Parsha with Rabbi David Bibi

 The Torah tells us:  לֹא־יָבֹא עַמּוֹנִי וּמוֹאָבִי בִּקְהַל ה׳… עַל־דְּבַר אֲשֶׁרלֹא־קִדְּמוּ אֶתְכֶם בַּלֶּחֶם וּבַמַּיִם בַּדֶּרֶךְ בְּצֵאתְכֶם מִמִּצְרָיִם וַאֲשֶׁרשָׂכַר עָלֶיךָ אֶת־בִּלְעָם בֶּן־בְּעוֹר… (דברים כ״ג:ד–ה).    “An Ammonite or Moabite shall not enter into the congregation of Hashem… because they did not greet you with bread and water on the way when you left Egypt, and because they hired Bil‘am son of Be‘or to curse you.”    Now wait. Let’s be honest. Which crime sounds worse? Moavhired Bil‘am to curse, to destroy, to annihilate. Amon? They just didn’t bringout some bread and water. At worst, a breach of etiquette.   So why does the Torah treat them equally? Why are they both forever excluded from joining Am Yisrael?  

“Two Wars and the Calf in Between” — uncover why the Torah repeats כִּי־תֵצֵא לַמִּלְחָמָה twice, and what it teaches us about Elul, seliḥot, and responsibility for one another. he first appearance is in Shoftim: כִּי־תֵצֵא לַמִּלְחָמָה עַל־אֹיְבֶיךָ וְרָאִיתָ סוּס וָרֶכֶב עַם רַב מִמְּךָ לֹא־תִירָא מֵהֶם כִּי ה׳ אֱלֹהֶיךָ עִמָּךְ הַמַּעַלְךָ מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם. (דְּבָרִים כ׳:א׳) Here the Torah speaks about a communal war — the entire nation arrayed against the enemy. The Kohen gives his powerful speech: “Do not fear, for Hashem is with you.” The Malbim points out: this refers to a milchemet mitzvah — an obligatory war of defense or conquest, commanded by Hashem. Holy and necessary — but dangerous. War means bloodshed, and bloodshed can desensitize a people. Which is why, immediately after this section, the Torah turns to eglah arufah. Eglah Arufah: The Calf and Responsibility for Blood The Torah describes: כִּי־יִמָּצֵא חָלָל בָּאֲדָמָה אֲשֶׁר ה׳ אֱלֹהֶיךָ נֹתֵן לְךָ לְרִשְׁתָּהּ נֹפֵל בַּשָּׂדֶה לֹא נוֹדַע מִי הִכָּהוּ… וְעָנוּ וְאָמְרוּ יָדֵינוּ לֹא שָׁפְכוּ אֶת־הַדָּם הַזֶּה וְעֵינֵינוּ לֹא רָאוּ. (דְּבָרִים כ״א:א׳–ז׳) A murdered body is found. The elders of the closest city must bring a calf, break its neck in a barren valley, and declare: “Our hands did not spill this blood, nor did our eyes see.” The Gemara Sotah (46b) asks: Who would ever suspect the elders of being murderers? Chazal explain: They are not saying, “We didn’t kill him.” They are saying, “We did not abandon him. We did not let him leave our city without food, without escort, without dignity.” The Kli Yakar writes: this is placed between two “wars” to remind us that even when blood is spilled on the battlefield, we must never cheapen life. If you become casual with life in war, you will eventually become casual at home. The Midrash Tanchuma (Shoftim 15) emphasizes: leaders bear responsibility. Even indirect neglect is guilt. And the Zohar (Shoftim 277a) deepens the point: when blood is spilled without clarity, it is a sign of an unresolved inner war — the yetzer hara still raging inside. The Torah shifts from the communal battlefield to the private struggle: כִּי־תֵצֵא לַמִּלְחָמָה עַל־אֹיְבֶיךָ וּנְתָנוֹ ה׳ אֱלֹהֶיךָ בְּיָדֶךָ וְשָׁבִיתָ שִׁבְיוֹ. (דְּבָרִים כ״א:י׳) The soldier sees a captive woman — the יְפַת תּוֹאַר — and desires her. But the Torah does not stop there. It traces the spiritual fallout step by step: 1. יְפַת תּוֹאַר – passion and impulse. 2. אִשָּׁה שְׂנוּאָה – the woman once desired becomes a hated wife. 3. בֵּן סוֹרֵר וּמוֹרֶה – the next generation spirals into rebellion and destruction.

You are Never Alone – Shoftim 5785  (Based on Rabbi Elimelech Biderman שליט״א, with additional story from Rabbi Shlomo Farhi שליט״א)   My friends, imagine this: you’re walking on a long, empty road. Not a car in sight. No phone service. No flashlight. The world is dark, the wind whistles, and your footsteps echo. Suddenly, you ask yourself—am I truly alone?  

From the arrogance of guests demanding beachfront huts to the discipline of kings carrying a Sefer Torah, today’s episode explores the Torah’s timeless cure for ego: remembering not who we are, but Whose we are.” 

 This week’s parashah, Shoftim, commands us to build asociety of justice. In a powerful op-ed, Charles Kushner warns French PresidentMacron about the rise of antisemitism in France. What does this teach us aboutthe mitzvah of dinim, the legacy of Dreyfus and Herzl, and the courage each ofus must find in Elul?  

In this Rosh Hodesh class we uncover the hidden Name of Elul — ה־ה־ו־י — concealed in a single pasuk of the Torah. Why is Elul’s Name spelled through endings, not beginnings? Why does it unite Binah with Malkhut? And how does this month become, in the words of the ḥasidic masters, the “neshamah yetera of the year”? Join us as we explore the Arizal, the Bnei Yissaschar, the Baal Shem Tov, and more, to prepare our hearts for the Yamim Nora’im 

