-d" (24:31). Hashem placed these words in Laban's mouth as a declaration that from this point, Eliezer was no longer "cursed," but "blessed." The question then arises, in what way was Eliezer now "blessed"? His daughter was still ineligible to marry Yishak. So what exactly did this new "blessed" status offer Eliezer? The answer, perhaps, is based on a teaching of the Arizal, that Eliezer's soul returned many years later, in the person of Kaleb, one of the twelve spies sent by Moshe Rabbenu to survey the Land of Israel. The Gemara (Sota 34b) teaches that when the spies arrived in the land, Kaleb separated from the others and went to Hebron, to pray at Me'arat Ha'machpela, the burial site of the patriarchs. Knowing that his comrades were scheming to speak negatively about the Land of Israel, Kaleb prayed for the strength and wherewithal to withstand the pressure and dissent. Having been a servant of Abraham Abinu in a previous life, he went to Me'arat Ha'machpela, his master's grave. Kaleb was then rewarded by receiving rights to the city of Hebron, which he had visited, and this is the "blessing" that he earned through his loyalty to Abraham. This connection between Eliezer and Kaleb runs even deeper. The Zohar teaches that the spies betrayed Moshe Rabbenu's trust because of their personal agenda. These men were the leaders of the tribes, and they realized that they would lose their prestigious position once Beneh Yisrael cross into the land. They thus had an interest in luring Beneh Yisrael to refuse to proceed, so they could retain their leadership posts. Kaleb, possessing the soul of Eliezer, remained faithful to his mission despite the sacrifice entailed. Unlike his peers, he did not compromise his loyalty for the sake of pursuing his own personal agenda – continuing the quality shown by Eliezer. Each and every one of us is a servant of Hashem. We must learn from Eliezer's example about the importance of steadfast, unwavering loyalty to our Master, even at the expense of our personal interests. Torah observance demands making sacrifices, and sometimes it demands making significant sacrifices – of time, of comfort, of convenience, and of money. And it is precisely when sacrifice becomes necessary that our loyalty is tested. Let us follow Eliezer's example of faithfulness, of uncompromising loyalty to our Master, so that we, too, will be "blessed" in every which way, Amen.

Parashat Vayera begins, "G-d appeared to him in Eloneh Mamreh." Hashem appeared to Abraham, but, surprisingly, the Torah does not tell us that Hashem spoke to Abraham or communicated with him at all during this revelation. This might be the reason why Rashi explains that G-d appeared for the purpose of Bikur Holim – to visit the sick. Abraham, at the age of 99, had just undergone circumcision, and was writhing in pain, and so Hashem came to visit him. The Misva of Bikur Holim does not require the visitor to speak to the patient; simply showing up, being present, and displaying concern brings the patient a degree of comfort and encouragement. Rashi therefore understood that when the Torah says that G-d appeared to Abraham without speaking, it means that He came to visit him because he was ill. The Seforno (Rav Ovadia Seforno, Italy, 1475-1550), however, explains differently. He writes that Hashem came to Abraham because the act of circumcision marks the forging of a covenant. We refer to circumcision as a "Berit Mila" – a covenant ("Berit"), and this is precisely how Hashem described this Misva when introducing it to Abraham in the previous Parasha (chapter 17). Now when two parties make a deal with one another, they must both be present. Naturally, then, right after Abraham performed the Mila, Hashem arrived for the finalization of His covenant with Abraham and his descendants. The Seforno proceeds to offer a fascinating insight on this basis into the time-honored custom of setting aside a special chair at a Berit Mila. The conventional understanding is that Eliyahu Ha'nabi is forced to attend every Berit Mila because he unfairly accused the Jewish People of disregarding their covenant with Hashem. In response, G-d decreed that Eliyahu would personally witness the circumcision of every Jewish child, to see that they remain committed to the covenant. The Seforno, however, suggests that this chair represents Hashem's presence at this covenantal ceremony. We might say that Eliyahu is G-d's "agent," who received "power of attorney" to represent G-d as the covenant is made between Him and the child. A covenant, by definition, is a "two-way street," a bilateral agreement, and so Hashem needs to be present at every Berit Mila. The "Kiseh Shel Eliyahu" is prepared as the seat where Eliyahu sits to represent Hashem. This might also answer the famous question asked by many commentators as to why Abraham had not performed a Berit Mila earlier. The Gemara teaches that Abraham observed all the Misvot, even though the Torah had not been given, because he realized on his own how Hashem wanted him to live. If so, then why did he wait until he was commanded before undergoing Berit Mila? According to the Seforno's explanation, the answer is clear. Berit Mila is an act that creates a covenant between the individual and Hashem, and so, by definition, it cannot be performed without Hashem's involvement. Abraham could not enter into a covenant with Hashem until Hashem informed him of this covenant and decided the time had come for such a relationship. Therefore, it was only after Hashem commanded Abraham to perform Berit Mila as a sign of the covenant that he did so.

