Weekly Inspire

The spies were sent to Eretz Yisrael to find out about the land and then report their findings to the people. And this is exactly what they did. They told the people about the extraordinary quality of the land's produce, how it is a land "flowing with milk and honey." And they also told the people about the nations who lived in the land – about their very large, well-trained militaries, and about the enormous, fortified walls protecting their cities. So why were the spies punished? If they saw that the nations in Eretz Yisrael were too powerful, that they could not be defeated, then why were they wrong for sharing this information? Wasn't this exactly their job? A number of commentators explain that the very purpose of this scouting mission was for the meragelim (spies) to see that it was humanly impossible to conquer Eretz Yisrael , that the inhabitants were too powerful, that Beneh Yisrael could not prevail without Hashem's help. The goal was to enhance the people's bitahon , their trust in Hashem, to reinforce their awareness of their reliance of G-d's assistance. The meragelim were to come back with greater bitahon , not less. They were to come back with greater enthusiasm, with greater positivity, not with negativity and discouragement. The point of this mission was to make the people feel vulnerable – because moments of vulnerability are powerful moments, moments when a person can reinforce his faith and trust in Hashem, and feel closer to Him than ever before. Tragically, the meraglim did just the opposite. This is why Hashem punished the people for their sin – listening to the spies and deciding that they could not enter the land – by spending forty years in the desert. For forty years, they lived in an area where naturally a person is incapable of living. For forty years, they lived under Hashem's miraculous care and protection – to build their bitahon . When we confront a difficult reality, when we feel hopeless, when we feel lost, when our lives or the world seems completely out of control and upside-down – this is a powerful moment of vulnerability. This is a time for us to let go, to reaffirm our belief that Hashem controls the world, that nothing is random, that everything is under His control. We read in Sefer Bereshit (21:14) that after Abraham Abinu sent away Hagar, ותלך ותתע במדבר באר שבע – she got lost in the desert. Rashi explains this pasuk to mean that Hagar worshipped idols. The pasuk does not seem to say anything about idol-worship, but somehow, Rashi understood that this is what it means. The explanation is that when a person feels "lost," this shows a deficiency in his emunah , in his faith in Hashem. If we truly believed that Hashem controls everything, then we will never feel "lost" under any circumstances. No matter how chaotic the world seems, no matter what life throws at us, no matter how uncertain the future appears – we will feel calm and reassured, recognizing that everything is under control. We must try to live with this sense of calmness and serenity. We should not be wasting our time or emotional energy trying to figure out what is going to happen, what the future will bring, how events will unfold. The future is G-d's problem, not our problem. Our responsibility is to do our best in the present, and to leave the rest to Him.

King Shlomo teaches us in Mishleh (14:27): יראת ה' מקור חיים לסור ממקשי מות – "Fear of G-d is the source of life; turning one away from the traps of death." I believe that this pasuk , if understood properly, is exceedingly powerful, and conveys one of the most important lessons for young people today who struggle with the temptations of modern life. Whenever a person is faced with temptation, he is being offered two contracts, and he needs to choose one. The first contract says: Enjoy now, and ruin the rest of your life. Most of what tempts young people really is enjoyable and fun. Drugs…alcohol…gambling… In the moment, it makes the person happy. He enjoys it. He feels really good. He's excited. But in the long-term – it ruins his life. Once a person starts, it becomes difficult – and sometimes all but impossible – to stop. As the Gemara says about temptation: משביעו – רעב, מרעיבו – שבע . If one satiates his desire – it becomes hungrier for more; if he starves it – it feels satiated. The more a person indulges, the more he wants and the more he needs. This is what we might call the "contract of death." The terms are: You have a great time now, and in the very near future, but you will then pay for this enjoyment the rest of your life, which will be turned upside-down. The other contract says just the opposite: Struggle now, and then enjoy the happiest, most fulfilling life you can have. Yes, there are struggles. But מרעיבו – שבע . If a person accustoms himself to saying "no," to winning the struggle, to resisting temptation, he will find it so much easier for the rest of his life to live a disciplined, accomplished and fulfilling Torah life, which is, undoubtedly, the best life a person could possibly live. This is what King Shlomo is teaching us. יראת ה' – overpowering temptation with the fear of Hashem – is מקור חיים , the source of a rich, happy and fulfilling life. It is what pulls a person away from מוקשי מוות , from the dangerous pitfalls that can literally ruin his life. In our parashah , Parashat Behaalotecha, we learn more about this struggle and how it works. The Torah tells of how Hashem punished Beneh Yisrael for complaining about the conditions in the desert, for objecting to the manna that He provided for them, demanding more. But if