Pre-recording of Seudah Shelishi class: “עֲשֵׂרתְּעַשֵּׂר – Tithing the Head, Ruling the Heart”  Join us as we explore how Ya‘akov Avinu’s pledge of ma‘aserteaches us to crown the mind over the heart, turning even the yetzer harainto a force for good through the joy of Torah.  Introduction  My friends,as we gather this Shabbat afternoon, I want to take you straight into the heartof our parashah — Parashat Re’eh based on the teachings of the ShvileiPinchas – Rabbi Pinchas Friedman   The Torahtells us: 'עַשֵּׂר תְּעַשֵּׂר אֵת כָּל תְּבוּאַת זַרְעֲךָ, הַיּוֹצֵא הַשָּׂדֶה,שָׁנָה שָׁנָה'— “You shall surely tithe all the produce of your seed that comes forth fromthe field year by year” (דברים יד, כב). The language is striking: עַשֵּׂרתְּעַשֵּׂר — a double command. Not just “give,” but “give and give again.”  Chazal inthe Midrash Tanchuma (Re’eh 11) tell us something astonishing: רַבִּי לֵוִיאוֹמֵר — Yisrael are purified before HaKadosh Barukh Hu through two greatmerits: the merit of Shabbat, and the merit of ma‘asrot.  Think aboutthat. We often speak about Shabbat as the great purifier of Am Yisrael — theday that uplifts, the day that sanctifies. But here the Midrash tells us: ma‘aser— giving a tenth of our produce, our income — has a similar purifying power.  And then theMidrash takes us deeper. It connects this mitzvah of tithing to another pasuklater in Devarim (כו, יא): 'וְשָׂמַחְתָּ בְּכָל הַטּוֹב, אֲשֶׁר נָתַן לְךָה’ אֱלֹקֶיךָ' — “And you shall rejoice in all the good that Hashemyour G-d has given you.”  But wait —Chazal immediately ask: What is this “טּוֹב” that the Torah speaks of?And they answer with a principle that reverberates through all of Torah: אֵיןטוֹב אֶלָּא תּוֹרָה — There is no true good except Torah.As it is written in Mishlei (ד, ב): 'כִּי לֶקַח טוֹב נָתַתִּי לָכֶם, תּוֹרָתִיאַל תַּעֲזֹבוּ'.  So here isthe puzzle that sets the stage for our shiur today:Why does the Torah tie together three seemingly different things — ma‘aser,simḥah, and Torah?Why does giving a tenth of our field’s produce connect me to the ultimate joyof “כָּל הַטּוֹב”?And why do Chazal insist that this “טוֹב” is not grain, not wine, not wealth —but only Torah?  This, myfriends, will be our journey this afternoon. We’re going to take a lesson fromthe Zohar and structure this class so that we move from level to level and in away travel together through seven halls, or seven heichalot, each oneopening a window into the mystery of עַשֵּׂר תְּעַשֵּׂר, the joy of וְשָׂמַחְתָּבְּכָל הַטּוֹב, and the eternal truth that אֵין טוֹב אֶלָּא תּוֹרָה. And along the way, as always, we’ll weavestories — from the Talmud, the Midrash, the great Chassidic masters — storiesthat will bring this journey to life, so that when we walk out of this BeitMidrash, we don’t just understand the mitzvah of ma‘aser, but we feel it, welive it, we carry its joy into our homes. 

In Memory of Rabbi Wein 

Every single day — not once in a while, but every day — in our synagogue, there are people in line at the door asking for help. Some we recognize, some are strangers passing through. They come with letters, envelopes, sometimes with tears. And if you think about it — many of them come hoping that today will be the day their prayers are answered. There’s a danger here. Not that we’ll stop giving — but that we’ll start giving without feeling. That our hands will stay open, but our hearts will close. The Torah’s Words In Parashat Re’eh (Devarim 15:7–8), the Torah says: “כִּֽי־יִהְיֶה֩ בְךָ֨ אֶבְי֜וֹן מֵאַחַ֤ד אַחֶ֙יךָ֙ בְּאַחַ֣ד שְׁעָרֶ֔יךָ בְּאַ֨רְצְךָ֔ אֲשֶׁר־ה׳ אֱלֹקֶ֖יךָ נֹתֵ֣ן לָ֑ךְ לֹ֧א תְאַמֵּ֣ץ אֶת־לְבָבְךָ֗ וְלֹ֤א תִקְפֹּץ֙ אֶת־יָ֣דְךָ֔ מֵאָחִ֖יךָ הָאֶבְיֽוֹן׃ “If there is a needy person among you, one of your brothers, in one of your gates in your land that Hashem your God is giving you, do not harden your heart and do not close your hand from your needy brother.” “כִּֽי־פָתֹ֧חַ תִּפְתַּ֛ח אֶת־יָדְךָ֖ ל֑וֹ וְהַעֲבֵט֙ תַּעֲבִיטֶ֔נּוּ דֵּ֚י מַחְסֹר֔וֹ אֲשֶׁ֥ר יֶחְסַ֖ר לֽוֹ׃” “Rather, you shall surely open your hand to him, and lend him whatever he needs, whatever he is lacking.” Notice: • The Torah doesn’t just say “open your hand.” It says “open your hand to him.” • And it begins not with the hand, but with the heart: “Do not harden your heart.”

Testing Hashem Halacha 08112025 Devarim 6:16: “לֹא תְנַסּוּ אֶת־ה׳ אֱלֹהֵיכֶם, כַּאֲשֶׁר נִסִּיתֶם בַּמַּסָּה” “Do not test Hashem your God, as you tested Him at Massah.” This forbids challenging Hashem to “prove” Himself by fulfilling our conditions. The Torah is recalling the incident in Shemot 17:1–7: • The people had no water and demanded: “הֲיֵשׁ ה׳ בְּקִרְבֵּנוּ אִם אָיִן — Is Hashem in our midst or not?” • They challenged Moshe to “prove” that Hashem was with them. • That place was called Massah (“testing”) because they tested Hashem by saying, “Is He among us or not?” Sefer HaChinuch Mitzvah 435 The prohibition is to set up a situation in which we demand Hashem prove Himself, as though we will only trust Him if He fulfills certain conditions. • This is the opposite of emunah — trust without conditions. • We are to believe and rely on Hashem because of His word, His Torah, and His proven history with us — not because we demand a personal miracle. Testing Hashem can take many modern forms: 1. Making Deals with Heaven – “If You do X for me, I’ll start keeping Shabbat.” That’s not a covenant — it’s a test. 2. Reckless Risk Expecting Miracles – Putting oneself in danger and saying, “Hashem will protect me,” instead of taking normal precautions. 3. Demanding Signs – Refusing to believe or act unless a supernatural sign occurs. 4. Treating Mitzvot as Experiments – Performing a mitzvah “just to see if it works” rather than as service to Hashem. That said, Chazal (Malachi 3:10) make one exception: When it comes to ma‘aser (tithing), the Torah says, “וּבְחָנוּנִי נָא בָּזֹאת — Test Me with this,” meaning we are invited to see how Hashem blesses those who give generously. The Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzvah 435) teaches: • In all areas of life, faith means trusting Hashem without setting conditions. • But with tzedakah and ma‘aser, Hashem gives explicit permission to “test” Him — because giving away part of our wealth feels like loss, and Hashem wants us to experience the truth that generosity brings blessing.  

