Vayeitzei ויצא 2025 Mission Within Darkness

The story of Yaakov Avinu leaving Eretz Yisrael shows that exile is not only about escape or punishment, but about a deeper Divine mission. Just as Yaakov entered a place of darkness and transformed it into the birthplace of Klal Yisrael, so too our Galus has a purpose: to elevate the sparks of holiness in the world and bring light into darkness through Torah and mitzvos. Hashem sends us angels to protect us, guide us, and give us honor so we can live proudly as Jews even in exile. Our task is not just to survive Galus, but to transform it, until we return home to Eretz Yisrael with dignity and glory.לקו״ש כה-ב

Our “ashes” — the physical, day-to-day part of our lives — also really belong on the Mizbeach. On the lowest level, the ashes are taken outside to a pure place, meaning our regular life may feel separate from holiness, but we still live it with the intention of making time for Torah, tefillah, and mitzvos. A deeper level is when the ashes are placed next to the Mizbeach — even in our normal routine we see Hashem’s presence and holiness. But the deepest level is to know that even our ashes truly belong on the Mizbeach itself: that our physical life is not just a preparation for serving Hashem, but itself a constant way of serving Him — and the only reason we “take the ashes off” and go out into the world is to make space to bring another korban, to do another mitzvah and more good deeds.לקו״ש כה-ג

Chevron — the first part of Eretz Yisrael ever purchased — was bought publicly by Avraham Avinu, establishing the Jewish people’s eternal connection to the Land. Among the forty-eight Levi’im cities, Chevron was unique in that it combined eternal and personal ownership, symbolizing the deepest form of belonging. As one of the Arei Miklat, it served as a refuge for those seeking spiritual repair, embodying the mission of Shevet Levi — whose name, from “yilaveh” (“to connect”), reflects their role in uniting Jews with Hashem and with one another. In the Beis HaMikdash, the Levi’im guided and represented all of Klal Yisrael, fostering unity. Chevron, home to the Avos and Imahos, thus stands as an everlasting symbol of connection — between Hashem, His people, and one another — reminding every Jew that within us lies the same power to connect, to heal, and to unite.לקו״ש כה-א

Every person deep down wants to do what’s right, but layers of ego and distraction can cover that inner goodness. Sometimes a bit of prodding or pressure helps break through those barriers and reveal the divine spark within. This was the approach of Avraham Avinu, who welcomed guests with kindness and taught them to thank Hashem for their blessings. When some refused, he gently reasoned with them, and when others remained stubborn, he pressed further until they acknowledged the truth — not out of coercion, but because his persistence awakened something genuine inside them. Even if a person begins doing good under pressure, that single act can ignite transformation, for “mitzvah goreret mitzvah” — one good deed leads to another. Like Avraham, we must share light and goodness with others, knowing that even a small push can reveal a soul’s true self and lead to lasting growth and connection.לקו״ש טו-ג

When Avraham Avinu was ninety-nine years old, Hashem revealed Himself and made a covenant with him, saying He would make him the father of many nations. Hashem changed his name from Avram, meaning “father of Aram,” to Avraham, adding the letter hei to signify his new role as leader of many nations. Yet, the letter reish from Avraham remained, teaching that although he now influenced the entire world, he still stayed connected to his roots and his local community. The name Avram itself represents the highest levels of chochmah—wisdom—and kedushah—holiness—which defined Avraham’s essence. The message is that even as we go out to inspire and affect the world, we must never compromise truth or holiness, and we must not forget our families, neighbors, and communities—the people closest to us. Go out and change the world, but never lose yourself, your truth, or your connection to home.לקו״ש כה-ג

The Flood, the Rebbe explains, was not simply a punishment but a process of purification and renewal. Hashem first sent the waters as gentle rain, offering the people a chance to repent; when they refused, the same waters became a mabul of destruction. Yet even then, the rain still carried potential for blessing—the change came not from Heaven but from the earth’s corruption. The forty days of rain, like the forty se’ah of a mikveh, immersed the world to cleanse and recreate it. Called mei Noach, “the waters of tranquility,” the Flood washed away impurity and gave creation the ability for teshuvah and transformation. Likewise, the personal “floods” we experience—our challenges and hardships—can become waters of blessing when met with emunah and return. By turning our struggles into growth, we transform our own mabul into mei Noach, helping bring the world closer to the ultimate peace and renewal of Moshiach.לקו״ש כה-ב

Moshe Rabbeinu tells Bnei Yisroel that after going into galus they will ultimately return to Hashem with all their heart and soul, yet Hashem will still “circumcise” their hearts. This teaches that serving Hashem happens in stages: at first one may commit out of awe and truth even if the heart feels disconnected, and then Hashem opens the heart to love Him fully. Still, since the heart is naturally influenced by what the eyes see, Hashem must intervene to free it from outside distractions so that our love can be pure and complete. The words “es levavcha v’es levav zarecha” spell Elul, the month when “Ani l’dodi v’dodi li” — the King is in the field, lovingly close to all, awakening our love for Him.לקו״ש כט

When the Bikkurim, the first fruits, were brought to the Beis Hamikdash, they were placed in a basket, which according to the Rambam was not just an accessory but part of the mitzvah itself, and therefore the Kohen would even keep the simple baskets of branches and reeds, though not those of gold or silver. Spiritually, this teaches that just as the finest fruits were presented in a plain basket, so too the Jewish soul—lofty and holy in its source—must descend into the physical body, where its natural connection to Hashem is concealed. Yet it is precisely through this descent and through performing physical mitzvos and simple acts of goodness and kindness that the deepest bond with Hashem is revealed. The basket symbolizes that the greatest spiritual heights are fully realized only when expressed in simple, tangible actions, which enhance and complete the mitzvah in the most beautiful way.לקו״ש כט-א

The Torah forbids kelayim—mixing different kinds—because Hashem created each with its own unique purpose and identity. When animals or produce are mixed, their essence is destroyed, but with garments like wool and linen, each material remains distinct, which is why it can be permitted for a mitzvah. On a deeper level, every kind represents spiritual forces above, such as chesed (kindness) and gevurah (strength). If these opposing powers are forced together without a higher purpose, they cancel and destroy one another; but when united in service of Hashem, their differences are not erased but elevated, working in harmony toward one goal. In our physical world, however, each kind resists compromise, so attempts at unity either lead to destruction, like crossbreeding animals or mixing produce, or result in coexistence without peace, like wool and linen in a garment. True peace, therefore, is not about weakening individuality but about each person, with their full strengths and qualities, coming together for a higher purpose—to serve Hashem.לקו״ש כט-א

The Medrash compares a field, which produces grain necessary for life, to the Written Torah and mitzvos that sustain the world through action, while an orchard, which is for pleasure, represents the Oral Torah—delving into Hashem’s wisdom and innovating within it. Although all nations have laws and judges, what makes the Jewish people unique is that their judges not only enforce laws but also uncover the depths of Torah, connecting to Hashem’s wisdom itself. This duality is reflected in Na’aseh v’Nishma: first doing what Hashem commands (the “field”), and then learning for the sake of grasping His wisdom (the “orchard”). By remaining humble and simple like a child, we merit to access Hashem’s deepest pleasure—the depths of Torah. In Elul, the shofar embodies this: it inspires both awe and the beautification of our deeds, while its simple cry, like the Baal Shem Tov’s parable of a child calling to his father, reaches directly to Hashem, Who alone recognizes and responds to our voice.לקו״ש כט-א