Creating Our Golden Identity (From Last Year 2024)

This Shabbat we begin reading the Book of Vayikra, much of which deals with the laws of the korbanot , the sacrifices which were offered in the Bet Ha'mikdash . For many of us, these laws seem very difficult to relate to, as the Jewish People have been unable to offer sacrifices for nearly two thousand years, since the destruction of the Bet Ha'mikdash . Ironically, however, the Midrash tells us that it is customary for schoolchildren to begin learning Humash specifically from this book, Sefer Vayikra. Although these laws strike us as dry, uninteresting and irrelevant, and we would never imagine making this part of the Humash the first section to teach our children, the Midrash tells us that this is precisely what should be done. The Midrash explains: הואיל וקרבנות טהורים והתינוקות טהורים, יבואו טהורים ויתעסקו בטהורים . Since the sacrifices are pure, and the children are pure, let the pure ones come and deal with that which is pure. Today, the custom is that when children begin learning Humash , they read the first several pesukim of Sefer Vayikra, and then they are taught the story of creation at the beginning of the Humash . But let us delve a bit deeper into this notion, that the children must be taught the concept of sacrifices already at an early age. A researcher named Dr. K. Anders Ericsson once conducted a major study, involving students at the Berlin Academy of Music. This school trains some of the greatest young musicians in the world, many of whom go on to become the most accomplished people in their fields. Dr. Ericsson studied the work habits of these students, since they began learning music. He and his team found that all of them had begun learning when they were very young, and all worked hard throughout their youth. However, there was a vast difference in the number of hours that the students had devoted to practicing. Some had spent a total of 10,000 hours of practice by the time they were twenty, some around 8,000 hours, and some just 4,000 hours. The researchers discovered that this factor – the number of hours of practice – was the main determinator of the students' level of achievement. Those who invested the most effort were the ones who showed the most promise and were on track to become the world's leading musicians. Natural talent was not nearly as significant a factor as hard work and effort. The most important thing we need to teach our children, already at a young age, is the value of korbanot – sacrifice, exertion, hard work, and effort. If our children get the message that success is determined by natural talent, by how smart a person is, by one's good looks, by the wealth of the family he was born into, or by any other factor other than hard work – we are lowering their chances of success. King Shlomo says in the Book of Mishleh (24:30-31): על שדה איש עצל עברתי, ועל כרם אדם חסר לב – "I passed the field of a lazy man, and the vineyard of a person without a heart." He then proceeds to describe how it looked: overgrown, abandoned, and in ruins. The lazy person's field does not produce much, if anything. There are so many people in our society – even adults in their 20s, 30s and 40s – whose lives look like these fields, who fail to produce, because they were never taught about the central importance of korbanot , of making sacrifices – giving our time, our energy, our attention, and our money for the sake of pursuing valuable and ambitious goals. This message needs to be taught to our children when they are still טהורים , when they are very young and still developing their habits. The earlier in life children learn this message, the easier it will be for them when they grow older to make the sacrifices and effort that they need to make in order to succeed and maximize their potential.

After the people in charge of building the Mishkan completed their work, they brought it to Moshe. The Torah relates: וירא משה את כל המלאכה והנה עשו אתה כאשר צוה ה' כן עשו ויברך אתם משה. Moshe saw all the work – and behold, they had done it as Hashem had commanded, so did they do it. Moshe blessed them . Rashi tells us what blessing Moshe gave the people. He said: יהי רצון שתשרה שכינה במעשה ידיכם – "May it be the will that the Shechinah shall reside in your handiwork." At first glance, this means that Moshe prayed that the Shechinah , the divine presence, should dwell in the Mishkan . This prayer seems very puzzling. After all, Hashem had stated very clearly when He first commanded the people to construct a Mishkan that He would dwell within it – ועשו לי מקדש ושכנתי בתוכם ("They shall make for Me a sanctuary, and I will then reside among them" – Shemot 25:8). Once Moshe saw that the people constructed the Mishkan properly, he should have known that the Shechinah would come to reside within it, because this is precisely what Hashem had promised. He did not need to pray for this to happen. Rashi's comments seem difficult also for another reason. Normally, when we offer a prayer that begins with the words יהי רצון ("May it be the will"), we explain that we are talking about Hashem's will. We add, יהי רצון מלפניך ה' אלוקינו ואלוקי אבותינו – "May it be the will before You, Hashem our G-d, and G-d of our forefathers," or something to this effect. In Moshe's prayer, however, as Rashi writes it, he simply said, יהי רצון , without specifying whose "will" this should be. The Ketav Sofer answers these two questions by presenting an entirely new reading of Rashi's comment. Moshe was not praying to Hashem, but was rather guiding and instructing the people. He was telling them that their will should be that the Shechina should reside among them. He was blessing them that מעשה ידיכם , everything they do, should be done with the hope of bringing Hashem into their lives. In everything