we look carefully, we see that they did more than complain. The Torah says, התאוו תאווה – which literally means, "they desired a desire." They weren't faced with temptation. They decided to bring a desire upon themselves. They imagined to themselves that there must be more out there that they were not enjoying. They wanted to have this temptation, because they felt there were missing out. This is what happens to so many young people today. Nobody comes into the world with a natural desire for drugs, alcohol or gambling. But התאוו תאווה – they feel that there must be something rewarding in these activities, that they need to try it, they need to "get it out of their system." But then the תאווה takes over, and threatens to ruin their life. משביעו - רעב . By bringing the desire upon themselves and then feeding it, they make it stronger, resulting in a vicious and catastrophic cycle. When faced with these struggles, one needs to remember the two contracts. There is no third option. By overcoming these challenges, one accesses the מקור חיים – the source to a truly rewarding and beautiful life. This does not mean everything will be easy. No person's life is without difficulty. But if one avoids the מוקשי מוות , the pitfalls that threaten to destroy life, he finds his way to happiness and fulfillment, to the unparalleled joy of following Hashem's will and living a life of meaning and purpose.

A certain young man whom I was very close with, and whom I helped a great deal, was getting married. Before the wedding he asked me if I could be an עד קידושין , one of the two witnesses to the kiddushin under the huppah . Now among Ashkenazim, serving as an עד קידושין is considered a great honor, but here in our community, being invited to recite one of the berachot under the huppah is a far greater honor. And I have to say, in all honesty, that I felt hurt by the boy's decision to ask me to be a witness instead of reciting one of the blessings. As mentioned, I was very close with this young man. I helped him grow in his religious observance, and I even helped him in the process of dating and getting engaged. I felt slighted over not having received a berachah . Was I being petty and childish? Was this just my ego going too far? I think that the Gemara teaches us the answer. In Masechet Ketubot, the Gemara discusses the case of a person who was very wealthy, and was accustomed to a comfortable, luxurious lifestyle, until he lost his fortune and became poor. The halachah in this case, surprisingly, is that the people must not only give enough charity to provide him with his basic needs – but also provide him with the comforts and amenities that he was accustomed to. So much so, the Gemara tells, that in the time of Hillel, there was a wealthy man who used to ride in a carriage with someone running ahead of him, and after he fell into hard times, Hillel ruled that he should be provided with a runner. When the people could not find somebody willing to do it, Hillel himself ran in front of this man's carriage. It goes without saying that arrogance and conceit are exceptionally bad qualities from which a person must distance himself from. But there is a huge difference between arrogance and a sense of respect. People need to feel respected. This is a basic human need that we must all acknowledge. There is nothing arrogant or egotistical about wanting to be respected. And in some situations, failing to receive honor hurts. If a person worked very hard to plan an event, for example, and at the event, the speaker acknowledged everyone who volunteered their time except that person, that person will be hurt. This isn't because of arrogance – it's because it's embarrassing. The person feels disrespected. And this is true also of a Rabbi who is very close with the groom. There is a certain expectation of honor – and when that respect is not shown, it feels embarrassing. It hurts. Parashat Naso begins with Hashem commanding Moshe, נשא את ראש בני גרשון גם הם – to count "also" the people of Gershon, the Leviyim who descended from Levi's oldest son, Gershon. In the previous parashah , the family of Kehat – the middle of Levi's three sons – was counted. Kehat was counted first because they were in charge of the most sacred articles in the Mishkan , so they had the more distinguished job. Now, when the time came to count the family of Gershon, Hashem emphasized גם הם – that they, too, must be given honor and respect. As the children of the oldest son, they naturally expected to be treated with honor. And since that honor was not given, and instead the middle son, Kehat, was counted first, Moshe needed to find a way to compensate, to show Gershon honor and distinction so they would not feel embarrassed or disrespected. This is so important for us to realize in our relationships, and in all our interactions with people. People need to feel respected, the way they need oxygen. It's a basic human need. People need to feel respected so they can feel important, that they matter, that their lives are significant and meaningful. This isn't arrogance. It's a basic human need. In every relationship, we need to ensure to make the other person feel respected. We need to realize that their need for respect isn't childish or petty – it's normal. It's human. And we must fill that need. When we speak to people and treat them with respect, we help bring out the best in them. We remind them that they matter, that they have something beautiful and crucial to give to the world – and once they acknowledge that, they will go ahead and make sure to make that beautiful contribution.