The Torah in Parashat Lech-Lecha tells of the birth of Abraham Abinu's first son, Yishmael. When Sara saw that she could not conceive, she had Abraham marry her maidservant, Hagar, as his second wife, and Hagar conceived and gave birth to Yishmael. The Torah informs us that Abraham was 86 years when Yishmael was born (16:16). Rashi explains that the Torah did not provide this information merely as a matter of historical intrigue. Rather, it was speaking in praise of Yishmael. Later in the Parasha, we read that Abraham was 99 years old when he and the males in his household underwent Berit Mila. The Torah tells us that Abraham was 86 when Yishmael was born so we would know that Yishmael was 13 years old when he was circumcised. Rashi writes that Yishmael did not resist, and underwent the painful procedure – without anesthesia – willingly. When I read Rashi's comments, I am brought back to unforgettable experience I had some years ago, when I joined Rav Matisyahu Salomon, the famous Mashgiah of Lakewood (1937-2024), on a mission to Tbilisi, for the purpose of strengthening the Jewish community there. One of the ambitious projects undertaken was performing Berit Mila for the many Jewish boys and men who had not yet received one. We had a Mohel with us in a group, and it was inspiring to see boys and men of all ages who lined up with enthusiasm to undergo Berit Mila. Afterward, the Mohel shared with us his reflections on this experience. For many years, he said, the descendants of Yishmael have been able to inflict a great deal of harm upon the Jewish People, and this is due to the great merit of Yishmael, who willfully underwent circumcision at the age of 13. Hashem therefore arranged that in our generation, there would be Jews who did not receive a Berit Mila as infants, and who would come forward to receive one at an older age. The merit of this sacrifice would counteract the merit of Yishmael, and pave the way for our victory over Yishmael's descendants and our final redemption, may it unfold speedily and in our times. The lesson for us is the importance of sacrifice. In order to earn the Zechut (merit) to defeat Yishmael, we must be prepared to sacrifice for the sake of Misvot, and to do so happily, like Yishmael did. If Yishmael joyfully had a Berit Mila as a grown boy, then we must be willing to perform Misvot even when this is uncomfortable or inconvenient. Hashem does not make demands that involve severe physical pain like that which Yishmael endured when receiving a Berit Mila, but He does demand that we exert effort and that we sacrifice comfort and convenience for the sake of His service. If we are going to defeat the wicked descendants of Yishmael who continue to threaten us, we must neutralize the merit of Yishmael through self-sacrifice, by devoting ourselves to Torah and Misvot even when it is difficult.