Sefer hachinuch lists 22 Misvot this week. One is not to forsake the levi. Halacha of the Day on “לא לעזוב את הלוי” — Not to forsake the Levi (Sefer HaChinukh mitzvah 505 in most editions). 1. The mitzvah is from Devarim 12:19: “הִשָּׁמֶר לְךָ פֶּן־תַּעֲזֹב אֶת־הַלֵּוִי כָּל־יָמֶיךָ עַל־אַדְמָתֶךָ” “Guard yourself lest you forsake the Levite all your days upon your land.” The Levi’im were not given a portion of land in Eretz Yisrael — their livelihood came from the ma’aser rishon (first tithe) that the other tribes were commanded to give. This mitzvah warns us not only to fulfill the technical requirement of giving the ma’aser, but also to maintain an ongoing relationship of support and respect for the Levi, ensuring they can dedicate themselves to their service in the Beit HaMikdash and teaching Torah. The Rambam in Sefer HaMitzvot counts this as a separate mitzvah because it adds an ongoing, proactive dimension: it’s not enough to pay your “tax”; you must be careful never to let the Levi feel abandoned. 2. Today, without a Beit HaMikdash, Levi’im do not perform Temple service and we don’t give ma’aser rishon in the Torah sense. But the underlying principle — supporting those who dedicate their lives to Avodat Hashem and Torah — still applies. • This could mean supporting Torah scholars, teachers, and communal leaders who rely on the community. • It could also mean showing kavod to Levi’im in shul — calling them first to the Torah, maintaining their role in birkat kohanim if they are also kohanim, and giving them their due place in the community. • On a deeper level, the mitzvah reminds us not to “abandon” anyone in the community who depends on us — especially those serving the spiritual needs of others. 3. The is a story told of The Vilna Gaon who once hosted a guest for Shabbat who was a Levi. During the meal, the Gaon personally served him first from every dish. When asked why, he explained: “The Torah commands us not to forsake the Levi — not only in their sustenance, but in honor. If in the days of the Mikdash they stood at the gates singing before Hashem, how much more so now, when they keep that tradition alive, should we honor them in our homes.” It’s said that the Levi left uplifted, feeling valued not for his title alone but for his role in the chain of Avodat Hashem. That’s the essence of the mitzvah: making sure a Levi never feels invisible. 4. While the Levi’im of today may not stand on the steps of the Beit HaMikdash, the Torah’s call echoes: Don’t forsake those who serve Hashem in your midst. This mitzvah teaches us to notice, to support, and to honor — whether it’s a Levi in shul, a teacher in the beit midrash, or anyone whose avodah benefits the whole community. At our next opportunity, greet a Levi warmly, make sure he is given the proper kavod, or support someone in full-time Torah work — and know that you’re fulfilling the spirit of “לא תעזוב את הלוי”. The Rambam’s Expansion — Every Jew Can Be a Levi In Hilchot Shemitah V’Yovel 13:12–13, the Rambam writes something astonishing: “Not only the tribe of Levi, but any human being… whose spirit moves him and whose understanding grants him the wisdom to separate himself and stand before Hashem… is sanctified as holy of holies, and Hashem will be his portion and inheritance forever. And Hashem will provide his sustenance in this world, as He did for the Kohanim and Levi’im.” The Rambam is saying that the essence of Levi is not genetic — it’s a calling. A person who devotes themselves to Torah and to serving the community becomes, spiritually, a “Levi.” So “don’t forsake the Levi” means: • Yes, support the physical Levi’im — that’s the mitzvah’s root. • But also, don’t forsake the Levi role in our own lives — the part of us that wants to step away from pure material pursuit to stand before Hashem. • And don’t forsake others who have taken that role — the teachers, learners, and spiritual leaders around you. Why This is Powerful Today If the Beit HaMikdash stood, you’d bring your ma’aser to the Levi and go home. Today, your “ma’aser” might be the time, resources, or attention you give to those living in service of Torah. And according to the Rambam, it might even mean supporting the Levi within yourself — carving out time from the daily grind to learn, daven, or do chesed, even when it’s not your “job.” Story to Illustrate A well-known rosh yeshiva in Israel once said that as a young man, his father — a shopkeeper — would bring home the day’s earnings and set aside money for Torah scholars before anything else, even food. When asked why, he answered: “If we forsake the Levi, we forsake the Shechinah in our town. And if we forsake the Shechinah, what are we eating for anyway?” Years later, that same shopkeeper’s son became a major teacher of Torah, supported by others’ generosity — a full-circle fulfillment of לא תעזוב את הלוי. This mitzvah isn’t just about “them” — it’s about us. Supporting the Levi means nurturing the people, and the part of ou

 How many times do you need to hear something before itbecomes part of you?     Once? Twice? Ten times?     Moshe Rabbenu gathers the people one last time, and hedoesn’t teach them anything “new.” No fresh miracles. No dazzling wonders. Heretells stories they already know. He repeats. Again. And again.     הוֹאִ֛יל מֹשֶׁ֥ה בֵאֵ֖ר אֶת־הַתּוֹרָ֥ה הַזֹּ֖את לֵאמֹֽר׃  “Then Moshe undertook to expound this Torah…” (דברים א׳:ה׳)     Why the repetition? Because Moshe isn’t lecturing. He’sengraving. He’s searing memory into the soul of a people.     And as we approach תִּשְׁעָה בְּאָב, our national day ofmourning, we learn from Parashat Devarim the sacred power of memory—howremembering can be redemptive, and how forgetfulness can destroy.  

תְּקַע בְּשׁוֹפָר גָּדוֹל לְחֵרוּתֵנוּ.וְשָׂא נֵס לְקַבֵּץ גָּלִיּוֹתֵינוּ.וְקַבְּצֵנוּ יַחַד מֵאַרְבַּע כַּנְפוֹת הָאָרֶץ לְאַרְצֵנוּ. יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְּפָנֶיךָ ה אֱלֹקינוּוֵאלֹהֵי אֲבוֹתֵינוּ, שֶׁכָּל טִפָּה וְטִפָּה שֶׁל זֶרַע שֶׁיֵּצֵא מִמֶּנִּי לַבַּטָּלָה, בֵּין בְּאוֹנֶס בֵּין בִּרְצוֹן, בֵּין בְּשׁוֹגֵג בֵּין בְּמֵזִיד,בֵּין בְּעֵר בֵּין בְּיָשֵׁן, בֵּין עַל יְדֵי בֵּין עַל יְדֵי אֲחֵרִים, שֶׁלֹּא בְּמָקוֹם מִצְוָה,עֲשֵׂה לְמַעַן שִׁמְךָ הַגָּדוֹל וְהַנּוֹרָא הַיּוֹצֵא מִפָּסוּק תֵּהִל בַּל וְיִקָּרֵנוּ, שֶׁתַּחֲזִירֵם לִמְקוֹמָם בִּמְקוֹם הַקּוֹדֶשׁ.

The Killer’s Prayer You didn’t mean to kill. Maybe a tool slipped from your hand. Maybe you looked away for a second. It doesn’t matter now. Someone died, and the Torah says you must go — to the עיר מקלט. Exiled. Alone. Separated from your family. Maybe it feels like you’re in Iowa, and your whole life — your wife, your kids, your parents — are all back in New York. And every day in exile… you pray. Not for forgiveness. Not even for understanding. Just one plea: “Please, Hashem — let the Kohen Gadol die, so I can go home.” And the Torah says: כִּ֤י בְעִיר֙ מִקְלָט֔וֹ יֵשֵׁ֖ב עַד־מ֥וֹת הַכֹּהֵ֣ן הַגָּד֑וֹל “He shall dwell in his city of refuge until the death of the Kohen Gadol…” (במדבר ל״ה:כ״ח) But here’s the puzzle: Why should this prayer work?

The Torah tells us that if someone makes a vow or swears an oath to bind themselves, they must not profane their word—“כְּכָל־הַיֹּצֵא מִפִּ֖יו יַעֲשֶֽׂה” — he must do exactly as he has said.  In Jewish law, vows are serious matters. A neder or a shevuah is not just a passing statement. It creates a personal prohibition. And to dissolve such a vow requires either an expert—יָחוֹל לְהָתִיר נֶדֶר—or a בית דין של שלושה הדיוטות. But what’s striking is how the Torah introduces this mitzvah. Usually, when Moshe receives a mitzvah to transmit, it’s passed from him to אַהֲרֹן, then to his sons, the זְקֵנִים, and finally to all of בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל. But here—וַיְדַבֵּ֣ר מֹשֶׁ֗ה אֶל־רָאשֵׁ֛י הַמַּטּ֖וֹת. Rashi comments: “לכבודם של נשיאים נאמר.” The reason? Because the annulment of vows is a unique halachic tool given to leaders, to experts. Not every judge can do it. It requires שִׁקּוּל דַּעַת, יִרְאַת שָׁמַיִם, and the discernment to distinguish between a vow made in clarity and one made in desperation. But I’d like to go deeper.