they do, even their ordinary, mundane affairs, their primary goal and aspiration should be connecting to Hashem. If we would ask people what they think about Rabbis, and the role of a Rabbi, we would receive many different responses. At one extreme, some people think that Rabbis are perfect, infallible figures who speak absolute truth all the time, and cannot ever make mistakes or be challenged. On the opposite extreme, people dismiss Rabbis as charlatans, driven solely by personal agendas and politics. In the middle, we find people who view Rabbis as formal functionaries, whom they call when their child is getting married to perform the ceremony. Others think that a Rabbi's job is to provide halachic guidance, and no more. I believe that the insight of the Ketav Sofer shows us what a Rabbi is supposed to be, and why we all need a Rabbi to look up to and learn from. A real Rabbi is someone whose primary ambition is שתשרה שכינה במעשה ידיכם – to bring Hashem in their lives. A real Rabbi is someone who works very hard, and makes considerable personal sacrifices, to achieve this goal, to immerse himself in Torah study, to selflessly help other people, and to serve Hashem and the His beloved nation. This is what being a Rabbi means. It doesn't mean that he is perfect, that he never makes a mistake, that he never says the wrong thing, that he doesn't have an ego, that he does not struggle with the vices and temptations that all human beings struggle with. It just means that his primary goal, for which he invests a great deal of time and effort, and for which he makes a great deal of personal sacrifices, is to bring the Shechinah into his life, to connect with Hashem. He might occasionally err, but he is constantly striving for spiritual greatness, and this is his main ambition in life. And this is why we all need a Rabbi – to help us redirect our focus and attention. It is so easy in our world to lose sight of our purpose, to get distracted by materialism, to pursue vanity instead of what really matters. We all need someone who will set an example of the רצון שתשרה שכינה , the desire to connect with Hashem, to strive for something far greater than the ordinary, mundane things that we get bogged down with. This is the role model we should be looking for, and the role model that we need, so that in all מעשה ידיכם , in everything we do, we have our priorities straight and understand the purpose for which we were brought into the world.

Parashat Vayakhel tells of the construction of the Mishkan , the site that represented Hashem's residence among the people. In the center of this structure stood the aron , the ark, and it was from atop the aron that Hashem would speak to Moshe Rabbenu. The aron was made from wood, with gold plating on the interior and the exterior. Meaning, the aron had three layers: the gold on the outside, which is what people saw; the golden interior; and the wood in the middle. The Gemara in Masechet Yoma teaches that the two layers of gold plating convey to us a crucial lesson – that a Torah scholar must have the quality of תוכו כברו – "his inside is like his outside." His interior must match the piety and religious devotion that he projects externally. The image that he presents to the people around him must be an accurate reflection of who he really is inside. But if this is true, then why isn't the aron made entirely of gold? If the Torah wants the aron to represent the quality of תוכו כברו , then why doesn't it require making the aron pure gold, to symbolize that a talmid hacham should be "pure gold," inside and out? The answer is, quite simply, that nobody is perfect. The aron shows us that we all have "three layers" to our beings. The first is our exterior, our appearance, the way we present ourselves, the way people see us. The second is the "wood." This refers to our embarrassing faults, our mistakes and our mess-ups, that probably only our immediate family members know about. We all have a part of us that isn't "gold," that is flawed and far from perfect. But the main thing is to ensure that our interior, the innermost part of our beings, is truly "gold." This refers to our core identity. Yes, we are going to make mistakes, we are going to mess up from time to time. But the question is what kind of person we identify as, how we define ourselves. It's ok to have "wood" – as long as our inner beings are "gold," as long as we identify ourselves as genuinely Torah-committed Jews, and we strive to live in a way that reflects that "golden" identity. It is common to refer to a Torah-committed boy as a ben Torah – literally, "son of Torah" – and to a Torah-committed girl as a bat Torah – literally, "daughter of Torah." No matter what a person does, he cannot ever change the fact that he or she is his or her parents' child. Our biological relationship to our parents is a permanent and unalterable part of our identity. Similarly, we should be aspiring to be a " ben Torah " or " bat Torah ," a "child" of Torah. Our commitment to Torah must be a core element of our identity, of who we are, that will never change, even if we occasionally slip. We are going to make mistakes. And, living in our world, with all the lures and all the crazy influences all around us, we are going to be tested. The key to our success as Torah Jews is maintaining our core identity, defining ourselves as Torah Jews. Once we firmly establish that we are Hashem's children, that we are members of His special nation, that we are the ones who received the Torah, which offers us the opportunity to live the most meaningful and beautiful lives possible, then we can withstand every challenge, and we can recover from every failure. The most important thing for us is to make sure that our interior is "gold," that our commitment is genuine and real.