The Gemara in Masechet Zevahim (116) tells that at the time of Matan Torah, a loud, thunderous noise was heard throughout the world. The kings came to Bilam, the gentile prophet, to ask what was happening. They feared that G-d was bringing a flood to destroy the earth, as He had done during the times of Noach. Bilam assured them by reminding them of the promise Hashem made to Noach after he left the ark, that He would never again destroy the earth. The noise that the people heard, Bilam explained, was the sound of Hashem giving His beloved nation the sacred Torah. How might we understand this story – that the event of Matan Torah was initially mistaken for a repeat of the flood? The answer emerges from a fascinating comment of the Zohar, in Parashat Pinhas, teaching that the Torah was supposed to have been given during the time of Noach. The flood of water that destroyed the earth was initially to have been a "flood" of wisdom and spirituality. But that generation was sinful and undeserving of the Torah, and so G-d flooded the world with water instead of with Torah. This explains an otherwise baffling passage in the Gemara, in Masechet Hulin, where the Gemara asks where the Torah makes an allusion to Moshe Rabbenu. The Gemara answers by citing a verse toward the end of Parashat Bereshit (6:3) in which G-d bemoans the sinfulness of the generation of the flood ("Be'shagam Hu Basar"). The word "Be'shagam" in this verse in Gematria equals 345 – the same Gematria as the name "Moshe," and it is in this verse, the Gemara states, where the Torah makes an allusion to Moshe Rabbenu. The Gemara's discussion seems very peculiar. The vast majority of the Torah is about Moshe. Why must the Gemara search for a subtle allusion to him? The answer might be that the Gemara searched for an allusion to Moshe in the context of the originally intended time of Matan Torah. As he was the one who brought us the Torah, we should expect him to be associated in some way with the story of the flood, the period when the Torah was to have been given to the world. The Gemara found such an allusion in the word "Be'sha'gam" describing the generation of the flood. The Arizal developed this point even further, teaching that Moshe's soul was a "Gilgul" (reincarnation) of Noach's soul. This special soul descended to give the Torah, but the generation of the flood was unworthy, so this soul returned centuries later in the form of Moshe Rabbenu, who brought the Torah to Beneh Yisrael. This is evidenced by the fact that Moshe's mother, Yochebed, placed him in a "Teba" (basket) to hide him from the Egyptians (Shemot 2:3). This marks the only time in the Torah when the word "Teba" is used except during the story of Noach, who of course built a "Teba" (ark). As these two righteous men shared the same soul, they were both saved in a "Teba." What might be the practical lesson to be learned from this? What is the significance of the fact that the Torah was to be given during the time of Noach, but the event of Matan Torah was substituted with the flood? The explanation, perhaps, is that Torah, like the flood, destroys – specifically, it destroys the Yeser Ha'ra, people's sinful inclinations and tendencies. The connection between Torah and the flood teaches us that the Torah is given to us to destroy the negative aspects of our characters. If we properly devote ourselves to Torah learning, and we open our minds and our hearts to imbibe its timeless wisdom and its sanctity, we have an opportunity to be refined and cleansed. Just as the floodwaters in Noach's time had the effect of resetting the earth, so does Torah have the power to "reset" our souls, to change us, to make us better and more spiritual beings. Let us, then, commit to utilizing this sacred gift to "destroy" our Yeser Ha'ra and draw closer to Hashem.

The Midrash (Midrash Tehillim 92) relates that after Adam was forgiven for his sin of eating the forbidden fruit in Gan Eden, he sang a song – a song known to us as "Mizmor Shir La'Yom Ha'Shabbat," the 92 chapter of Tehillim. It was on Shabbat that Adam was told that he was forgiven, and so he sung this special song about Shabbat. Appropriately, we recite this chapter as part of our Kabbalat Shabbat service at the onset of Shabbat on Friday night, and this chapter has been designated as the "Shir Shel Yom" for Shabbat, the Psalm associated with this day of the week. Strikingly, however, when we read this chapter, it does not speak about Shabbat at all. After the introductory verse, which identifies this chapter as the special Psalm for Shabbat, there is no mention of Shabbat whatsoever. Why, then, is this the song especially composed for Shabbat? To answer this question, let us briefly examine what this chapter does talk about. The opening verses emphasize that we are to praise and express gratitude to Hashem under all circumstances. "Le'hagid Ba'boker Hasdecha, Ve'emunatecha Ba'lelot" – "To speak of Your kindness in the morning, and Your faith in the nights" (92:3). We must praise Hashem not only in the "daytime," when we enjoy the "light" of joy