 This is an origin story I had never heard and I’m fairlysure that most of you have not heard it before either.      And here’s how it goes:        Yehoshua’s father was a righteous man. He and his wife hadno children. He prayed passionately for a child, and at last, Hashem answeredhis prayers.   Yehoshua’s mother noticed that although she had becomepregnant, her husband was still not happy. He was crying and fasting even morethan before. Overwhelmed by his constant sorrow, she turned to him and said,“You should rejoice! Hashem has heard your prayers! We are going to have ababy!” But still, he remained troubled. Pressed daily by her concern, heeventually revealed the reason for his sadness: a message had come to him fromHeaven—the boy who will be born to you is destined to behead you.     His wife believed him, for she knew her husband was on agreat spiritual level. When the child was born, and it was indeed a boy, shequietly made a small box, coated it, placed the infant inside, and set himafloat upon the Nile.     One day, Pharaoh held a grand feast for all his ministers.Among the royal delicacies brought to the table was a very big fish. When itwas cut open before the king, to everyone's astonishment, a crying baby wasfound inside. Struck by the wonder, Pharaoh adopted the child and raised himwithin the palace. In time, the boy grew and was appointed Chief Executioner.     Years later, Yehoshua’s father fell into disfavor withPharaoh. The king ordered the executioner to behead him and seize his wife,children, and possessions, as was the cruel custom of the time. After beheadinghis own father, Yehoshua met his mother, who revealed to him the truth of hisorigins: how she had cast him into the river to save him, and how the big fishat the banquet had swallowed him. He believed her—he remembered being told thathe had been found at a banquet inside a fish. Though he had not known untilthat moment that the man he beheaded was his own father, he was overcome withremorse and did teshuvah. From that time on, he was called 'Yehoshua binNun', because in Aramaic, the word Nun means fish.     And then my reactions which may have been audible: “That’sinsane!” “That’s impossible !” “Wait… is that real?”     Now, full disclosure. When I read this, as you can tell,something bothered me.     I mean… it’s gripping, cinematic, spiritual—but also… what?!     So I did what any good Jew does when a story sounds too epicto be true—I started digging.     And here’s what I found.     

 Title: The Severed Letter and the UnbrokenSoul: Zimri, Pinchas, and the Redemption of a Cut Covenant  ThisShabbat: A brokenletter. A severed soul. A redemption that spans lifetimes.Join us for “The Severed Letter and the Unbroken Soul” — a journey fromZimri to Rabbi Akiva and beyond.  Opening:Questions That Demand Answers  What do wedo when we find a broken letter in a Sefer Torah? We stop. We call a sofer. Wedeclare the scroll pasul. One letter broken, and the Torah’s voice is silenced.  But there’sone shocking exception.  In ParashatPinchas, Hashem rewards Pinchas with a berit shalom — a covenant of peace. Yetin every kosher Sefer Torah, the word שָׁלוֹם is written with a vavketu’ah — a broken vav. Not a sofer’s error, not an oversight, but ahalachic requirement.  Why here?Why now? Why peace — a word that also appears in Hashem’s name — fractured?  And why wasPinchas, the hero of the moment, so hated by the people? Why did the mal’acheihasharet, the ministering angels, seek to kill him? What did they see thatwe don’t?  Even morepuzzling: our Sages reveal that Zimri’s soul returns — not once, but twice —once as Rabbi Akiva, and again as Ketiah bar Shalom both alive at thesame time. Moreso Zimri had been here before and failed and this was hischance to fix things.   What’s thethread tying all this together?  Tounderstand, we’ll journey together today. The inspiration for this class is a66 page booklet I received last week from Rav Chaim Rosenblatt of NetivAryeh in Jerusalem, it is based on the teachings of Rav MosheWolfson zatzal. I have also interwoven, as is natural, my own thoughts based onmy limited understanding as I was taught by Rabbi Abittan Zsl.   Lets callthis a tale of a soul. Shattered. Elevated. Redeemed.  To me, it’sthe story of how Hashem never gives up on us.  

 In פַּרָשַׁתפִּינְחָס, Hashem gives Pinḥas the ultimate gift:      “הִנְנִי נֹתֵן לוֹ אֶת־בְּרִיתִי שָׁלוֹם”  “Behold, Igive him My covenant of peace.”  (במדבר כ״ה:י״ב)     But if youlook inside a Sefer Torah, you’ll notice something unusual:     The word שָׁלוֹםis written with a ו׳ קְטוּעָה—a broken vav.     Why wouldthe Torah—which is תְּמוּמָה and שְׁלֵמָה—contain a broken letter?     

 ParashatPinḥasintroduces us to the reward and eternal legacy of a man who acted with zeal,truth, and complete selflessness. But to fully understand Pinḥas, we must contrast him withanother towering figure — one who also spoke with God, one who was considered aprophet among the nations — the notorious Bilʿam.     Twomen. Two missions.  Onesword. One spell.  Onerooted in truth. The other swallowed by ego.     Butwhat happens when these two meet?     Let’sbegin not in our parashah, but in the next:  Whenthe Jewish army goes to war with Midyan, who do they find there?     Bilʿam.     He’snot on the battlefield.  He’snot in the beit midrash.  He’snot prophesying.     He’scollecting payment — for his wicked advice: “Send in the Midyanite women. Breaktheir morality, and you break their protection.”     Andit worked.     24,000men of Shevet Shimʿon died in a plague.  176,000were guilty of idolatry.  Bilʿam was being paid per Jewlost.     ButHashem doesn’t forget.     EnterPinḥas,leading the army.  He,the same man who halted the plague with a spear in last week’s parashah, nowbrings justice with a sword.     TheMidrash (Yalkut Shimʿoni 771) says Bilʿam tried to escape using sorcery — he flew into the air! ButPinḥasinvoked the Divine Name, and Bilʿam crashed down. One clean stroke — and the man who thoughthis mouth ruled the world was silenced forever.     וַיַּהַרְגוּ אֶת־מַלְכֵי מִדְיָן עַל־חַלְלֵיהֶם… וְאֵת בִּלְעָם בֶּן־בְּעוֹר הָרְגוּ בֶּחָרֶב  (במדבר ל״א:ח׳)  “Theykilled the kings of Midyan… and Bilʿam ben Beʿor they killed by sword.”     Notby spell.  Notby debate.  Bysword — because truth cuts deeper than illusion.        