**This week's essay is dedicated in memory of Rosa bat Shafia** The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tisa makes the following brief comment about Yehoshua, the closest disciple and trusted attendant of Moshe Rabbenu: ומשרתו יהושע בן נון נער לא ימיש מתוך האוהל – "…and his servant, the young lad Yehoshua bin Nun, did not budge from inside the tent" (33:11). Yehoshua remained in Moshe Rabbenu's tent, his study hall, at all times, without ever leaving. One of the commentators takes note of the fact that Yehoshua is referred to here as a נער , a term that normally denotes youth. If we make the calculation based on what we know about Yehoshua's life, it turns out that Yehoshua at this point was actually 56 years old. Why would a man this age be called a נער ? The answer is that the Torah here refers not to Yehoshua's age, but to his humility and desire to learn. Yehoshua was always learning from Moshe Rabbenu, even at an advanced age. He didn't grow "old" and set in his ways. He was open and receptive to new information, to criticism, to feedback, to challenges to his old assumptions. This is what made him Moshe's greatest disciple, and what made him suitable to succeed Moshe as the next leader of Beneh Yisrael . To see just how important a quality this is, let's go back several parashiyot , to Parashat Yitro. That parashah tells of Matan Torah , Hashem's revelation to our ancestors at Mount Sinai, but before it does, it first relates a story involving Yitro, Moshe's father-in-law. Yitro had belonged to a different nation, the nation of Midyan, but after hearing of the miracles that Hashem performed for Beneh Yisrael , Yitro came to join them. The Torah tells that Yitro observed how Moshe Rabbenu sat the entire day tending to the people's issues, singlehandedly resolving all their conflicts. Yitro urged Moshe to appoint other judges to shoulder this burden with him, so he would not have to deal with all the people's problems by himself. Moshe accepted Yitro's advice, and right away appointed a network of judges. The Torah presents this story before the story of Matan Torah to explain why Moshe was chosen for the role of bringing the Torah from the heavens to Beneh Yisrael – because he had the humility to listen, to accept feedback even if it was not pleasant – and even from an outside – to acknowledge that he could do things better. This is what made him the outstanding leader and teacher that he was. We naturally hate hearing negative feedback. We get very defensive when people criticize us. The reason is that we don't want to acknowledge that we do things wrong, that we have a lot to learn, that we need other people's advice and guidance. And so we reject it, convincing ourselves – and trying to convince the person giving the criticism – that we were right and they were wrong. But if we are going to excel, we need to be open to feedback, even negative feedback. Whether it's from a friend, a spouse, a parent, a coworker, or even, at times, a child, we mustn't be so quick to reject criticism. To the contrary, it is precisely by being humbly receptive to criticism that we can grow and improve ourselves. Many years ago, my father gave me one of my first speaking jobs, asking me to speak at se'udah shelishit every Shabbat during the summer in his shul in Deal. I was young and inexperienced, and I was very nervous. But I thought I did the job fairly well, and I received a good deal of positive feedback. But one Shabbat, after se'udah shelishit , a man – who was a prominent member of the community – asked me to sit down with him. He told me that my speech was one of the worst he had ever heard. He threw in a very nice compliment, but he went on and on about everything I did wrong. He said that I tried to be funny but I wasn't, that the devar Torah was not relatable, and that I kept talking about "the good old days" which was insulting. He went on and on for about ten minutes. When our meeting ended, I was almost in tears. I couldn't function for the next three days. I was so pained by his critique. Looking back many years later, I realize that most of what he said was correct. True, he spoke too harshly, and could have and should have done this differently, in a less brutal way. But in retrospect, I realized that I gained a great deal from his critique. It made me a better speaker. Let's not be afraid to be wrong. No person is perfect. No person gets everything right. It's ok if our spouse, our boss, our coworker, our friend, or somebody else finds fault in something we said or did. Instead of rejecting it, we should give the feedback serious consideration, take it to heart, and turn it into a learning experience – because this is exactly how we will grow and become greater.