The Gemara in Masechet Sanhedrin (91b) teaches: כל המונע הלכה מפי תלמיד כאילו גוזלו מנחלת אבותיו - "Whoever withholds a halacha from a student, it is as though he steals from his forefathers' estate." Meaning, if a teacher decides not to teach a certain student Torah, having decided that the student is either unworthy or incapable of being taught, then the teacher is guilty of "theft." He is viewed as though he stole from that youngster. To understand the meaning of the Gemara's comment, let us imagine a wealthy person who appoints someone to manage his estate and oversee its distribution after his passing. A few years later, the wealthy fellow passes away, and the appointed administrator of his estate meets with the family. He then decides that a certain child of the deceased is not worthy of a portion of the estate. Does this administrator have the right to deny that son a portion? It goes without saying that he does not. The property belongs to all the children. His role is to manage the estate – not to decide who is in and who is out. The Gemara explains the aforementioned teaching by citing the famous pasuk , תורה ציווה לנו משה, מורשה קהילת יעקב – "Moshe taught us Torah, an inheritance for the congregation of Yaakov" (Devarim 33:4). The Torah is an "inheritance" in the sense that it is given to the entire Jewish People. No teacher has the right to decide that a certain student doesn't deserve a share in Torah, to write off a student and deny him the privilege of a Torah education. The Torah doesn't belong to the teacher; it belongs to the entirety of Am Yisrael , including challenging students. The Gemara then proceeds to state: כל המונע הלכה מפי תלמיד אפילו עוברין שבמעי אמו מקללין אותו - "Whoever withholds a halacha from a student, even the fetuses in their mother's belly curse him." It seems that the Gemara here is imagining the response of an unborn child who sees a teacher decide not to teach students whom he considers incapable of learning. The fetus will begin to fear that maybe he, too, will struggle. Perhaps he will not have the sharpest mind, or will have attention issues, or will suffer from dyslexia or another learning challenge. Does he want to come into a world where only the brightest and most talented kids are given the gift of Torah? Of course not. And so the fetus curses the teacher – because he wants to come into a world where all children are given the opportunity to shine and excel, each in his own way, at his own pace, and on his own level. Rav Dovid Soloveitchik, the famous Rosh Yeshiva of the Brisk Yeshiva in Yerushalayim, was once asked if educators should give greater attention to the elite students, those with the potential to become the outstanding rabbinic leaders of the future. Should educators invest more time and effort in these students, to help ensure they maximize their potential, or should all students be given the same amount of attention? Rav Dovid replied, "Why do you assume that specifically the elite students will become gedolim ?" It was clear to him that educators must invest in all their students equally, because all students have the potential for greatness. A youngster's performance in yeshiva says nothing about who he can or will become as an adult. מורשה קהילת יעקב . The Torah is every Jew's inheritance, and every Jew has the ability to achieve in Torah. And just as we may not give up on any student, we also may never give up on ourselves. No matter what a person's background is, no matter what he has done or hasn't done in the past, no matter his circumstances in the present – the Torah belongs to him. He has a share, and he has the right, and the obligation, to receive his share. A teacher must not deny any student his share in Torah – and a person must not deny himself his share in Torah. Today, more than at any other time, there really is no excuse for not seriously engaging in Torah learning. Modern technology – with all the spiritual challenges it poses – offers every Jew endless opportunities for intensive Torah study. Classes and publications for Jews of all levels are available. And every Jew owes it to himself to avail himself of these opportunities and take his rightful share in Torah. As we celebrate זמן מתן תורתנו , our receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai, let us remember that the Torah was given to each and every one of us – to each and every child, and to each and every adult, and we all have the right and the obligation to experience the unparalleled joy and satisfaction that Torah brings.