and good fortune, but also "in the nights," when we find ourselves engulfed by darkness, beset by troubles and hardships. Later, this chapter addresses the famous, baffling reality that the righteous often suffer while the wicked often prosper. Adam here assures us that the righteous will ultimately receive their due reward, whereas the wicked will receive their due punishment. This chapter is associated with Shabbat because the weekly Shabbat that we observe offers us a glimpse of the eternal Shabbat – the next world, when we will achieve perfect clarity and will see how everything is for the best. The Gemara (Pesahim 50a) teaches about the difference between our world and the next world. Here in this world, we celebrate good fortune by reciting the blessing, "Ha'tob Ve'ha'metib," thanking Hashem for His goodness, but when misfortune strikes, Heaven forbid, we solemnly recite "Dayan Ha'emet," acknowledging G-d as the "true Judge." In the next world, however, we will jubilantly recite "Ha'tob Ve'ha'metib" over all events that transpire. The Tzelah (Rav Yechezkel Landau of Prague, 1713-1793) explains this to mean that in the future, we will look back upon all the misfortunes that took place and realize how they were, in fact, good. We will be shown how everything was for the best – even the tragic, painful events that we experienced. In our world, we rightfully mourn and grieve when misfortune strikes. But we must believe that the time will come when we will be shown how ultimately, everything was, in truth, for the best. On Shabbat, we are lifted ever so slightly up from our world, and brought into a different reality – into a realm called "Me'en Olam Ha'ba," a "miniature" Olam Ha'ba (the next world), where we experience a small degree of the clarity of the next world. If we observe Shabbat properly, we receive a boost of Emuna, a greater level of serenity, more emotional strength to accept the challenging aspects of our lives and enjoy happiness and contentment. The precious gift of Shabbat offers us more than a day off from work, and an opportunity to spend more time with family and friends – as significant as this of course is. The gift of Shabbat is the gift of Emuna, the gift of peace of mind. We are able to experience – to some small degree – the faith and unbridled joy of Olam Ha'ba. This is why the chapter written by Adam is chosen as the special Psalm for Shabbat. This is the day when, more than on any other, we are able to deeply feel that "Tob Le'hodot L'Hashem U'l'zamer Le'shimcha Elyon" – that it is good to thank and praise Hashem, that everything He does is for our benefit, even when we face hardship. This weekly boost of Emuna gives us the strength we need for the coming week, fortifying us with the belief that no matter what challenges we confront, everything that happens is for the best.

Why is Sukkot celebrated for seven days? Pesach is a seven-day holiday because the miracle of the Exodus culminated a week after our ancestors left Egypt, with the splitting of the sea and the drowning of the Egyptian army. But for what reason is Sukkot observed as a seven-day celebration? An answer could perhaps be suggested based on the famous explanation of the Gaon of Vilna (1720-1797) for the Sukkot celebration. According to one view in the Gemara (Sukka 11b), the Sukka that we live in during this holiday commemorates the Ananeh Ha'kabod – the supernatural "clouds of glory" that encircled Beneh Yisrael in the wilderness, protecting them from harm. This is the view accepted by the Shulhan Aruch (Orah Haim 625). The Gaon addressed the question as to why specifically this miracle was worthy of a special Yom Tob, as opposed to the other miracles that G-d performed for Beneh Yisrael in the wilderness, such as the Manna that fell daily from the heavens, and the well that provided water wherever they went. What was special about the Ananei Ha'kabod that warrants a Yom Tob? Another question that arises is why this celebration is held specifically on the 15 of Tishri. How is this date associated with the Ananeh Ha'kabod? The Gaon of Vilna offered a brilliant answer, noting the chronology of the events following the sin of the golden calf at Mount Sinai. The Sages teach that it was on Yom Kippur, the 10 of Tishri – nearly three months after the people worshipped the calf, on the 17 of Tammuz – when G-d announced His forgiveness for this grievous sin. The next day, Moshe assembled the people and conveyed to them the command to build the Mishkan. Over the next three days – the 12, 13, and 14 of Tishri – the people brought materials for this project, and the construction began the next day, the 15 of Tishri. The Gaon thus explains that in response to the worship of the golden calf, G-d withdrew the precious clouds of glory, as the people were no longer worthy of this special gift. Once they began building the Mishkan, however, He restored the clouds – signifying the complete restoration of His bond of love with the people. Sukkot, then, celebrates not the Ananeh Ha'kabod themselves – but rather the return of the Ananeh