לך כנוס את כל היהודים Purim & Unity In presenting to Ahashverosh his plan to annihilate the Jewish Nation, Haman said: ישנו עם אחד מפוזר ומפורד בין העמים בכל מדינות מלכותך...ואת דתי המלך אינם עושים ולמלך אין שוה להניחם. There is one nation that is dispersed and scattered among all the provinces of your kingdom…and they do not follow the king's rules, and so it is not worth it for the king to keep them . (3:8) To understand the deeper meaning of Haman's statement, let us look at a story told by the Gemara in Masechet Baba Batra, of an exchange between Rabbi Akiva and a Roman officer named Turnus-Rufus. The officer posed to Rabbi Akiva a number of philosophical questions in an attempt to undermine Judaism, including the question of why Hashem does not care for the needy. Rabbi Akiva replied that Hashem expects the rest of us to care for the needy by giving charity, as in this way we earn merit. Turnus-Rufus then countered that to the contrary, people should be punished for supporting the poor. He explained that if a king was angry at one of his servants, and sent him to jail, ordering all his subjects not to feed him, surely anyone who fed the servant in defiance of the royal edict would be put to death. Similarly, if Hashem condemned a person to poverty, those who defy this decree by helping the pauper should deserve to be punished! Rabbi Akiva explained that this analogy would be accurate if we were only Hashem's servants. But we are not just His servants – we are also His children, whom He loves unconditionally. And if a king becomes angry at his son, and orders that he must not be given food, undoubtedly, one who feeds the son in defiance of the king will not only not be punished – but will be handsomely rewarded. By the same token, Rabbi Akiva said, Hashem loves and rewards us when we extend ourselves to help His children whom He had condemned to poverty. Haman, it seems, made the same mistake as Turnus-Rufus. He told Ahashverosh that the Jews were מפוזר מפורד בין העמים – dispersed among the nations, in exile, due to their sins. Indeed, ואת דתי המלך אינם עושים – they were not observing the laws decreed by the "king" – referring to the King of the universe, Hashem. The Jews were not loyal to the Torah, and so למלך אין שוה להניחם – there was no reason for Hashem to keep them. Haman assumed that he could destroy the Jews because they were not committed to Hashem, as evidenced by their dispersion among the other nations in exile. But Ester knew that this wasn't true. She knew that the Jews were Hashem's children, and He loved them despite their mistakes, even though they had not been observing the Torah the way they were supposed to. And to prove this, she instructed לך כנוס את כל היהודים – that all the Jews should assemble, should join together. If we are Hashem's children, then, necessarily, we are all siblings. Thus, in order to demonstrate that we are Hashem's children and worthy of His unconditional love, we must all come together with אחדות , with unity. The question then becomes, what exactly is "unity"? This is a word that often gets thrown around, but what does it really mean? And how is it achieved? The answer is that אחדות means unifying for a greater cause, realizing that not everything is about me, about my personal agendas, about my own interests. When the Jews of Persia joined together, this was very clear to them. They understood that the future of the Jewish Nation was at stake, that their own personal interests at this moment meant nothing. This was the quintessential אחדות moment – when the Jews all transcended their personal egotistical concerns, and joined together for a higher cause. This is the example of אחדות that we need to emulate in our lives, as well. And it's a lot more difficult than it sounds. When two sisters or sisters-in-law make a sheva berachot , and one takes credit for it, the other has to remind herself that this isn't about her, about her credit, but rather about the great joy of the new couple. When people are working together on some project for a shul, or a fundraiser, and one gets more attention than the other, the other has to remind himself that this isn't about him, it's about the lofty purpose that he was seeking to achieve. Unity when assembling for a Tehillim recitation on behalf of fellow Jews in distress is not very difficult. The greater cause for which we assemble is very clear. But unity when we feel hurt by a family member or friend can be brutal. We need to realize, though, that it is specifically at such times when our commitment to אחדות comes to the fore. It is then when we have the opportunity to show that the real story is the Jewish Nation, and our Torah values, not our ego, our prestige, or our own selfish interests. לך כנוס את כל היהודים . Let us all join together like siblings who put aside their differences for the sake of the family, and then we will be worthy of Hashem's unconditional love.