Rabbi Joey Haber The story is told of a woman who came to a Rabbi seeking advice, explaining that she was in the process of growing in her religious observance, but her husband had been moving in the opposite direction. "Every Friday night," the woman said, with unmistakable pain in her voice, "my husband makes kiddush and then goes to watch television. It is so hard for me to handle." She asked the Rabbi if she should divorce him. "You just said that your husband recites kiddush every Friday night," the Rabbi replied. "Do you know what this means?" The woman was befuddled. She didn't know what to say. "That is such a beautiful thing," the Rabbi explained. "Every week, he pours a cup of wine, lifts it in the air, recites the verses of ויכולו , announcing that Hashem created the world in six days, and he then proclaims the sanctity of Shabbat. This is a precious mitzvah which he performs every week. Sometimes we need to see the flame and ignore the smoke." The woman was stunned. When she returned home, her anxious husband, who knew that she had gone to consult with a Rabbi, asked her what the Rabbi had said. The wife smiled and replied, "The Rabbi said you're a tzaddik ." She explained that the Rabbi emphasized the beauty of the mitzvah of kiddush that he fulfills every Shabbat, and how precious and valuable this mitzvah is. That Friday night, the husband recited kiddush more slowly then in the past, and he then went to watch television. The next Friday night, he stayed at the table for a short while after reciting kiddush before leaving to watch television. The week after that, he remained for the whole meal and only then went to watch. The next Shabbat, he didn't watch television at all. Eventually, he became a fully-committed Torah Jew. The husband went to the Rabbi and asked him about that meeting with his wife. He asked the Rabbi how he knew what to say, and how he knew that he would eventually return to observance. "Simple," the Rabbi said. "I saw what you didn't realize you had." This can be said of all of us. We don't see what we have inside us, the great potential we have, our ability to achieve greatness. And the reason we don't see this is because we're distracted by all the "noise" in our lives, by all the stuff going on, by all the things that society presents to us as important and significance but is really worthless. This "noise" grabs our attention and turns our focus away from who we really are. It draws our focus toward the "smoke" and away from the flame"; toward wasteful, unimportant matters, and away from things that have real value. The Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (5:21) teaches: בן חמישים לעצה – once a person reaches the age of 50, he is qualified to advise other people. The Hafetz Haim explains that the average lifespan (before the modern era) was around 70 years, and each of the seven decades of life corresponds to one of the seven days of the week. Therefore, once a person reaches the age of 50, he begins his sixth decade – which corresponds to Friday, Erev Shabbat. This is the day when we start transitioning from the mundane workweek to the kedushah of Shabbat. Similarly, once a person reaches the age of 50 or so, he has a clearer sense of priorities, of what's important and what's not important. His life experience has given him a clearer perspective and greater clarity to distinguish between vanity and matters of significance. And so such a person is worth consulting and receiving advice from – because he has a clearer sense of what our priorities should be. The celebration of Shavuot, which we are currently preparing for, serves to remind us what we have and who we are. We spend this day reflecting on the fact that Hashem chose us from all other nations in the world, revealed Himself to us, established a special relationship with us, and gave us His sacred Torah which teaches us how to live a life of meaning. The Torah was given in the quiet desert, away from all the "noise," and the only noise the people heard were the sounds of Hashem's revelation. Matan Torah is about redirecting our focus and attention, about shutting out the noise so we can concentrate on our real selves, on the " kiddush ," the holiness within us, and recommit ourselves to make this our highest priority and our life's mission.