           EDITORS NOTES      When Souls Leave Early—And Still Lift Us  The following is based on this week’s class and podcast.      At the end of Parashat Balak, we meet a hero—Pinḥas—who steps into a collapsing world and halts a deadly plague. But according to the Mekubalim, Pinḥas didn’t act alone. In the moment he entered the tent with spear in hand, his soul left him in fright. And then… a miracle. The souls of his uncles, Nadav and Avihu—who died decades earlier in Divine fire—returned to strengthen him. They brought with them another soul: Eliyahu HaNavi.  From that moment forward, Pinḥas became Eliyahu. As we sing at every Brit Milah, based on the words of the Zohar, Pinḥas hu Eliyahu. He lives still. And his story tells us something extraordinary: sometimes, a soul that has already reached its perfection doesn’t just ascend—it returns. Not for its own sake, but to lift others.     When Words Fail—And Silence Speaks  There are moments, like Aharon’s loss of his sons Nadav and Avihu, when words simply do not exist. Vayidom Aharon. He was silent.  And I wonder: what questions filled that silence?  · What did we do to deserve this?  · Was this a punishment for the Golden Calf?  · Can I ever be whole again?  These are not academic questions. They are cries of the soul. I ask them too.  This isn’t a devar Torah of logic. It’s an exploration of neshamah—of soul, emunah, and quiet strength. A space where we ask: Can a soul be complete even in just a moment? Can a child’s brief life be a mission fulfilled?     Two Olam HaBa Realms: Chesed and Gevurah  Kabbalah teaches us there are two forms of Olam HaBa—the Next World:  1. Olam HaBa of Chesed: a world of ascent, where souls grow through mitzvot, Torah, and the merit of those left behind.   2. Olam HaBa of Gevurah: a world of blinding closeness to the Divine. A realm of stillness, where ascent ends—not from failure, but from fulfillment.   Some souls don’t come to rise. They come already elevated. And they often leave this world early—not as a loss, but as completion.  The Zohar calls them nitzotzin de-kadmūn letushbaḥta—sparks that precede praise. Too pure for this world, they come for a moment, and return.     Nadav and Avihu: Not a Fall, But a Flame  The Torah says a fire consumed Nadav and Avihu. But the Zohar teaches: it was not punishment. It was devekut—a soul's longing for God so intense it could no longer remain in the body. Their death was not a failure. It was union.  And Aharon? He was silent. Not in despair—but in faith.  That silence echoes through generations of parents who have lost children. It is not ignorance. It is surrender to something higher.     Some Souls Are Already There  When a child is lost, the questions are too raw to answer. Why did this soul not get a chance to grow? Why the pain, the diapers, the dreams left behind?  But the Arizal says: some souls do not need to ascend—because they are already there.  A baby. A young tzaddik. A soul too radiant for this world to hold. Their life, though brief, was complete.  We don’t always need to say Kaddish. Not because we lack faith—but because these souls lift us.     The Story of Pinḥas—and the Power of Ibur  When Pinḥas acted, his soul left him. But Nadav and Avihu returned—through ibur, a temporary soul infusion. They didn’t come back for themselves. They came to save the people. And with them came a third soul: Eliyahu.  From that moment, Pinḥas was no longer just a man—he was a vessel for eternity.     A Soul That Lifts  When we lose someone so young, the world sees tragedy.  But the mekubalim suggest something different:  “There are souls that descend only to complete a small rectification.” — Sha’ar HaGilgulim  They are not broken. They are not in need of us.  We need them. Because their light still shines. Because their mission didn’t end—it simply changed forms.     A Child’s Soul That Elevates  Last month in Jerusalem, we heard from Ḥacham David Yosef שליט״א after our family suffered a painful loss:  “There’s no need to say Kaddish. No need for added mitzvot. His neshamah is already at the highest place.”  At the time, it felt like a door closing.  Now I understand—it was a door opening.  This was not a soul needing help. It was a soul helping us.     The Silence That Lifts  Vayidom Aharon. And David HaMelekh too, after losing a child, stood up, changed his clothes, and went to pray. Because he understood what we all long to understand:  “I shall go to him. But he shall not return to me.” (Shmuel II 12:23)  This is the Olam HaBa of Gevurah. Not a place of loss. A place of completion. A place where the soul

 The Gemara in Sotah (47a) says something shocking:    “As a reward for the forty-two korbanot that Balak offered, he merited that Rutdescended from him… from whom came Shlomo HaMelekh.”   Wait… what?   Balak—the man who tried to annihilate Am Yisrael—gets to be the great-grandfather of Mashiach?    If you told Balak that his offerings would lead to the birth of David HaMelekh, he would’ve canceled the korbanot and grilled the animals for himself.   He didn’t intend good. So why the reward?  

 The Torah opens the scene quietly:      וַיֵּשֶׁב יִשְׂרָאֵלבַּשִּׁטִּים,  וַיָּחֶל הָעָם לִזְנוֹת אֶל־בְּנוֹת מוֹאָב.  — “And Yisrael dwelled in Shittim, and the people began tostray after the daughters of Moav.” (בַּמִּדְבָּר כ״ה:א׳)     One verse.  No battle cries.  Just the gentle pull of desire. Of loneliness. Of spiritualdisarmament.    Bilam, the wicked prophet, fails to curse Am Yisrael. Butbefore leaving, he whispers to Balak:      “אֱלֹקֵיהֶםשֶׁל אֵלּוּ שׂוֹנֵא זִמָּה הוּא”  — “Their G-d despises immorality.” (סנהדרין ק״ו)     And with that advice, the Moabite plan begins. Royaldaughters of Midyan and Moav are sent to seduce the Israelites—not just withbeauty, but with hospitality, charm, and warmth.     At first, they are selling textiles , and clothing - an oldwoman at front.   You want to see the better things - come to the back where there is a beautifulyoung girl waiting she’s hospitable   She offers wine.  Then, herself .     Then, a request:      “הִשְׁתַּחֲוֵהלְפְעוֹר”  — Bow to Pe’or. Just once. Just a formality.     It wasn’t just זְנוּת.  It was ideology cloaked in love.  A theological ambush.  

There’s a profound Midrash: “תָּבֹוא הָאֵם וּתְקַנֵּחַ צֹאָת בְּנָה” – “Let the mother come and clean up the mess of her child.” (Tanchuma, Chukat 8) The child? Klal Yisrael, who sinned with the Egel HaZahav. The mother? The Parah Adumah, the red heifer whose ashes bring purity. But what’s the connection? The Chet Ha’Egel wasn’t wild rebellion—it was panic wrapped in reason. Moshe was delayed. Maybe gone. They needed a leader. An intermediary. Their intentions were leshem Shamayim. But the Alexandrer Rebbe, the Yismach Yisrael, teaches: “Sometimes the greatest mistake… is thinking we understand.” That was their error. They thought they were doing the right thing. They rationalized. They overreached. So along comes the Parah Adumah—the antidote. A mitzvah that defies reason. A chok. A decree. Even Shlomo HaMelekh, wisest of men, said: “אָמַרְתִּי אֶחְכָּמָה – וְהִיא רְחוֹקָה מִמֶּנִּי” – “I thought I could understand—but it is far from me.” (Kohelet 7:23)

🇺🇸 Better Than Fireworks: Giants, Mountains & Miracles 🕗 July 4th | 7:30 AM Shacharit • Followed by Breakfast & Shiur This Independence Day, come for breakfast—and stay for a battle that shook the heavens. A mountain lifted, ants sent by Heaven, and the “worm of Yaakov” that crushed a giant. Discover how Moshe Rabbeinu defeated Og with nothing but spirit, and how you can too. Better than fireworks. Bigger than Bashan.