**This Week's Essay is in Memory of RACHEL Bat SARAH** Parashat Terumah tells of the construction of the Mishkan , the place where Beneh Yisrael offered sacrifices to Hashem in the desert and until the Bet Ha'mikdash was built. The commentaries explain that the Mishkan is symbolic of the way we are to bring Hashem's presence into our lives. The Mishkan was the place where Hashem resided among the people, but it represents the work that we need to do to have Hashem reside with us each and every day of our lives. Therefore, when we study the details of the Mishkan , we should expect these details to instruct us about the proper way to live. The parashah begins with Hashem listing all the materials that Beneh Yisrael needed to donate for this project. The list includes things like precious metals – gold, silver and copper – wood, and fabrics. Surprisingly, this list also mentions שמן למאור – oil for the kindling of the menorah . The reason why this is surprising is that the oil was not needed for the construction of the Mishkan – it was needed only after the Mishkan was built. The Torah did not include in this list animals for the various sacrifices, or flour for baking the bread that was placed on the shulhan (table) in the Mishkan . But for some reason, it did include here the oil for the menorah . Apparently, as one of the commentaries explains, the lighting of the menorah was not just something done in the Mishkan , but was part of the building process . Even after the entire structure and all its furnishings were fully built, it was not really finished until the menorah was lit. Therefore, the oil for the lighting is considered one of the building materials – because without it, without the light of the menorah , the Mishkan was not actually completed. The reason is that a house is not a house without light. It can have plenty of otherwise comfortable rooms, lots of furniture, and all the usual appliances, but without light, it's not really a home. The house is not considered "built" if there are no lights. The same is true about life. There are many things that go into "building" a happy, meaningful life. Most people would say that a fulfilling life should include marriage, children, a home, income, Torah study and observance, and perhaps some hobbies. However, even if all these are present, a person's life is not complete without "light." There is one thing that we all need and that without which, we are living "in the dark." What is this "light" that we're referring to? The story is told of a woman named Leah Teitelbaum, who lived in Hungary during World War II. When the Nazis came, she and thousands of other Jews were packed onto cattle cars that made their way to the concentration camps. Along the way, the train made a few stops. During one stop, after the people got off the train, a group of men decided to make a minyan for minchah , realizing that this might likely be their last opportunity to pray. A group of women, including Mrs. Teitelbaum, gathered to the side to pray with them. When the Nazi officers saw the Jews praying, they became very angry, and they shouted at them furiously. The group quickly dispersed in a panic – except Mrs. Teitelbaum. She continued praying, her eyes closed, as though nothing was happening around her. The guards surrounded her, shouted, and pointed their guns at her, but she just continued praying. When she finished praying, she opened her eyes, and saw guards pointing their guns at her. She immediately fainted. Later, someone who witnessed the scene asked her about what happened. Why did she continue praying instead of running away? Mrs. Teitelbaum explained that she didn't hear anything. "When we pray," she said, "we pray." She was fully present and focused on her tefillah . She was oblivious to everything going on around her. Miraculously, she survived the war. This is the "light" that so many of us are missing. We have everything that life is supposed to have – a family, a home, a livelihood, a community, friends, Torah and mitzvot , and so much more. But we aren't present. We aren't focused on what we're doing. We aren't experiencing all the goodness, we aren't enjoying all that we have. There are different reasons why. Some are too busy, constantly running from thing to the next. Some have one problem that overwhelms them so they can't think of anything else. Some overthink things, creating problems or turning small problems into big problems. Some are consumed by jealousy. Some are afflicted with anxiety. Some have an addiction to technology or to something else. Whatever the cause, too many of us aren't present in our lives. We live in the "dark," without joy and without fulfillment, because we're either too distracted or too busy to enjoy all that we have. I remember once meeting with a couple about a problem they had with a certain relative. After discussing the problem with them and offering some advice, as we were wrapping up, I turned to them and I said, "I just want you to realize what an amazing life you have." They had a beautiful marriage, wonderful children, and a comfortable livelihood. Without minimizing for a minute the challenge that they were dealing with, which was a real problem, I wanted to make sure that they were still able to enjoy the blessings in their lives. We need to recognize that there is no such thing as a perfect life. There is not one person I have ever met whose life is perfect, who does not struggle with some problem, or with several problems. If we cannot enjoy life until life is perfect, then we will never enjoy life. We need to embrace our life even with the challenges we face, even with the struggles that we have. If we don't, then we'll be living in the dark. So let's turn on the "light" by always being present and enjoying life the way it is at every moment.