The Torah commands us at the end of Parashat Behar, לא תעשו לכם אלילים – not to make idols (26:1). This command might at first seem irrelevant to us, as we live in a time where nobody bows down to statues the way they did in the ancient world. But when we look a bit deeper, I believe this mitzvah is extremely important and presents us with a crucial lesson for our lives. Let's begin with the story of three great men who risked their lives to obey this command. During the time of the Babylonian exile, the emperor Nevuchadnetzar had a large statue built, and he ordered everyone in the kingdom to bow down to this statue. There were three righteous Jews who worked in the king's palace – Hananyah, Mishael and Azaryah – and they refused to bow to the idol, even at the threat of the death. Nevuchadnetzar ordered that they be thrown into a furnace, but they miraculously survived. The Gemara in Masechet Sanhedrin (92b) makes a remarkable comment about this story. From the pesukim in the Book of Daniel that tell this story, the Gemara notes, it appears that Hananyah, Mishael and Azaryah made a point of keeping on their official uniforms when they were being thrown into the furnace. Even during these moments, when it seemed that they were going to be killed, they did not change into simple clothes. They insisted on wearing their official garb. The Gemara learns from this that אפילו בשעת הסכנה לא ישנה אדם את עצמו מן הרבנות שלו – even when a person is in danger, he shouldn't compromise his dignity. He should remain composed and maintain a respectable demeanor even when he's under duress, when his life becomes challenging and even when it is at risk. Hananyah, Mishael and Azaryah were heroes not only for steadfastly remaining loyal to Hashem under the threat of death – but also for doing it with composure and dignity. This aspect of their story perhaps sheds light on the Gemara's comment later (93a) about the aftermath of this miracle. The Gemara states that people ridiculed the other Jews following this incident, telling them, יש לכם אלוק כזה ואתם משתחוים לצלם – "You have a G-d like this, and you're bowing to an idol?!" The people saw not only the great miracle – but also the honor and dignity displayed by Hananyah, Mishael and Azaryah. They turned to the other Jews and asked, "You have a G-d who can elevate you to such great heights – how can you lower yourselves by bowing to idols? This is how great you could become – and you choose to get involved in silly idols, instead?" "Idols" are the antithesis of the stature of greatness embodied by Hananyah, Mishael and Azaryah. They are our model of dignity, of honorability, the respect with which a Jew is supposed to live. The Torah strictly warns us, לא תעשו לכם אלילים – not to compromise our stature by getting involving in silliness, in vanity, in nonsense. One of the "idols" of our time is gossip. We so often find ourselves speaking about other people – about who might be getting engaged, who might be breaking up, who might be expecting a child, who might be buying a new house, who might be switching jobs or opening a new business, who might be getting divorced, and so on. I highly recommend when such conversations start to take a step back and ask the question that the non-Jews asked our ancestors after the miracle of Hananyah, Mishael and Azaryah: יש לכם אלוק כזה ואתם משתחוים לצלם – We have such a G-d, and we're getting involved in such pettiness? We are Hashem's special nation, and this is what interests us? We were given the Torah, the potential for kedushah , for spiritual greatness – and we waste our time talking about other people's personal affairs that have nothing to do with us, and that we know nothing about? Aren't we better than this?? Let us remember the Gemara's timeless teaching: לא ישנה אדם את עצמו מן הרבנות שלו . At all times, let's keep our dignity, our self-respect, our sense of self-worth and self-importance. We matter too much to waste our time on nonsense. Our mission is too significant for us to allow ourselves to bow to "idols," to meaningless things. Let's stay far away from the idols of vanity, from things that don't really matter, that have no value, that we have no reason to concern ourselves with – and instead devote our time, our energy, and our attention to the things that really matter, that have real value, and that really should concern us.

The first section of Parashat Emor presents the special laws that apply to the kohanim , the additional restrictions that they need to be observe because of their unique status in the nation. When Hashem tells Moshe to teach these laws to the kohanim , He says, אמור אל הכהנים...ואמרת אליהם – "Speak to the kohanim …and speak to them," indicating that there are two different "speakings." Rashi brings the Midrash's explanation of this repetition: להזהיר גדולים על הקטנים – "To warn the adults with respect to the children." Meaning, Moshe was to teach these laws to the kohanim , and also to instruct the kohanim to teach these laws to their children. The obvious question arises, is this not true about the entire Torah? Isn't there an obligation on all parents to teach their children what the Torah requires of them? Why specifically in the context of the unique laws of the kohanim must Hashem emphasize the parents' responsibility to pass these mitzvot onto their children? The answer, I believe, is very important – for all of us, and not just for the kohanim ... Kohanim have the challenge of explaining to their kids that they cannot do certain things that other people can do. Their children might likely resent having special restrictions that others don't have. And so the Torah needs to emphasize to the kohanim that they must meet this challenge. Hashem says to Moshe, אמור אל הכוהנים בני אהרון – "Speak to the kohanim , the sons of Aharon ." He was telling them to emphasize the great privilege they have to descend from Aharon, the first kohen , to excite them with the awareness that they are special. The kohanim are to speak of their status with pride, depicting it to their children as a badge of honor. This way, the youngsters will not resent the additional restrictions entailed. This idea is very personal for me. Growing up in Deal, my father was a Rabbi and my mother was a teacher. We did not have lots of money for extras like most others in the community. But not only did we not feel that we lacked anything, but to the contrary – we felt a