🎙 Obedience Beyond Understanding Parashat Chukat | Based on Yismach Yisrael, Alexander Rebbe There’s a profound Midrash: “תָּבֹוא הָאֵם וּתְקַנֵּחַ צֹאָת בְּנָה” – “Let the mother come and clean up the mess of her child.” (Tanchuma, Chukat 8) The child? Klal Yisrael, who sinned with the Egel HaZahav. The mother? The Parah Adumah, the red heifer whose ashes bring purity. But what’s the connection? The Chet Ha’Egel wasn’t wild rebellion—it was panic wrapped in reason. Moshe was delayed. Maybe gone. They needed a leader. An intermediary. Their intentions were leshem Shamayim. But the Alexandrer Rebbe, the Yismach Yisrael, teaches: “Sometimes the greatest mistake… is thinking we understand.” That was their error. They thought they were doing the right thing. They rationalized. They overreached. So along comes the Parah Adumah—the antidote. A mitzvah that defies reason. A chok. A decree. Even Shlomo HaMelekh, wisest of men, said: “אָמַרְתִּי אֶחְכָּמָה – וְהִיא רְחוֹקָה מִמֶּנִּי” – “I thought I could understand—but it is far from me.” (Kohelet 7:23) When a Roman philosopher mocked this mitzvah, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai replied: “The corpse doesn’t defile, and the ashes don’t purify—it’s a decree of the King.” (Tanchuma Chukat 8) Sometimes the highest faith is not to ask “why”—but to do. The Parah teaches us that we serve not because it makes sense, But because He said so. That’s the tikkun for the Egel. That’s Torah. That’s true avodat Hashem.

He didn’t shame people out of sin. He loved them out of it.In this class, we climb the mountain with Aharon HaKohen — and uncover the quiet power of peace, truth, and unconditional belief in every soul.Aharon HaKohen: The Honest Peacemaker. 

Am Yisrael arrives in Kadesh, near the end of their 40-year journey. The final stretch before entering Eretz Yisrael. וַתָּ֤מׇת שָׁם֙ מִרְיָ֔ם וַתִּקָּבֵ֖ר שָֽׁם׃ “Miryam died there and was buried there.” (Bemidbar 20:1) The Torah gives no hesped, no tears, no mourning. Just a silence. Then: וְלֹא־הָיָ֥ה מַ֖יִם לָעֵדָ֑ה “There was no water for the congregation.” (20:2) Chazal make the connection instantly. 📖 Ta’anit 9a teaches: Three gifts sustained Israel in the midbar — the man, the ananei ha-kavod, and the well — in the merit of Moshe, Aharon, and Miryam. When she died, the well stopped. But why did water flow in her merit?

Hashem doesn’t just answer Korach once. He responds three times, with three miracles: 1. The earth opens its mouth and swallows Korach and his household. 2. Fire from Heaven consumes the 250 men who bring unauthorized incense. 3. Aharon’s staff—a dry stick—miraculously buds, blossoms, and grows almonds. Why three? The Maharal explains: Each punishment addressed a different level of rebellion— —Against order, —Against holiness, —And against truth itself. The Ari z”l adds something incredible. He writes in Sha’ar HaGilgulim that Korach is a reincarnation of Kayin. Just as Kayin couldn’t handle being surpassed by Hevel, Korach couldn’t handle being surpassed by Aharon. So this time, the ground doesn’t just swallow blood. It opens its mouth, and swallows the man himself.

Blessing in the Home: The Role of the Wife The Gemara in Bava Metzia 59a makes a bold statement: “A person should always be careful to honor his wife, because blessing is only found in a man’s home on account of his wife.” This is not mere sentiment—it’s Torah truth. The Gemara cites Avraham in Egypt: “And Avram was enriched… because of her,” referring to Sarah (Bereishit 12:16). From the outset, the Torah teaches that material blessing, like spiritual strength, flows through the woman of the home. The Zohar (I:49b) goes further: The Shechinah itself rests upon a home only when there is harmony between husband and wife. She is called akeiret habayit—not just the “homemaker” in the modern sense, but the ikar, the essence of the Jewish home. She holds the key to its spiritual DNA. But just as she can build, she can also destroy. And this week’s parashah, Korach, provides us with both extremes.

 Last April, I was walking down the street in Tel Aviv with my granddaughter Orly Adele. She was three years old at the time. Playful. Curious. Holding my hand.  Suddenly she stopped and pointed at a corner and said: 'Grandpa, if the siren goes off while we are walking, we can go there… or there… but not there or there.'  Three years old — and already calculating survival options.  Cute? Yes. But chilling.  You see, in Israel, childhood comes wrapped in barbed wire. In bunkers. In red alerts. It’s not just ma’aseh hayom — it’s the air they breathe.  And now, a year later, the sirens haven’t stopped. If anything, they’ve multiplied. And the missiles? They’re not coming from Gaza anymore. They’re coming from Persia. From Iran.  

This week… we read a parashah that cuts deep. Parashat Shelach. The tragedy of the meraglim—the spies—echoes through every generation.   But maybe… just maybe… we’ve misunderstood the ending.   Maybe the story didn’t end in punishment… but in promise.   Because hidden in the rebuke, in the decree, in the wandering… is the whisper of eternity.  

 The Torah tells us:      “And thechildren of Israel were in the wilderness, and they found a man gatheringsticks on the Sabbath day…”  וַיִּהְיוּ בְנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל בַּמִּדְבָּר, וַיִּמְצְאוּ אִישׁמְקֹשֵׁשׁ עֵצִים, בְּיוֹם הַשַּׁבָּת (במדבר ט״ו:ל״ב)     He is brought before Moshe. He is warned. And when herefuses to stop, he is judged — and ultimately executed.      “And theentire assembly removed him to the outside of the camp and stoned him withstones, and he died, as Hashem had commanded Moshe.”  וַיּוֹצִיאוּ אֹתוֹ כָּל־הָעֵדָה אֶל־מִחוּץ לַמַּחֲנֶה, וַיִּרְגְּמוּאֹתוֹ בָאֲבָנִים וַיָּמֹת, כַּאֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה׳ אֶת־מֹשֶׁה (שם ט״ו:ל״ו)     Immediately following this episode comes the mitzvah oftzitzit:      “Speak tothe Children of Israel and say to them that they shall make for themselvesfringes on the corners of their garments…”  דַּבֵּר אֶל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאָמַרְתָּ אֲלֵהֶם, וְעָשׂוּ לָהֶםצִיצִת עַל־כַּנְפֵי בִגְדֵיהֶם לְדֹרֹתָם… (שם ט״ו:ל״ח)     Why this juxtaposition?     