Parashat Mishpatim begins with the subject of עבד עברי – the Jewish servant. In ancient times, there were certain situations in which a person who fell into financial straits would sell himself as a servant. The Torah commands that the master must release the servant after six years. However, if the servant says that he likes the arrangement, and he is happy with his master, then he may remain. In such a case, the Torah says, the master must drill a hole through the servant's ear. Rashi (21:6), based on the Gemara, explains that this act is intended as a punishment for the servant. His ear heard Hashem proclaim at Har Sinai , כי לי בני ישראל עבדים – that Beneh Yisrael are servants only of Hashem, and not of other human beings. And yet, despite hearing this pronouncement, the servant decided he wanted to remain in servitude when he was allowed to go free – and so the ear that heard this proclamation is pierced. Rashi here is teaching us something exceptionally profound, and exceedingly relevant to each and every one of us. He is telling us that we are not allowed to become "slaves" to anyone or anything else but Hashem. Nobody and nothing is ever allowed to take control of us. To develop this point further, let us examine a fascinating comment by the Midrash regarding the creation of Adam. The Midrash states that when Adam was first created, he had the ability to see מסוף העולם ועד סופו – from one end of the world to the other. This means that the human is created with vast capabilities. Our potential is far greater than we can ever imagine. When we look at the remarkable creations and inventions that human beings have come up with, we need to realize that people are actually capable of far more than that. We are many times more powerful and capable than we think. The thing that limits us, that holds us back from maximizing this vast potential, is our "slavery" to nonsense. We become subservient to things which are worthless, which have zero value, but which somehow hold us in their grip and prevent us from achieving all that we're capable of achieving. And never has this been truer than today. In order for the entertainment industry to sustain itself, it needs to bring in trillions of dollars. And the only way it can bring in trillions of dollars is by "enslaving" us. The industry invests enormous amounts of time, money, personnel and ingenuity to make nonsense seem important. We need only to look at the estimates of how many millions of Americans watch the Superbowl, and how many millions bet significant sums of money on this game. Whether it's sports, movies, television series, or celebrity culture – there is a concentrated effort to draw us in, to grab our attention, to get interested in utter nonsense. A person picks up his phone to send an important message – and then ends up spending an hour – or more – looking at all kinds of video clips, memes, and other media that do absolutely nothing for him. He has become a slave to the industries that need his attention in order to make money. We need to remind ourselves that we are so much greater than this. We are human beings, endowed with the divine image, and we are Jews, members of Hashem's special nation, whom He charged with a special mission. Can we imagine any distinguished Rabbi or leading communal figure spending hours watching funny videos on his phone? Well, we, too, are distinguished and important. We are capable of greatness, we can achieve extraordinary things – but we don't because we are pulled away from what matters by things that do not matter at all. Of course, we all need a little entertainment in our lives. There's nothing wrong with some amusement, some laughs, and some distractions. But, as our parashah teaches us, the problem is when we become slaves to the entertainment, when it takes over our lives, and pulls us away from the greatness that we are capable of achieving, and which we are meant to achieve. The Gemara in Masechet Sukkah teaches that in the next world, the sinners will see the yetzer ha'ra – the evil inclination that led them to sin – and it will appear to them as a tiny thread of hair. They will then be overcome by shame and regret, wondering how they were defeated by something so tiny and so minuscule. This is precisely the yetzer ha'ra 's strategy – making a "thread of hair" seem big, important, formidable, worthy of our time and our attention. In the next world, we will see how so many things that we were subservient to, that we allowed to consume our time and our minds, were really just a "thread," so meaningless, so unimportant, so bereft of value. Let's not wait till the next world. Let's already now have the clarity to identify meaninglessness, to recognize the nonsense around us, and not let it take us away from our pursuit of greatness.

Parashat Yitro describes a situation that is quite common – a father-in-law giving his son-in-law unsolicited advice. Yitro – the father of Moshe Rabbenu's wife, Tzippora – observed how Moshe sat all day as the people lined up to consult with him, specifically, to resolve their disputes. This worried Yitro, who warned Moshe that such an arrangement could be harmful to Moshe. He therefore advised Moshe to appoint judges who would help him shoulder this burden of responsibility. They – not him – would advise the people, and only the more difficult questions would come to Moshe for him to decide. Notably, Moshe accepted Yitro's advice, and appointed a network of judges. Seeking advice is critically important. Somebody who doesn't seek advice, who always acts upon his own thoughts and decisions, is living in an island in his own head. If a person thinks he's smarter and knows better than everyone else is, in all likelihood, a fool. However, we must be very careful when seeking advice. For one thing, we need to exercise discretion, and not allow ourselves to take advice from everybody and anybody. Too many people offer "drive-thru" advice, just blurting out recommendations and suggestions without knowing anything about us, or about the situation. Telling someone to get married at a young age because "the finances will work out, don't worry," without knowing anything about the person's situation, is not necessarily great advice. The same goes for advice about what career to pursue, what schools to enroll one's children in, and so on. "Off-the-cuff" advice given by somebody who doesn't have much knowledge about the person he or she is advising should be taken with a healthy dose of skepticism. But there is also a more fundamental concern when it comes to advice, one which is developed by Rav Shlomo Wolbe, in a fascinating passage in Aleh Shur . Rav Wolbe laments the practice that many people have to immediately turn to a friend whenever they encounter any sort of question, whenever they are uncertain about how to proceed. This habit, Rav Wolbe writes, prevents a person from becoming wise. The proper approach is to first analyze both sides of the question, weigh the pros and cons of each option, and then reach a decision. Afterward, one should bring his question, and his decision, to his fellow to receive his advice. If a person never develops the skill of decision-making, of reaching his own conclusions, then he will never live an authentic life. He will instead be living the life that other people tell him to live, without actualizing his unique potential and being the unique person that he's supposed to be. Significantly, Yitro began his advice to Moshe by telling him the following: והזהרתה אתהם את החוקים ואת התורות, והודעת להם