Ha'kabod, the fact that Hashem not only forgave Beneh Yisrael for the golden calf, but was prepared to resume His unique relationship with them in response to their genuine repentance. In truth, however, G-d did more than merely restore His bond with Beneh Yisrael. Rav Moshe Cordovero (Sefat, 1522-1570), in his work Tomer Deborah, discusses G-d's thirteen attributes of mercy as expressed by the prophet Micha (7:18-20). One of these attributes is articulated through the phrase "Yashub Yerahamenu" (literally, "He shall again have compassion"). The Tomer Deborah explains this to mean that Hashem shows a sinner greater mercy after he performs Teshuba than He did before he committed the wrongful act. Meaning, if one genuinely repents, Hashem does not restore the relationship to what it had been prior to the misdeed – He makes it even stronger. As the Gemara (Berachot 34b) teaches, the pristinely righteous are unable to stand in the place where penitent sinners stand ("Makom She'ba'aleh Teshuba Omedin Sadikim Gemurim Enam Omedin"). Once a person fell into sin, it takes an enormous amount of strength and conviction to change his behavior and repent. Therefore, through genuine Teshuba, one earns even greater closeness to Hashem than He experienced before the sin. On this basis, we might gain further insight into the celebration of Sukkot. "Yashub Yerahamenu" is the seventh of G-d's attributes of mercy listed by the prophet Micha. Perhaps, then, Sukkot is observed for seven days as an allusion to this unique quality – indicating that on the 15 of Tishri, Beneh Yisrael became even closer to Hashem than they had been before the sin of the golden calf. When G-d restored the Ananeh Ha'kabod, He did more than bring the relationship back to where it had been – He made it even stronger. This sheds new light on the description of Sukkot in our prayers as "Zeman Simhatenu" – "the time of our joy." There can be no greater joy than recognizing this remarkable quality of Hashem – His willingness to draw even closer to us after we sin than He was before we sinned. His mercy extends so far that He cherishes our efforts to grow and improve even after we've fallen to the lowest depths. As long as we repent sincerely, truly seeking to return to G-d and faithfully serve Him, He not only welcomes us back – but is prepared to bring us even closer than we had been beforehand.

The Haftarah read on Shabbat Shuba – the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur – is among the most famous Haftarot read throughout the year. Taken from the Book of Hoshea, it begins with the prophet Hoshea's timeless cry, "Shuba Yisrael Ad Hashem Elokecha" – "Return, O Israel, unto Hashem your G-d" (Hoshea 14:2). The Midrash (Bereshit Rabba 84:19) traces the origins of this prophecy all the way back to the Book of Bereshit, to the story of the sale of Yosef. After the brothers lifted Yosef from the pit and sold him to merchants, the Torah writes, "Va'yashab Reuben El Ha'bor" – the oldest brother, Reuben, "returned to the pit" (Bereshit 37:29). The Midrash raises the question of where Reuben had gone that he is now described as "returning." The answer, the Midrash explains, is that Reuben had left to resume his prayers and repentance for his sin involving his stepmother, Bilha. After Rachel – Yaakob Abinu's primary wife – passed away, Yaakob moved his bed into the tent of Bilha, Rachel's maidservant whom Yaakob had married. Reuben saw this as an affront to his mother, Leah, and so he moved Yaakob's bed out of Bilha's tent into Leah's tent. This meddling in his father's private affairs was considered a grave affront to his father, for which Reuben repented. The Midrash continues that G-d declared to Reuben: "No person had ever sinned before Me and repented, and you were the first to initiate repentance." In reward, G-d proclaimed, Reuben's descendant – the prophet Hoshea – would be the one to call upon the people to repent. Many writers addressed the question of how the Midrash could make such a claim – that nobody sinned and then repented before Reuben. Numerous sources speak of Adam repenting for his sin in Gan Eden, and of Kayin repenting for murdering his brother. In what way was Reuben the first person in world history to repent? One answer given to this question lies in an important distinction between repentance inspired by external influences, and self-motivated repentance, which is driven by one's own desire for growth and for a close connection with Hashem. An illustration of this distinction is the Gemara's discussion of the contrast between Beneh Yisrael's acceptance of the Torah at Mount Sinai, and the Jews' reaffirmation of this acceptance in the time of the Purim story. In Masechet Shabbat (88a), the Gemara relates that when Beneh Yisrael stood at Sinai, G-d uprooted the mountain and suspended it over their heads, threatening to destroy them if they did not accept the Torah. The Gemara adds that whereas the Torah was initially accepted under coercion, many centuries later – after the Jews were saved from Haman's threat – they accepted the