Parsha with Rabbi David Bibi

There are people who have everything—and feel like they have nothing. And there are people with very little—who live with a deep sense of richness. What’s the difference? Not circumstance. Not opportunity. A mindset. In this week’s parashah, Tazria, the Torah introduces a halachah that seems technical—but reveals something profound: you cannot live beneath who you are. A person’s offering must reflect their true capacity, not what is convenient, not what others bring, but what they themselves are capable of becoming.   In this episode of Breakfast & a Class, we explore the hidden poverty thatChazal warn about—“אין עני אלא בדעת”—and uncover how the way we see ourselves shapes everything: our relationships, our growth, even our avodat Hashem. Through powerful stories and practical insight, this class will challenge you to rethink what it means to be “rich,” and why the greatest loss in life is notwhat we lack—but what we fail to recognize within ourselves.  

Something powerful lingers after Pesaḥ—but it’s easy to lose it as life returns to normal. In this morning’s breakfast and a class, we take one pasuk from yesterday’s Haftarah—“he will not judge by what his eyes see”—and uncover a stunning idea from Chazal: that Mashiaḥ will judge through re’ach, through a kind of spiritual “fragrance.” What does that mean? And how does it connect to the sea splitting when it “saw” the bones of Yosef? This episode reveals a deeper way of seeing reality—not through surfaces, but through essence. Through Torah sources, Midrash, and powerful contemporary stories, we explore what it means to look at another person—and even at ourselves—not based on behavior, labels, or first impressions, but through the etsem, the inner truth that never changes. If redemption feels distant, this class offers a bold perspective: perhaps geulah begins when we learn to see the way Mashiaḥ sees.

 As Bnei Yisrael rush out of Egypt in a moment of chaos, fear, and redemption, the Torah pausesto highlight something unexpected: Moshe searching—not for gold, not for provisions—but for the bones of Yosef. Why, at the most critical turning point in Jewish history, does the Torah focus on a coffin? And why does that coffin travel side by side with the Aron HaBrit throughout the entire journey in the desert? In our class this morning, we endevor to uncover a powerful and often overlooked truth—thatredemption is not just about leaving a place, but about carrying an identity.   Through the story of Yosef, we discover the secret behind the splitting of the sea, the balance between Torah and action, and the foundation of what it means to remain a Jew in every environment. This is not just a story about the past—it is a blueprint for the present. Because without memory, there is no direction. Andwithout living what we believe, even Torah itself remains incomplete.  

This morning’s Breakfast & a Class takes us beneath the surface of chametz and into something far more unsettling—the illusion of control. Through two powerful teachings of the Ben Ish Ḥai, we explore how a person can believe he is in charge, while quietly handing over the reins of his life. A man who thinks his stick killed a lion. A rider who lifts a stranger onto his horse—only to lose everything. These are not just stories; they are mirrors. And they force us to confront a difficult question: are we truly directing our lives, or have we slowly surrendered control without even realizing it? As we move from bedikat chametz to biur chametz, the message sharpens. Pesach is not only about removing crumbs—it is about reclaiming authority over the self. Knowing where we’ve given away control. Deciding what no longer belongs. And having the courage to burn it. This episode is direct, practical, and deeply relevant—because real freedom begins the moment we take back the reins.

The Ten Plagues — A War Against the Gods of Egypt Most people read the Ten Plagues as punishments. That is true—but it is not the whole truth. The Torah itself says, “וּבְכָל־אֱלֹהֵי מִצְרַיִם אֶעֱשֶׂה שְׁפָטִים”—“Against all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgment.” This was not merely a contest between Moshe and Pharaoh, or even between Israel and Egypt. It was a direct assault on the entire Egyptian worldview. The Nile, the earth, the animals, the sky, the sun, even Pharaoh himself—everything Egypt trusted, feared, and worshipped was exposed, one plague at a time, as powerless before HaShem. In this morning’s Breakfast & a Class, we examine the plagues not as random blows, but as a systematic war against illusion, idolatry, and false power. Each makah was a message. Each strike tore down another pillar of Egyptian belief and showed that what looked permanent, natural, and divine was nothing of the sort. And that is the deeper purpose of Yetziat Mitzrayim: not only to take the Jews out of Egypt, but to take Egypt out of the Jews. Because redemption is not complete when you leave the place of bondage. It is complete when you stop believing in the gods of the place that enslaved you.