את הדרך ילכו בה, ואת המעשה אשר יעשון. You shall warn them of the statutes and the laws, and you shall inform them of the path they should follow, and the actions that they should perform. (18:20) Yitro was concerned not only about Moshe's wellbeing, but also about the nation asking him for too much advice. He was worried about Moshe working too hard – but also that the people were coming to him right away with their problems, without first trying to work it out themselves. Therefore, his advice to Moshe was not only to appoint others to assist him – but also to instruct the people, to impart to them knowledge and wisdom, to explain to them how Hashem wants us to live our lives. This will encourage them to first look for the answers themselves before seeking advice. As we mentioned earlier, it is vitally important to get advice, to be open-minded, to recognize that we don't have all the answers, and that we can often benefit from other people's experience and perspectives. At the same time, however, we need to be careful not to outsource our lives, not to leave all our decisions in the hands of people who don't really know us and what we're going through. In a famous pasuk in the Book of Mishleh (19:21), King Shlomo teaches, רבות מחשבות בלב איש, ועצת ה' היא תקום – "There are many thoughts in a man's heart, but it is the counsel of G-d that will prevail." The common understanding of this pasuk is that as much as we plan and strive to do certain things, ultimately, it is the will of Hashem that materializes. Rav Wolbe, however, offers a deeper explanation of this pasuk. He explains that we have many "thoughts," many different ideas, questions about whether we should do X or Y. But more often than not, we know what עצת ה' is, what it is that Hashem wants of us. When we sort through the various מחשבות , the many different thoughts and ideas, it is not difficult to determine עצת ה' , the right decision to make, the right thing to do. Very often, when we face some uncertainty, we actually know the answer. It's just a matter of being honest with ourselves and recognizing what Hashem wants of us. As important as it is to be open to advice – it is no less important to know when we don't need advice, and when we need instead to listen to the עצת ה' , to have the strength and conviction to do what we know we should do.

In the beginning of Parashat Beshalah, we are told that as Beneh Yisrael left Egypt, Moshe made a point of bringing with him Yosef's remains. Many years earlier, before Yosef died, he made his brothers promise that they would bring his remains with them out of Egypt, so he could be buried in the Land of Israel. This promise was fulfilled through Moshe Rabbenu, who retrieved Yosef's remains at the time of Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt). The Gemara in Masechet Sotah (13a) applies to Moshe Rabbenu the pasuk in the Book of Mishleh (10:8), חכם לב יקח מצוות – "The wise-hearted takes mitzvot ." Whereas the rest of the nation was busy collecting the riches of the Egyptians to bring with them out of Egypt, Moshe was preoccupied with the mitzvah of tending to Yosef's remains. Many commentators ask the question of why the Gemara speaks in such praise of Moshe for retrieving Yosef's remains. After all, Hashem had explicitly commanded the people before Yetziat Mitzrayim to take the Egyptians' belongings with them. Collecting the spoils of Egypt was also a mitzvah . Why, then, was Moshe deserving of special praise for tending to the mitzvah of retrieving Moshe's remains – if all Beneh Yisrael were also involved in a mitzvah ? To answer this question, let us take an honest – and uncomfortable – look at something that many of us are occasionally guilty of. And that is – failing to sufficiently concern ourselves with other people. Why is it that sometimes, when we hear of somebody going through a hard time, we just forget about it, and go back to our own affairs? Worse, why do we sometimes find ourselves feeling a bit of satisfaction hearing about other people's struggles, especially if this is somebody who always seemed to have the "perfect" life (as if such a thing exists)? Why is it sometimes so hard to feel genuine empathy, and share in the pain or grief of others? The answer is not that we're bad people, or even that we're selfish people. We all of course understand the value of empathy and concern for our fellow, of hesed , of lending a helping hand, of extending beyond ourselves to help people. But doing so is a challenge for the simple reason that we are, legitimately, busy and stressed with our own needs and our own concerns. We all have pressures, we all have stress, we all have things that we're worried about, that we're upset about, that are weighing heavily on our minds. And so it's hard for us to allocate some of our headspace for the needs of the people around us. This might explain the Gemara's comment about Moshe Rabbenu. The rest of the nation was busy collecting the riches of Egypt, as they were supposed to, but Moshe went beyond that. He had the wisdom – חכם לב – to at the same time look out for what other people needed. Even amid the tumult and hustle-and-bustle of Yetziat Mitzrayim , his mind was thinking not only of himself, but also of others, and about Am Yisrael generally. A pasuk in Tehillim (114:3) – which is included in the text of Hallel – describes, הים ראה וינוס – "The sea saw and fled." Before the sea split for Beneh Yisrael to cross, it "saw" something. The Midrash comments that the sea "saw" Yosef's bones. It was in the merit of Moshe's care and concern, his ability to look beyond his own needs and concerns, and to take in consideration the greater good and the needs of the Jewish People, that this great miracle occurred. When we wake up in the morning and begin our day, we are usually thinking about the things we need to get done that day, or the things that we are worried about. This is perfectly legitimate – but imagine what our lives would be like if we also asked ourselves every morning, "What does Am Yisrael need from me today? In what way can I make the world better today? What can I do for other people today? Where might I be needed today?" Perhaps there's a friend or relative who could use a friendly phone call or visit. Perhaps there's an organization or project that can use some volunteer work, an extra pair of hands. Perhaps it's a single parent who can use a favor, or an invitation. Just imagine what our lives – and our community and our nation – would look like if we started our day asking ourselves these questions. Let us learn from the "wisdom" of Moshe Rabbenu – and find the time, despite our busy schedule, to look out for other people!