Torah willingly, of their own volition. This has been explained to mean that at Sinai, the people beheld an unprecedented revelation of G-d, such that their free will was suspended. They were not actually "coerced"; rather, they beheld G-d so clearly that they could not even countenance the possibility of refusing the Torah. The revelation was so vivid that there was no other reasonable option. In direct contrast, in Persia, there was no revelation or overt miracles. Events transpired in a manner that appeared entirely random, with G-d's hand concealed behind the veil of the world's natural order. And at that time, the Jews reaffirmed their commitment to Torah through their own initiative, without any external influence or inspiration. Both Adam and Kayin repented after G-d confronted them and reprimanded them for their wrongdoing. Their repentance was initiated by G-d, not by themselves. Reuben was the first one who initiated his process of repentance. No one came to him to criticize him for what he did. He recognized on his own that he had acted improperly, and performed Teshuba – thus becoming the first person to repent through his own motivation, without G-d or somebody else urging him to do so. Of course there is great value in receiving inspiration, in accepting criticism, in exposing oneself to people who will open his eyes to what he needs to improve and how can can grow. However, the most enduring Teshuba is self-motivated Teshuba, a person's own initiative to change. Indeed, soon after G-d's revelation at Sinai, the people worshipped the golden calf. When repentance is driven by external factors, the process might not last once those factors are no longer present. The best chance we have for enduring change is to make the decision without inspiration from anybody or anything else, to understand on our own, without being told, that we need to improve. This is Hoshea's call to us – "Shuba Yisrael." He is asking us to make the decision ourselves, not to wait to be told to correct our behavior, not to wait for a speaker to inspire us, or for some dramatic event to shake us up. If we really want to change, we need to jumpstart the process ourselves, without waiting for someone or something to start it for us.

It is clear that "Malchut" – G-d's Kingship over the world – is the dominant theme of Rosh Hashanah. If we quickly review the text of the Rosh Hashanah prayers, this becomes very evident. We repeat numerous times that Hashem is King over the universe. And Rav Saadia Gaon (882-942) writes that one of the reasons we blow the Shofar is because Rosh Hashanah is the day of G-d's coronation, and so we blow the Shofar just as trumpets are sounded at a king's coronation. But what exactly does it mean to crown Hashem as King? What does this require? Does it suffice to hear the Shofar and shout "Hashem Melech…" during the Rosh Hashanah prayer service? A powerful insight into the deeper meaning of Rosh Hashanah, and what this occasion demands of us, was offered by Rav Yitzchak Hutner (1906-1980). He explained that in order for there to be a king, there must be subjects who have some resemblance to the king. Thus, for example, the lion is king of the jungle, but the eagle is the king over the birds. The lion cannot reign over birds, because it does not fly, and the eagle cannot reign over the land animals, which don't fly. A king can attain the title of monarch only if he has subjects with whom there is some connection, and this requires a degree of resemblance. In order for us to crown Hashem as King, then, we need to resemble Him. How? The answer lies in the most fundamental difference between man and animal – the capacity to choose, to chart our course, to make decisions about who we want to be. Animals cannot choose between right or wrong. They live according to the instincts with which they were created. They react to their surroundings and their innate drives without thinking, impulsively. Only we human beings have the power to exercise restraint, to control and subdue our natural instincts. The verse states in Kohelet (3:19), "U'motar Ha'adam Min Ha'behema Ayin." This means that the only difference between man and beast is "Ayin" – the ability to decline, to say "No" to our impulses. The word "Ayin" may also be read as an acrostic representing the words "Adam Yesh Neshama" – "the human being has a soul." We have a soul, a G-d-like characteristic whereby we can choose between right or wrong, and exert control over our behavior. Hashem is all-powerful, entirely dependent and fully in control of everything. We resemble G-d in our ability to control our behavior. The Gemara famously teaches, "Ha'kol Bi'ydeh Shamayim Hutz Mi'yir'at Shamayim" – everything depends on G-d except for our fear of Heaven. Meaning, Hashem controls everything about our lives except our decisions of how to act, our choices between good and bad. And it is in this area of life – our free will to act properly or improperly – that we in a sense resemble our Creator, as this is the area over which we have control and dominion. And this, Rav