special sense of pride. We felt proud to be a family of Torah, a family of Torah leadership and education, a family of hesed , a family that contributed so much to the community. The gap in materialism between us and others was not a factor at all. We were proud to be a family of Torah and hesed . Sadly, many people spend lots of money that they don't have, or put themselves under a great deal of pressure to afford certain things, because they're worried about their reputation, about how people will talk about them. This is unfortunate – and wrong – for several reasons. One of which is that people who will talk negatively about somebody who hosts simple affairs, who drives a simple car, or who lives in a simple house, will likely talk negatively about him no matter what he does. It is delusional to think that we can make sure everyone thinks highly of us. I know as a Rabbi that I cannot possibly expect to win everyone's respect and admiration. There will always be people who look down on us or who criticize us, for whatever reasons. But additionally, it is a terrible mistake to make material things our source of pride, what we're all about, the thing that our lives revolve around, as our "brand" and "label." Seeking fulfillment and happiness through material things is like eating pretzels when you're thirsty – rather than quenching the thirst, it makes you even thirstier. True joy and contentment are achieved when we live with meaning and purpose, when we fill our lives with things that really matter, that have real value. Of course there is nothing wrong with enjoying material blessings. The problem becomes when we turn materialism into the primary focus of our lives, into our primary goal, into our source of pride and of our sense of accomplishment. This will leave us feeling empty and unfulfilled. True fulfillment comes from making our lives primarily about Torah, spirituality, hesed , contributing to the community, helping people. This is where we should be seeking our feelings of pride and gratification, and our sense of accomplishment. להזהיר הגדולים על הקטנים . Our responsibility to our children is to fill them with pride over our identity as a Torah family, as a hesed family, as an idealistic family, as a family that lives each day the way Hashem expects His special nation to live.

Parashat Ahareh-Mot begins with a description of the עבודת יום הכיפורים – the special service performed by the kohen gadol in the Bet Ha'mikdash every Yom Kippur. Whereas in our time, without a Bet Ha'mikdash , the Yom Kippur experience is centered in the shul, in the past it was focused on the Bet Ha''mikdash , where the kohen gadol would offer a special series of sacrifices that would bring atonement for the nation. Surprisingly, though, this series of korbanot (sacrifices) began with a sacrifice that the kohen gadol would offer on behalf of himself and his family, an animal which he was required to purchase with his own money. On this day when the entire nation depended on the kohen gadol , when he represented all Am Yisrael before G-d, and acted on their behalf, he needed to first do something private, to bring a korban for himself and his family. To understand why, let us talk for a moment about celebrities. Many celebrities, despite having more money than they know what to do with, have utterly dysfunctional lives. They get a lot of attention from millions of fans, but they do not have a happy family life. The reason is, very simply, that they are entirely focused on their public lives, without giving much time or thought to their private lives. The fame they enjoy is so intoxicating, and so consuming, that they don't put in the effort needed to build a happy, stable private life. On Yom Kippur, the kohen gadol was the nation's leading public figure. Nobody was more important than him. He was taking center stage. All eyes were on him. Therefore, the Torah commanded him to begin the special service of this day as a private individual, offering a personal korban for himself and his family. He was reminded that his public persona must not overshadow his private identity, that his personal life was no less important than his public life. Indeed, the Torah concludes this section by stating, ויעש כאשר ציווה ה' את משה – that Aharon, the first kohen gadol , faithfully complied with these laws regarding the Yom Kippur service (16:34). Rashi explains: להגיד שבחו של אהרן שלא היה לובשן לגדולתו אלא כמקיים גזירת המלך . To express the praise of Aharon—that he would not wear them for his own grandeur, but rather as one fulfilling the decree of the King. The Torah emphasized that Aharon performed this service with humility, for the sake of serving Hashem and discharging his duties, and not to draw attention to himself and feel distinguished. He kept the public nature of his role in check, and ensured it didn't go to his head and lead him to see himself as more important than everyone else. A famous Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (4:21) warns of three things that "remove a person from the world" ( מוציאין את האדם מן העולם ), meaning, that can ruin his life. These include קנאה – jealousy – and כבוד – the pursuit of fame and prestige. When a person is too preoccupied with his public image, with the way other people perceive him, with his reputation, this can lead him to neglect his private life, his family, his friends, his self-fulfillment, and his relationship with Hashem. Too many people subject themselves to unnecessary financial stress because they feel the need to "keep up," to do what other people do, to avoid the "embarrassment" of lower material standards. Luxuries turn into necessities for one reason and one reason only – because the neighbors have them. People end up doing things they know are wrong, that they know are harmful, or that they know makes their lives worse, because they are so concerned about their public image, about how they are seen by other people. We need to remember that reputation means very little if we are not living the lives that we are happy with, that we feel comfortable with, that we know is right for us. Even the kohen gadol , at his most public moment, was warned not to neglect his private life – to teach him, and to teach all of us, that what matters most is not what the public thinks about us, but what we think about ourselves, what those closest to us think about us, and, of course, what Hashem thinks about us.