Parashat Bo begins with Hashem commanding Moshe to return to Pharoah to warn him about the eighth plague, the plague of locusts. Moshe, as we know, had already been to Pharaoh many times, warning about the plagues that would befall him if he continued refusing to let Beneh Yisrael leave. Pharaoh repeatedly agreed to let the people leave, but then changed his mind each time after the plague ended. The commentaries note something unusual about the command in the beginning of our parashah : בא אל פרעה . Literally, this means, "Come to Pharaoh." Naturally, we would expect Hashem to tell Moshe to go to Pharaoh. What is the meaning of the command בא אל פרעה – " Come to Pharaoh"? The Rabbis give a very powerful, and relevant, answer to this question. Moshe was now about the begin the final stage of the process of Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt). He was going to warn of the final three plagues, which were the most devastating: the locusts, which destroyed all the remaining food; darkness, which prevented the Egyptians from even just moving about; and the plague of the firstborn, whereby every single family in Egypt suffered a casualty. Moshe was, understandably, reluctant. He felt intimidated, having to confront Pharaoh and warn of nationwide catastrophes. Hashem therefore told Moshe not to go to Pharaoh, but rather to come with Him to Pharaoh. This pasuk should be read to mean, "Come with Me, Moshe… You're not going alone. I'm coming with you. I'll be there the whole time. Don't be afraid." Many of us have likely considered undertaking some bold, ambitious project, but decided that it was too difficult. Perhaps it was a personal learning project, like joining Daf Yomi. Perhaps it was launching a new hesed initiative, or a meaningful community event or program. Perhaps it was a decision to enhance something at home within the family. When we feel intimidated, or fear that we might not be capable, we need to hear Hashem calling us and saying, בא – to come with Him. We need to remember that we are not doing this alone – He will be there helping us at every step of the way. Later in the Humash, we read about the spies whom Moshe sent to survey the Land of Israel, and who came back with a frightening report. They told the people about the large, powerful armies of the land's inhabitants, and the people were very scared. They felt they could not possibly capture the land, and so they thought they should return to Egypt. At that point, one of the two dissenting spies, Kalev, stood up and said, עלה נעלה וירשנו אותה, כי יכול נוכל לה – "Let us go up and take possession of it, because we can surely take it!" (Bamidbar 13:30). Rashi explains that Kalev was telling the people, "Even if Moshe tells us to climb to the heavens, and to make ladders to get there – we will do it!" Sometimes it seems that our goals and aspirations are in the "heavens," they're just too much for us, beyond our reach. Rashi here teaches us to just get started, to go ahead and bring the first ladder, and the next, and then the next – and let Hashem figure out the rest. One of the most fascinating Rabbis in Israel today is Rav Yitzchak Grossman. He grew up in the Meah Shearim neighborhood of Yerushalayim, and after Israel's astounding victory in 1967, during which the Israeli army captured Yerushalayim's Old City, he went to pray at the Kotel for the first time. He was a young yeshiva boy, and he was overcome by joy and excitement over the great gift Hashem had just given the Jewish People. He decided as he was there that he needed to give something back, to do something for Hashem in gratitude for this victory. He had the idea of opening a yeshiva in a place that needed it the most, an area plagued by poverty, crime, drugs and alcohol. He left Meah Shearim and went to a poor town in northern Israel called Migdal Ha'eimek. When he arrived, he was told that the local youth spend their evenings in the disco. So this young Rabbi, who grew up in what is probably the most sheltered religious Jewish neighborhood on earth, who never learned anything about outreach, went to the disco fully dressed in his Rabbinic garb. The only skill he had was his heart, his genuine desire to reach out and inspire Jewish youth. He would eventually be given the nickname "the Disco Rabbi," and some 40,000 students have learned in his yeshiva and emerged as Torah-committed adults. Rav Grossman at the time had no idea how he would do this. But he had a plan, and he brought the "ladders" to put the plan into action. Hashem did the rest, and made his project wildly successful. Whenever we feel that we can't, we need to remember that this would be true only if we were going at it alone – which we aren't. We are working together with Hashem, and He is helping us succeed. We need to just get started, and He'll then step in to make it work.