Hutner explained, is our obligation on Rosh Hashanah. This is the day when G-d first created man, in His "image," with the ability to choose between right and wrong. Each year, on this day, we crown G-d anew – and for this to happen, we must recommit ourselves to resembling Him. In order to be His subjects, we must be creatures with the power of restraint and control. Our job on Rosh Hashanah is to reinforce our power of self-discipline and restraint. We must realize that when we say, "I couldn't help it," this is not true – we can help it. We can restrain ourselves, we can tell ourselves "No," we can stop bad behaviors and kick bad habits. Of course, this is hard, and change will not happen overnight – but it is not impossible. Our behavior is entirely under our power and authority. To crown Hashem as King on this day, we must become His subjects – by reaffirming our G-d-like quality of self-control. We live in a society which presents us with so many lures, pressures and temptations. Every day, we must struggle against ourselves to act the right way and to avoid wrongdoing. On Rosh Hashanah, we declare that we are fully capable of meeting this challenge, that we are not animals, that we determine our spiritual destiny, that we have the power of choice, that we are not controlled by our instincts – that we control them. By making this declaration, we become G-d's loyal servants who are deserving of His special protection and blessings.

The Torah in Parashat Nisavim foresees the time when Beneh Yisrael would be banished into exile on account of their breach of their covenant with G-d, describing, "Va'yashlichem Be'eretz Aheret" – Hashem's casting the nation into a different land (29:27). Those who look carefully at the Torah scroll will notice that the letter Lamed in the word "Va'yashlichem" is written larger than the other letters of the Torah. Enlarged letters in the Torah function like bolded text, or capitalized letters, in modern-day writing, denoting emphasis. What might the Torah have sought to emphasize with the enlarged Lamed in this word? Perhaps we can answer this question by understanding the unique significance of this letter. Several great Rabbis taught that as the word "Lamed" means "learn," this letter is associated with Torah study. The Ben Ish Hai (Rav Yosef Haim of Baghdad, 1833-1909) explains on this basis the unique shape of the letter Lamed, which is drawn with a vertical line on top, followed by a horizontal line, and then another vertical line dropping down. This shape, the Ben Ish Hai writes, represents the process of Torah tradition. The top vertical line represents the transmission of Torah wisdom as it "descends" from the scholar to his disciple. The horizontal line represents the learning that takes place among peers, how the students – who are generally on the same level, like points on a horizontal line – learn and gain from another. The line descending from that horizonal line symbolizes the students' then transmitting their knowledge and wisdom down to their offspring and students. If, indeed, the letter Lamed represents Torah learning, then we can perhaps explain the significance of the enlarged letter Lamed in the word "Va'yachlichem." As mentioned, this word speaks of the Jews leaving into exile, where they would live amidst, and under the authority of, foreign nations. The Torah is alluding to us that when this happens, when we are driven to exile, the Lamed – Torah learning – must be our central point of focus. Living among foreign cultures, we face two potential challenges: persecution, and assimilation. In some exiles, the primary hardship involved the foreign governments' attempts to ban Jewish learning and practice, to pull us away from our faith and our traditions by force. But in other eras, such as in our current exile here in the United States, the challenge is assimilation. We are, thank G-d, free to practice our religion without any restrictions, but with all the freedoms we enjoy come the lures and pressures of our society. Its beliefs are not our beliefs, its values are not our values, and its lifestyle is not our lifestyle. As a small minority, we face the constant pressure to accept the beliefs, values and lifestyle of our surroundings. This is why the Lamed is enlarged. The most effective and most important weapon we have in our arsenal with which to defend ourselves against the unrelenting cultural pressure to which we are subject in exile is Torah learning. When we learn Torah, we submerge ourselves in our faith, in our values, in our traditions, in our laws and customs. Torah learning of course is and always was a vitally important part of Jewish life, for several reasons, but in exile – and especially in our current reality – it serves the function of anchoring us to our spiritual core, and fortifying us against the hostile spiritual influences of general society. Let us, then, redouble our commitment to Torah learning, so we will survive this exile both physically and spiritually, and be worthy of our final redemption, speedily and in our time, Amen.