I cannot tell you how many people – youngsters and adults – have told me that they have stopped praying, or have even stopped being observant, because they prayed for something and did not get what they wanted. This is a challenge that everyone faces at some point – and often many times over the course of life – and it has, unfortunately, led many people to give up on tefillah or on mitzvot generally. But this challenge is based on a fundamentally mistaken approach to prayer. People believe that prayer is about getting what we want. When we have some kind of problem, or when there is something that we're lacking, we pray to Hashem so He will solve the problem or give us what we need. But this is not what tefillah is about. The Gemara tells us this explicitly. In a passage that I wish was more famous, the Gemara in Masechet Berachot (55a) teaches: כל המאריך בתפלתו ומעיין בה סוף בא לידי כאב לב – if a person prolongs his tefillah and he "looks into it," then he will suffer heartache. Rashi explains this to mean that if a person prays for a long time with the expectation that his lengthy prayers assure that his wishes will be granted, he is setting himself up for terrible disappointment, because there is never any guarantee that one's tefillot will be answered. The Gemara then makes an even more dramatic statement, listing עיון תפילה – praying with the expectation that one's requests will be granted – among the things that cause Hashem to be especially mindful of a person's sins, making it less likely that his wishes will be granted. Prayer is not about getting what we want, for a very simple reason – we don't really know what we want. We can easily imagine Queen Ester praying fervently day after day in Ahashverosh's palace that she should be sent back home to Mordechai. If Hashem had granted her request, the Jews would not have been saved. A person may pray fervently for a certain job, for a certain shidduch , for some outcome – but in reality that thing he prays for is not the best thing for him. Only Hashem knows what is best for us, and so we have no reason to expect Him to grant us everything we ask for. Prayer, then, is not about changing Hashem's mind – because we don't want Him to change His mind! After all, He knows what we need far better than we ever will. Rather, prayer is about changing us. The experience of prayer, of standing before Hashem with a feeling of humble submission and complete dependency, recognizing our unworthiness and how much we need Him, profoundly impacts us. And this process of growth which tefillah inspires is the reason why we pray. This might be the meaning of the Mishnah in the second chapter of Pirkeh Avot that we learn this week. Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel teaches: הוי זהיר בקריאת שמע ובתפילה, וכשאתה מתפלל, אל תעש תפילתך קבע אלא רחמים ותחנונים לפני המקום ברוך הוא. Be meticulous in the recitation of Shema and prayer; and when you pray, do not make your prayer a fixed, routine obligation, but rather [let it be] mercy and supplication before the Almighty. Rabbi Shimon here perhaps addresses the problem we described – of people losing interest in prayer because their requests have not been granted. He urges us to continue praying every day, regardless of our past disappointments – and to pray not mechanically, by rote, just to discharge our obligation, but with feeling and emotion, because this is precisely the function of tefillah , to arouse our feelings of humility, of submission, of dependency, of faith, and of connection to Hashem. The Mishnah concludes, ואל תהי רשע בפני עצמך – one should not see himself as evil. At first glance, this instruction has nothing to do with the rest of the Mishnah. The explanation might be that if a person prays and does not see the results he wished for, he should not conclude that he is sinful, that Hashem does not care about him, or that Hashem think he's evil and undeserving. This is not true at all. Hashem has very valid reasons for doing what He does, for deciding to grant our wishes or to not grant our wishes. It is not that we are unworthy of His kindness – it's that His kindness is not always manifest the way we expect it to, or the way we think we want it to. Prayer is referred to as עבודה – "work," because it's exactly that – work. It's about working on ourselves, working on our relationship with Hashem. Prayer is not a vending machine, where we say words and then get what we want. It's about investing effort to grow, to draw closer to Hashem, and to reinforce our belief that He – and only He – knows what is best for us.