 Shabbat, the Menorah, and the Awakening of a Nation  Inspired by the Call of the Rishon LeTzion, Rav Shlomo Amar,and Parshat Beha’alotcha     This week’s Torah portion, Beha’alotcha, begins with acommand to Aharon HaKohen to light the Menorah — the eternal flame thatsymbolizes divine wisdom, clarity, and spiritual illumination. And in a waythat only the Torah can, a deeper meaning flickers to life:     בְּהַעֲלֹתְךָ אֶת הַנֵּרוֹת – 'When you kindle thelamps...' (Bamidbar 8:2)     Rashi explains: “This teaches that the flame should rise onits own.”     The Menorah was not just a ritual. It was a spiritualignition. The Kohen lit the wick — but the flame had to rise independently.That’s the model of true spiritual awakening: you can inspire someone, but thelight has to catch on its own and illuminate the world.     This week, that flame is rising again — in the streets, onthe front lines, in homes, in bunkers, in the hearts of a people who are wakingup.     From the Darkness of Exile to the Dawn of Redemption  In a powerful letter written for this Shabbat, Rav ShlomoMoshe Amar, Rishon LeTzion and former Chief Rabbi of Israel, declares withclarity:     'The time has come and the voice of redemption is beingheard — a voice of joy, a voice of salvation.'     He describes an awakening among Israeli soldiers — secular,unaffiliated, often raised far from tradition — who are grabbing hold ofTehillim, wrapping Tefillin, and choosing to keep Shabbat on the battlefield.He calls it “a mighty spiritual awakening.”     But this awakening is not only theirs — it must be ours.     The Enemy that Attacks When We Are Weak  Later in this parsha, we are told what happens when thelight of the Menorah is not protected — when achdut (unity) breaks, whencomplaint and confusion enter the camp:     וַיְהִי הָעָם כְּמִתְאֹנְנִים – 'The people were likethose who seek a pretext...' (Bamidbar 11:1)     And soon after, we hear about external threats:     וְכִי־תָבֹאוּ מִלְחָמָה בְאַרְצְכֶם עַל־הַצַּר הַצֹּרֵר אֶתְכֶם  'When you go to war in your land against an enemy whooppresses you…' (Bamidbar 10:9)     The Torah instructs us: blow the trumpets. Sound the alarm.But not just for defense. The pasuk continues:     וְנִזְכַּרְתֶּם לִפְנֵי ה׳ אֱלֹקֵיכֶם – “And you shall beremembered before Hashem your God.”     War, in the Torah’s language, is never just physical. It isspiritual warfare, demanding spiritual responses. Sounding the trumpet is acall to Heaven, a cry for divine remembrance. And the Menorah? It is theanswer: the light that drives away the darkness.     Two Shabbatot Can Bring the Geulah  Rav Amar emphasizes a deep teaching from the Gemara:     'If the Jewish people keep two Shabbatot properly, theywill be immediately redeemed.' (Shabbat 118b)     Why Shabbat? Because Shabbat is the Menorah of the week. Itis when we illuminate our homes with kedushah, with Torah, with peace. Itreconnects us with our identity and with each other.     Every candle we light on Erev Shabbat is another lamp on theMenorah — a declaration that our homes are not dark. That Am Yisrael is stillburning with holiness. That we are not giving up.     A Call to Action: Join the Awakening  Rav Amar calls on every family, community, and shul:     “With great emotion and with joy, I call upon all the peopleof Israel to take part in this sacred endeavor — to uplift Shabbat in theirhomes and communities, with honor and love.”     And this Shabbat, let us join that call. Let us light ourMenorahs — our candles, our homes, our children’s neshamot — and let the lightrise on its own.     Let’s speak to our children about the power of Shabbat.Let’s sing together at the table, bless our children with full hearts, speakwords of Torah, and pray for our brothers and sisters on the front lines.     A Final Blessing  May Hashem heal the wounded. May He return the captives. MayHe protect our soldiers and civilians. And may our light — the light of faith,of mitzvot, of Shabbat — rise higher and higher.     בְּהַעֲלֹתְךָ אֶת הַנֵּרוֹת — Light it… and let it rise.     May we soon merit to see that great light — the rebuildingof the Beit HaMikdash, the return of the Shechinah, and the arrival of thefinal geulah, speedily in our days.  

 The Humble Light of Moshe: A Deeper Look at Parshat Beha’alotecha through Zerah Shimshon  In this week’s parashah, the Torah pauses its narrative to tell us somethingastonishing: ְהָאִישׁ מֹשֶׁהעָנָו מְאֹד, מִכֹּל הָאָדָם אֲשֶׁר עַל-פְּנֵי הָאֲדָמָה — “Now the man Moseswas exceedingly humble, more than any person on the face of the earth”(Bamidbar 12:3).  This pasuk appears in the middle of the episode where Miriam and Aharon speak about Moshe Rabbeinu—about his separation from his wife and his unique relationship with Hashem. The Zerah Shimshon, with his characteristic brilliance, asks: Why is this the moment that the Torah reveals Moshe’s supreme humility?   Miriam and Aharon had been discussing Moshe’s separation from his wife. Their argument was not malicious, but perhaps well-intentioned. They, too, were prophets, and yet they had not separated from their spouses. Why then did Moshe feel he needed to?  Zerah Shimshon suggests a line of reasoning behind Moshe’s decision: Before Matan Torah, Hashem commanded all of Israel to separate from their spouses for three days. Why? Because Hashem was going to speak to them. And one who is to receive nevuah must be in a state of ritual purity.  Moshe Rabbeinu, unlike other prophets, experienced nevuah constantly—at any time, without preparation. The Rambam (Yesodei HaTorah 7:6) explains: all prophetsrequire sleep, meditation, or dreams to receive prophecy—but not Moshe. Hashem spoke to him “peh el peh” (mouth to mouth). Because of that constant readiness, Moshe needed to maintain permanent taharah, and thus separated.  But Miriam and Aharon didn’t see it that way. Perhaps they felt that Moshe’s greatness wasn’t from intrinsic superiority, but because he had been chosen as the representative of the people. Had another been chosen, they too would have gone to the top of Har Sinai.  

  Bitachonin the Desert: Trusting Hashem in Daily Portions     When I first started working for my dad,it was at a fiscally difficult time. His partner and cousin elected to bebought out which created a huge financial burden, there were big loancommitments and a new and very expensive showroom.     My dad would hand me a paper on Mondaymorning with an amount. This is what we need to deposit by Friday to cover theweek. It was a way to focus and keep things moving.     Years later when all the commitments andthe loans were paid, he would still remind me every week of something whichstays with me today:     “Don’t worry about making enough for theyear. Worry about making enough for the week. Because if you ask Hashem tocarry you through the whole year, you’ll forget to come back to Him tomorrow.But if you ask for this week, you’ll come back next week. And the week after.And every day, you’ll be in a relationship with Him.”     He’d also tell us about the king withtwo sons. One came once a year for his allowance. The other came every week.The second son complained. “Why do I have to keep coming each week while mybrother only comes once a year? Why can’t you just give me everything at once?”     And the king smiled and said: “Because Ilove you. I want to see you. I want to hear your voice. Spending time with yougives me great pleasure. So I only give you enough for a little while—because Iwant you to come back.”     That’s bitachon. Trust. Not just in theoutcome—but in the relationship.     In Parshat Beha’alotecha, we read aboutthe manna—the miraculous bread that fell from heaven. Our Sages teach thatreading this portion is a segulah for parnassah, for sustenance.     But the Mishnah Berurah warns us:reading the words without internalizing their meaning is like carrying a checkwithout depositing it.     The manna teaches us that hishtadlut—oureffort—is a vessel, but it is not the source. As Shlomo HaMelech writes inKohelet:     “לא לחכמים לחם”—“Bread does not come tothe wise.”     Rabbi Asher Weiss explains that theportion of the manna reminds us our sustenance is ordained from Above. On RoshHashanah, it is decreed precisely how much each person will earn for the year.Our job is to do the necessary hishtadlus to create a vessel to containHashem's blessing, while recognizing all along that it is not our effort thatbrings success but Hashem's blessing alone.     Some years back I wrote of a Shabbatafter season in Florida. I sat with some of the wealthiest men in our communityand they all started sharing their stories. To a man, they all testified, itwas not their brains, not their strategy, not even their hard work and longhours which brought them wealth, it was in every case a convergence ofcoincidences that could only be orchestrated by Heaven above.     Rabbi Elimelech Biderman, quoting theTiferet Shmuel, finds this message in the menorah, which opens this week'sparashah. All seven lamps received the same amount of oil. But the “nermaaravi”—the western lamp—burned longer. Why? Because Hashem willed it so.Hishtadlus isn’t the decisive factor. The menorah itself teaches that whenHashem desires, the same oil lasts longer.     “המֲַרבֶּה לֹא הַעַדִיף וְהַמֲעִיט לֹאהְחַסִיר” (Shemot 16:18)     No matter how much manna they gathered,they returned home to find that it exactly suited the needs of their family.Rabbi Asher Weiss draws from this that effort alone does not determine results.Hashem provides according to what is destined for each of us.     This is one of the most radical truthsof Torah: You don’t control outcomes. You only control your vessel—your trust,your awareness, your faith.     The Talmud in Yoma 76a explains: Why didthe manna fall daily, not weekly or monthly? To teach Am Yisrael to rely onHashem every single day. A person who has no food for tomorrow will cry out toHeaven with sincerity.     And the Midrash Tanchuma says the same:“So that Israel’s hearts would turn toward their Father in Heaven every day.”     Rabbi Biderman shares another mashal:the older a fish, a snake, or a chazir grows, the stronger it becomes, eventhough they eat almost nothing. To teach us: “Man does not live on breadalone...”     The Zohar in Beshalach (62a) revealsthat the manna flowed through the sephirot into Olam HaBeri’ah. The NoamElimelech quotes R' Zusha: the question “What will we eat?” damages thechannel. Rabbi Asher Weiss echoes this idea, teaching that even the questionitself reflects a lack of bitachon and creates a blockage in the channelsthrough which blessing flows. Faith, on the other hand, keeps the pipelineopen.     The story is told of R’ Zusha, whotouched a door and wal