The Torah promises in Parashat Ki-Tabo (28:10), "All the nations of the earth will see that the Name of G-d is called upon you, and they will be afraid of you." Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel explains that this refers to the Tefillin Shel Rosh, which we proudly wear upon our heads. The Torah promises that when the enemies of the Jewish People see the Tefillin on our heads, they will be gripped by fear and will no longer try to inflict harm on us. How does this work? How will the sight of the Tefillin instill fear within our enemies? The Kol Aryeh answers this question by developing the symbolic meaning of the Tefillin Shel Rosh. The Tefillin Shel Rosh features a knot in the back, from which two straps extend along the front of a person's body – one to the right and one to the left. The right side is always associated with Hesed – G-d's kindness, whereas the left side represents Din – judgment. For this reason, it is customary for the right Tefillin strap to extend longer than the left strap, reflecting our desire for an abundance of Hesed. One who sees the front of a person sees two separate, seemingly disconnected, straps. Outwardly, Hesed and Din are two distinct phenomena. Some events and experiences appear as Hesed, manifestations of G-d's kindness, whereas others seem like pure Din – harsh judgment. However, when the Tefillin Shel Rosh is viewed from the back, it becomes clear that both straps come from the same source, from the knot on the back of the head. The knot of the Tefillin symbolizes the belief that in truth, Hesed and Din are one and the same, that everything Hashem does is for the best, and for our ultimate benefit, even if sometimes it causes us pain. The two "straps" are really one, because everything Hashem does is for the best. When Moshe was atop Mount Sinai, he asked, "Har'eni Na Et Kebodecha" – "Show me, please, Your glory" (Shemot 33:18). The Sages explained that Moshe wanted to understand the secret of G-d's governance, why the righteous occasionally suffer, whereas the evildoers occasionally enjoy good fortune. G-d responded, "Ve'ra'ita Et Ahorai" – that Moshe would be able to see Him "from the back" (33:23), which the Gemara (Berachot 7) explains to mean that Hashem showed Moshe the knot of His Tefillin. The answer to Moshe's question is the knot of the Tefillin Shel Rosh – the belief that there is no distinction between what we perceive as bad and what we perceive as good. Everything Hashem does is a manifestation of the greatest Hesed, even when we cannot understand how. This is why Halacha requires reciting Shema while wearing Tefillin. The opening verse of Shema declares, "Hashem Elokenu, Hashem Ehad." The Name of "Havaya" is associated with the attribute of Hesed, whereas the Name "Elokim" refers to divine judgment. The pronouncement "Hashem Elokenu, Hashem Ehad" means that both "Hashem" and "Elokenu" are "Hashe Ehad" – a single manifestation of G-d, an expression of kindness. Even "Elokim" is "Havaya"; even what appears to us as bad is the ultimate good. We must make this pronouncement while wearing our Tefillin – which expresses this fundamental tenet of Emuna (faith). With this background, we can return to the verse here in Parashat Ki-Tabo. In the future, the enemy nations will be shown how all the pain and sorrow they caused the Jewish Nation was actually to our benefit, a manifestation of Hashem's kindness. They will see that all their efforts to persecute us and defeat us actually helped us, and in fact led to the final redemption. They will see the "Tefillin Shel Rosh" – that both "straps" are really one, that even the misfortune that Am Yisrael experiences is in fact beneficial for us. And they will thus be overcome by fear and horror, recognizing that all their efforts had the precise opposite effect than they intended, that everything they did to hurt us was in fact helping us. The message for us is that we must reinforce our steadfast faith in Hashem's unlimited kindness, and repeatedly remind ourselves that "Hashem Elokenu, Hashem Ehad" – even the struggles and hardships of life are to our ultimate benefit. Although we cannot possibly understand in the present moment how this could be good, we must trust that in the future everything will become clear, and we will see with our eyes the "knot of the Tefillin," how everything Hashem did was for the best.