The second Mishna in Pirkeh Avot contains one of the most famous teachings in Pirkeh Avot : על שלשה דברים העולם עומד, על התורה ועל העבודה ועל גמילות חסדים . The world stands on three things – on Torah, on service [of Hashem], and on acts of kindness. This Mishnah establishes that the three "pillars," so-to-speak, of the world are Torah learning, serving Hashem through sacrifices and prayer, and kindness toward other people. However, a later Mishnah in this chapter (18) seems to contradict this statement: על שלשה דברים העולם קיים, על הדין ועל האמת ועל השלום . The world exists through three things – judgment, truth, and peace. This later Mishna lists three other things as the "pillars" that uphold the world. Apparently, there is a difference between the three things upon which the world "stands" ( עומד ) and the three things through which the world "exists" ( קיים ). Rabbeinu Yonah explains that the first Mishna is teaching us the purpose of the world, why we are here. The three pursuits that define our purpose as Jews is תורה , עבודה and גמילות חסדים – serious engagement in Torah study, focused service of Hashem, and looking out for other people with kindness, generosity and sensitivity. The later Mishna, on the other hand, is telling us the three things that the world needs to continue existing, that without which, society would become chaotic and life would be impossible. If there is no justice system, and if people are dishonest and are unable to live with each other peacefully, then the world cannot achieve its purpose. But these three do not define the purpose – they are rather the features that the world needs for the purpose to be realized. Rabbenu Yonah here is teaching us of the crucial need to differentiate between the essence of Jewish life, and the secondary features of Jewish life – a lesson which, I feel, is exceedingly relevant in our time. We need to be very careful not to confuse the "frills" with the core-essence; to distinguish between the "steak" and the "sizzle." There are many beautiful practices which have become common features of religious life today, but which must not be mistaken for the essence of religious life. Many people frequently travel to Israel to receive blessings from great Rabbis, and to pray at graves of tzadikim . Many people belong to Tehillim chat groups. Many people receive and watch two-minute inspiration videos. Many people give money to the Rabbi Meir Ba'al Ha'ness charity and recite a special prayer when they can't find something. I am not at all opposed to any of these; to the contrary, I fully support them and I think they are wonderful. But we need to avoid the mistake of thinking that this is what Torah life is about. Torah life is about תורה , עבודה and גמילות חסדים . תורה – spending significant amounts of time immersed in Torah study, challenging ourselves to understand difficult and intricate texts and to enhance our knowledge and understanding of Torah. עבודה – ensuring to recite all the prayers at the right time and in the right way, with concentration and emotion. גמילות חסדים – working on ourselves to be more sensitive, more generous, more compassionate, more forgiving, more respectful and more patient. Often, when people face some kind of problem – such as a health issue, or a challenge with parnasah (livelihood) – their immediate reaction is to receive a blessing for a Rabbi, say some Tehillim, and give some money to charity. And these are all wonderful things to do. However, this should not be the primary response. The primary response is to do something that is both important and difficult , something that is challenging and which makes a significant difference. Spending time engrossed in high-level Torah study. Making a real effort to recite the entire shemonah esreh with concentration three times every day. Being kind and gracious to people whom we do not feel naturally inclined to be kind and gracious to. Deciding to avoid lashon ha'ra and to instead speak positively about other people. Not getting angry even when somebody does or says something that upsets us. Joining Tehillim groups, watching two-minute inspiration videos, and visiting graves are all wonderful – but these are the "sizzle," not the "steak." The "sizzle" is important – we need the excitement and "hype" that these bring to religious life – but they must not be mistaken for religious life itself. Religious life is about working hard to learn Torah, working hard to sincerely serve Hashem, and working hard to be kind to other people. Let's try to stay focused on what really matters, and make a real effort to excel in the areas that Hashem wants us to excel in.