Today, I want to begin with an idea from one of our generation’s great poskim and teachers, HaRav Asher Weiss, shlit”a. He offers a beautiful insight into the nature of the Kohanim and Leviim—and what it means for us, today. We all know that originally, it wasn’t supposed to be this way. The Torah tells us that it was Hashem’s original intention for the bechor, the firstborn of each Jewish family, to serve in the Mishkan, just as they had done at Har Sinai—offering korbanot on behalf of the nation in preparation for Matan Torah. But then came the chet ha’egel, the sin of the Golden Calf. And with that fall, the firstborn lost their sanctity. They were replaced by the Leviim—the only shevet who did not participate in the sin. But as Rav Asher Weiss explains, this wasn’t a mere replacement. This was the unveiling of something deeper. Because in truth, the Tribe of Levi had always been destined for this role. Yaakov Avinu himself foresaw it.

 When The Kohen Lifts His Hands: The Mystery and Majesty of Birkat Kohanim     (Loosely based on a shiur by Rabbi Pinchas Friedman, our teacher, the Shvilei Pinchas on Parshat Naso)                                          When The Kohen Lifts His Hands: The Mystery and Majesty of Birkat Kohanim     (Loosely based on a shiur by Rabbi Pinchas Friedman, our teacher, the Shvilei Pinchas on Parshat Naso)      There’s a well-worn story that’s made the rounds in every community. It’s lighthearted, a bit absurd—but like many Jewish jokes, it hides something deeper beneath the laughter.     A man who only recently began coming to Synagogue, walks into the rabbi’s office and pleads, “Rabbi, please—make me a Kohen.”  The rabbi looks at him and says, “I’m sorry, I can’t just make someone a Kohen.”  The man says, “Please, rabbi! I’ll donate $100,000 to the shul.”     Still no.  He comes back the next morning for Shaharit and at the end of services tells the Rabbi: “Two hundred thousand!”  Then again, the day after: “One million dollars. Just make me a Kohen.”  Finally, the rabbi asks, “Why is this so important to you?”  And the man answers, “Because my grandfather was a Kohen. My father was a Kohen. And I want to be a Kohen too.”  Of course, as a direct descendant of Aharon HaKohen. he already was. He just didn’t understand what that meant.     I’m not a Kohen. My grandfather David Gindi was a Kohen. My grandchildren Yosef and Eliyahu, (may Hashem bless them and all our children and grandchildren, Ken Yirbu), are Kohanim. But I stand where most of us stand—facing the Kohanim with open hands, receiving the blessing. I usually cup my right hand slightly above my left, as if to physically receive what the Kohanim are transmitting envisioning the blessing coming from Hashem and reflecting to us from the raised hands of the Kohanim under their taletim.      And in our synagogues, we are blessed—truly blessed—to have Birkat Kohanim every single day. No need to wait for Yom Tov. No need for a festival crowd or the drama of white robes under a sea of tallitot. Our Kohanim bless daily, wrapped in their own tallitot, their fingers lifted and split in that ancient, otherworldly shape, channeling something holy. And the rest of us? We focus. We quiet ourselves. We prepare to receive.     It is one of the holiest, most consistent moments of our day—and like so many sacred things, it’s easy to miss its power because it happens so regularly. But in this week’s parsha, Parshat Nasso, the Torah opens a window and reminds us just what this blessing is.     Aharon’s Eternal Role     Hashem says to Moshe: “כֹּה תְבָרְכוּ אֶת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, אָמוֹר לָהֶם…” “Thus shall you bless the children of Israel: Say to them…”     And then come the words of the Birkat Kohanim:  “יְבָרֶכְךָ ה׳ וְיִשְׁמְרֶךָ  יָאֵר ה׳ פָּנָיו אֵלֶיךָ וִיחֻנֶּךָּ  יִשָּׂא ה׳ פָּנָיו אֵלֶיךָ וְיָשֵׂם לְךָ שָׁלוֹם”     This command is given to Aharon and his sons—the Kohanim. But it is more than a ritual. It is Hashem entrusting human beings to carry His blessing.     Rashi notes that on the very day the Mishkan was inaugurated, Aharon raised his hands and blessed the people. And at that moment, he was granted the lifelong—and eternal—right to serve as Hashem’s emissary for blessing.     Why Aharon?  The Zohar (Metzora 53b) answers beautifully. Moshe was the shushvina d’Malka—the King’s attendant. Aharon was the shushvina d’Matronita—the Queen’s companion. Moshe stood for Hashem; Aharon stood for the people.     And Aharon loved his people. As Hillel says in Pirkei Avot: “הוי מתלמידיו של אהרן, אוהב שלום ורודף שלום, אוהב את הבריות ומקרבן לתורה” - “Be of the disciples of Aharon—loving peace, pursuing peace, loving people, and drawing them near to Torah.”     He brought husbands and wives back together. He reconciled feuding neighbors. He found the soul or the pintele Yid in every Jew and coaxed it back to light.     That’s why when he died, the Torah says: “And all the House of Israel wept for Aharon for thirty days.”  Rashi notes: the men and the women. Everyone. Because everyone felt that loss.     So, when Aharon lifted his hands to bless the people, it wasn’t just Hashem channeling through him. It was also Aharon channeling the people’s deepest hopes and longings upward. Aharon’s empathy, love and caring made it a two way street      The Structure of a Blessing     This priestly blessing is brief—only three verses. But its structure is layered with