Most of us grew up hearing the Ten Plagues as a dramatic story—ten punishments, one after another, until Egypt finally breaks. But when you look closely at the pesukim, a different picture emerges. This was not chaos. It was a system. A deliberate, structured process in which HaShem dismantled Egypt piece by piece—its river, its land, its animals, its bodies, its sky, its light, and finally, life itself. Following the pattern of דצ״ך עד״ש באח״ב, the plagues unfold with precision, each group teaching a deeper truth: that HaShem exists, that He is involved in the world, and that there is none like Him. In this class, we will uncover how the plagues were not only about freeing the Jewish people, but about re-educating the world. Drawing on the Ramban, Rav Hirsch, Rabbeinu Beḥaye, and others, we will see how each plague targeted a different aspect of nature—and a different illusion of human control. This is not just a story about Egypt. It is a framework for understanding reality itself: where we place our trust, what we think is stable, and how easily it can all be overturned. The question is not only what happened then—but what we still haven’t learned.

 We spend so much of life trying to avoid struggle—avoiding temptation, avoiding pressure, avoiding the parts of ourselves that feel dangerous or out of control. But the Torah does something shocking. When it comes to matzah, it doesn’t tell us to use something that can never become chametz. It insists we use the very grain that can go wrong—and then guard it. Because the goal of a Jew is not to avoid the battle. The goal is to step into it, hold the line, and transform it. The same dough that could rise into chametz becomes, with vigilance, the matzah of a mitzvah.     In this morning's class, we explore a powerful insight from RabbiYissochar Frand: your greatest spiritual growth is not found in your strengths,but in your struggles. Through the stories of Rabbi Amram Ḥasida, YosefHaTzaddik, and Reish Lakish, we uncover a deeper truth—HaShem does not ask us to become someone else. He asks us to take the very traits that could lead usastray and elevate them into avodat HaShem. Not avoiding the fire—but learninghow to direct it. Not eliminating the yetzer—but guarding it, shaping it, andturning it into something holy.     

 Later Is Where We Lose It — The Secret of Matzah and Time   In the middle of everything—sirens, uncertainty, a world that feels anything butcalm—my grandchildren sat in a yishuv and made matzah. Just flour, water, and aclock. And watching them, it hit me: nothing dramatic is happening in thatmoment. No miracles. No splitting seas. Just a quiet race against time. Becausefrom the second the water touches the flour, something begins. And if you waittoo long… it changes.    This morning’s class is about that space—the space between inspiration and action, between “I should” and “I did.” Chazal teach us that a mitzvah can become chametz, not by rejecting it, but by delaying it. And that may be the most dangerous place in our lives. Not the moments we fail—but the moments we hesitate. Because sometimes, later… is where everything is lost. 

What if leaving Mitzrayim was never only about Egypt? What if the Haggadah is not only asking you to remember a story—but to confront your own? In this powerful and deeply personal class, we explore the uncomfortable truth that many of us are no longer held back by chains… but by beliefs, habits, fears, and identities we have quietly accepted as permanent. Through timeless Torah sources and striking real-life stories—from the breaking of the four-minute mile to the man who chose his prison over freedom—we begin to uncover what it really means to walk out of our own Mitzrayim. This is not a history lesson. It is a call to movement. A call to stop explaining redemption and start living it. As we approach Leil Pesaḥ, this episode challenges each of us to ask the one question the night is truly asking: what still owns me? And more importantly—what would be my first step into the sea? Honest, direct, and deeply relevant, this is a conversation about fear, identity, and the quiet courage it takes to begin again.

We live in a world that celebrates inspiration. Do it when you feel it. Show up when it moves you. Give when your heart is open. But the Torah begins Parashat Tzav with a very different word: צַו — command. Not suggestion. Not inspiration. Obligation. And Chazal tell us something that runs against everything we instinctively believe: greater is the one who is commanded and does than the one who volunteers. Why? Why is a life built on obligation deeper, stronger, and ultimately more real than one built on feeling?  In this morning’s breakfast and a class, we unpack that question layer by layer—from the Gemara, Tosafot, Maharal, and Mesillat Yesharim, to a powerful insight from the Sefat Emet. Along the way, we confront a difficult truth: not every fire is holy, even when it burns with passion. The difference between a moment of inspiration and a life of meaning comes down to one word Tzav—צַו. This is a class about discipline, about identity, and about what it really means to serve HaShem… even when you don’t feel it.  

 There is a fire that everyone sees — and then there is afire that no one sees at all. This class begins with a quiet detail most peoplemiss, including me: the unusually small מ in the word מוֹקְדָה at the start ofParashat Tzav. From that single letter, a powerful question emerges. What doesthe Torah want from our fire? Is it the moment of inspiration, the visiblepassion, the dramatic connection — or something far deeper, far quieter, andfar more enduring?     Through the imagery of the Mizbe’aḥ burning through thenight, the teaching of Chazal about a heavenly fire that still requires humaneffort, and the sharp warning about a fire that can become self-serving, withthe help of the Keli Yakar, Rav Kook and the Gemara, we uncover a truth that isas demanding as it is liberating. The greatest avodah is not the fire thatdraws attention — but the one that survives when no one is watching. A greatway to begin the week with a class about humility, about consistency, and aboutthe kind of inner fire that belongs not to the self… but to HaShem.        

 There is a line in the Haggadah that should bother you.“Not only one has risen against us…” — but many. Why would we highlight that?Why would we thank Hashem for a world filled with enemies? Unless the Haggadahis not describing the danger… but revealing the miracle hidden inside it.     In this morning’s class, we take a closer look at VehiShe’amda and uncover a pattern that runs from Tanach to today’s headlines.Again and again, those who rise against us fail to unite. What appears to be athreat becomes fractured. What should be overwhelming never fully comestogether. And in that division lies one of the most consistent — and leastnoticed — miracles of Jewish history.        

In this week's 11AM class, we explore one of the most fascinating and overlooked passages in the Siddur — the short prayer recited after reading the offerings of the **Nesi’im* during the month of Nissan. It’s a page most of us have rarely stopped to examine. But when we begin to unpack its language, it opens into an extraordinary world described by the Zohar and later Kabbalistic masters — a world where the renewal of spring is connected to the journeys of souls, where the dedication of the Mishkan reopens spiritual channels between heaven and earth, and where even the blossoming of trees hints at a deeper process unfolding in creation. Drawing from the sefer *שפתי חן* of Rabbi Shmuel Krois and teachings rooted in the Zohar and the Arizal, we will follow the thread of this mysterious prayer and discover why it speaks about souls standing in rows, why it appears immediately after the offerings of the tribal princes, and how the month of Nissan marks a moment when the spiritual architecture of the world begins to awaken again. What looks like a small page in the Siddur turns out to be a doorway into one of the most remarkable ideas in our tradition — that heaven and earth begin to move together again each spring. Nissan - Direct Connect - When the Heavens Rejoice and the Earth Answers

The wise son asks the most thoughtful question of the Seder: Why so many mitzvot? Why all the rituals, details, and commandments connected to the Exodus from Egypt? The Haggadah answers with an unexpected halachah: “Ein maftirin achar haPesach afikoman.” In this morning's breakfast and a class we uncover the profound message behind that answer. Through the teachings of the Sefer HaChinuch and classic sources from Chazal, we explore how Judaism transforms a person through action — and why the Torah insists that redemption be not only remembered, but reenacted.

This week’s parashah VaYikra opens with a tiny detail that carries a powerful message. The small aleph in the word וַיִּקְרָא has fascinated Torah scholars for generations. Why would Moshe Rabbeinu — the greatest prophet who ever lived — intentionally make the letter smaller? In this morning’s breakfast and a class, inspired by a teaching often shared by Rabbi Abittan זצ״ל, we explore the insight of the Baal HaTurim, the humility of Moshe, and what that small aleph reveals about one of the greatest spiritual struggles we face: the expanding “I.” Through Torah sources, stories from Chazal, and a remarkable contemporary story, we discover how shrinking the ego allows us to hear the voice of Hashem more clearly. Sometimes the greatest spiritual achievement is not becoming bigger — but learning to make the aleph small.